CHAPTER 78: WALLS ON THE HORIZON

Chapter 77: Wall On The Horizon

"Sir Darian, according to you... how much longer will it take to reach Iridale, if we keep this pace?" Ethan asked, glancing at the merchant from his place near the cart.

Darian rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes flicking to the road ahead. "If fortune favors us and no more beasts block our way, we should arrive by evening. But..." His tone dipped, cautious. "Should another fight break out, I cannot promise a clear answer."

The wagon creaked under its heavy load. By now, Darian’s cart was almost overflowing with the hides, fangs, and claws of monsters Ethan’s group had hunted along the way. The faint, metallic tang of blood still clung to some of the fresher materials, mixing with the earthy scent of dust kicked up by the horses. Darian didn’t seem to mind—he looked more pleased than burdened. Ethan had even offered him the option of buying the spoils on the spot, an idea Darian accepted with a merchant’s eager nod.

"Ahhh..." Ethan suddenly exhaled, stretching his arms above his head. His voice carried over the road. "How I miss my pillow."

The words made Lirael, who was quietly walking just ahead, tense for a split second. Her ears twitched, though she tried to hide it.

"Pillow?" Darian looked back, brows furrowed in confusion. "What pillow are you talking about, Sir Ethan?"

Ethan waved it off with a faint chuckle, his expression deliberately casual. "Nothing much. Back in the village, I had this unbelievably soft pillow. The kind that swallows your head the moment you lie down. I guess I got spoiled by it."

Lirael bit her lip, not daring to look back. Ethan caught the faintest flicker of her reaction through their link and smirked to himself, the corner of his mouth curling as the wagon wheels rattled on toward Iridale.

---

"Ahhh, fuck!" Veyron’s voice cut through the dense forest, sharp and furious. He swung his blade to the side, cleaving through the last of the scaled hounds that had ambushed them. The beast fell with a wet thud, blood steaming against the dirt. "Just how many damn monsters infest this cursed path?"

Behind him, his servants trailed in a ragged line. A few limped, armor torn and stained with fresh crimson. One man, pale and groaning, was being half-dragged by another, leaving streaks of blood in the soil. Their breaths came shallow, the smell of iron and sweat heavy in the air.

Veyron turned, his eyes burning with contempt. "Did they really cut their way through here?" His tone was half disbelief, half rage. He spat into the grass. "Unlikely. Another path, maybe... but fuck, I can’t think of anything that fits. Tch!"

His gaze swept over his followers, lips curling in disdain. "And you weaklings are even slowing me down. Just who in the hell gets severely injured by a wild pig?" His words cracked like a whip, and several servants flinched, bowing their heads lower.

The forest seemed to mock him, alive with distant howls and rustling leaves. Veyron clenched his jaw, anger boiling beneath his skin. "By now... tch, by now they’re probably nearing Iridale. And we’re stumbling like fools." He kicked at the carcass of a beast, frustration spilling over. "Shit. We need to move faster!"

Behind him, his battered servants tightened their grips on weapons and bandages, shoulders hunched, eyes on the dirt. None dared to speak. They could only follow the man’s rage as the path ahead swallowed them in shadows.

---

The road ahead finally began to clear, the oppressive weight of the forest thinning as open fields stretched toward the horizon. For the first time in hours, no snarls or rustling shadows haunted their path. Instead, the distant outline of stone walls rose into view—tall, sturdy, and bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun.

"Mm," Darian murmured from his cart, his gaze narrowing as he studied the horizon. "Looks like the guild’s been at work. They must have cleared the monsters near the border." There was a note of relief in his voice, tinged with admiration.

Ethan rolled his shoulders with a long sigh. "Good. I didn’t feel like fighting anymore today." His lips curled into a lazy smirk. "All I want now is to collapse in an inn, sink into a mattress, and sleep like a log... with a soft pillow in my arms."

The teasing lilt in his voice made Lirael’s steps falter. She turned her head just enough to throw him a sharp glare, cheeks puffing slightly in irritation.

"Again with that pillow of yours..." she muttered under her breath, though the faint redness at the tips of her ears betrayed her...it was as if it wasn’t related to the ’pillow’ thing.

Ethan caught her reaction through their link and let out a low chuckle, thoroughly amused. To him, the repeated pillow joke had become less about comfort and more about the quiet little game of poking at Lirel’s composure.

By now, the looming gates of Iridale stood tall before them, banners fluttering in the evening breeze. The air grew livelier—the chatter of travelers, the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, and the faint smell of roasted meats drifting from the city. The heavy creak of Darian’s cart slowed as they joined the line of people waiting to pass through the gates, the setting sun casting long shadows behind them.

The line at Iridale’s gates moved slowly, the air filled with the murmur of travelers, the stamping of hooves, and the sharp scent of tar and oil from the torches being lit along the walls. When Ethan’s party finally reached the front, a weary-looking guard stepped forward, spear in hand, his gaze sharp.

"State your purpose for entering."

Darian straightened in his seat atop the cart. "Merchant of the Kattlemore family, returning from Velkarth village."

At that, the guard’s brow furrowed. His eyes swept across the group, lingering on Ethan and Lirael in their adventuring gear, then over the four soldiers flanking the wagon. Suspicion flickered across his face.

"Velkarth?" the guard repeated slowly, voice edged with doubt. "Two adventurers, four guards, and a merchant... and you’re telling me you crossed that path?" He snorted quietly. "You expect me to believe you made it through with so little manpower?"

Ethan’s lips twitched, but before he could speak, Darian calmly reached into his robe. The faint creak of leather straps sounded as he produced a polished insignia—a finely crafted badge, gleaming faintly in the evening light. He held it up without a word.

The guard’s eyes widened at the sight. His posture snapped straight, and his voice dropped, almost respectful. "A senior merchant association badge... Forgive me, sir." He bowed his head, tone shifting from doubt to deference. "I had no intention to offend. It’s just..." His expression grew grim. "No one has made it through that route since word spread of a beast tide. You’re the first to arrive." His gaze flicked again toward Ethan, Lirael and the guards. "Those adventurers and guards... they must be of considerable rank."

Ethan gave nothing more than a small, tired smirk, while Lirael simply adjusted her hood, avoiding the man’s eyes. She had hid her maid attire under a cloak as to not attract unwanted attention.

He took the entrance fee.... 2 silver per person.

"You may pass," the guard said at last, giving them their pass and stepping aside and signaling to the men above the gatehouse. The massive doors creaked as they opened, the sound echoing into the twilight.

Darian slid the badge back into his robes, relief hidden beneath a merchant’s composed smile. The senior badge that the lord gave me does its miracles yet again, he thought, guiding the cart forward into the bustling glow of Iridale’s streets.