Chapter 68: Journey to Iridale - 1
The creak of wood and the jingle of tal rang out as the rchant finally pulled his cart to a stop. Dust rose in lazy spirals from the wheels, hanging in the late morning light.
"Ah—sorry I kept you waiting," the man said, brushing his palms on his trousers as he stepped down. His eyes went first to Ethan, then to Lirael. The sight of their well-maintained weapons and fitted armor seed to ease the furrow in his brow.
But when his gaze shifted past them, to the four armored soldiers standing in disciplined silence, he faltered.
The n were unnervingly still, clad head to toe in steel. Where the armor left gaps, dark fabric concealed even the smallest glimpse of skin. The anonymity lent them a nacing air—more statues than n, waiting only for a purpose unknown.
The rchant’s lips parted, about to voice his unease, when Ethan spoke first, his tone casual but firm.
"They’re on a mission," he explained, glancing toward the soldiers. "Even I don’t know the details, and they won’t be speaking of it. But don’t worry—they’re trustworthy, and it’s a coincidence that I’m traveling with them for this journey."
The rchant blinked, his curiosity stifled before it could take form. He gave a slow nod, though his eyes lingered on the silent figures. This Ethan... a re C-ranked adventurer, he said? Doesn’t seem like one. Not at all.
Ethan tilted his head, as if just rembering. "Ah—by the way, may I know your na, good sir? Or would you prefer I call you simply sir?"
The rchant let out a quiet chuckle at the attempt at politeness. "No need for that. It would be rude of not to introduce myself first. My na is—Darian Kettlemore."
Ethan grinned. "Ethan. And this here is Lirael."
The elf gave a polite nod, her ocean-blue eyes eting the rchant’s briefly before flicking away, her deanor reserved but composed.
"And as for our armored friends..." Ethan gestured toward the soldiers, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile, "they prefer not to give their nas. Numbers work just fine."
Darian raised a brow but let it slide. "Very well then, Sir Ethan. Lady Lirael. I’ll be in your care. Please—keep safe until we reach Iridale."
"That’s a given," Ethan said, his voice steady. He tapped the hilt of his sword, the quiet assurance of steel in the gesture. "So then—shall we begin our march?"
"Yes," Darian replied with a relieved breath.
The reins snapped, and the horse gave a soft whinny before pulling the cart forward. The road stretched ahead, winding between sparse trees that whispered with the wind. Ethan and Lirael walked at the cart’s flanks, the four silent soldiers moving alongside, their faces hidden beneath helts, their purpose known only to themselves.
And so their journey toward Iridale began.
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The cart moved steadily along the dirt road, its wheels kicking up a thin veil of dust in the fading afternoon sun. Four soldiers maintained a rigid formation around it, one at each corner, their armor glinting faintly in the light. Ethan walked a few steps ahead of the horses, keeping pace with their asured trot, while Lirael flanked the cart, her eyes scanning the forested horizon. Darian sat atop the driver’s seat, reins in hand, his gaze steady on the path ahead.
From the outside, it might have seed eerily quiet—a group of travelers moving in disciplined silence—but that wasn’t entirely true. Between Ethan and Lirael, words darted back and forth—not aloud, but through the telepathic link they had just discovered.
"This system... I swear, it’s complete nonsense," Lirael’s voice flickered in Ethan’s mind, tinged with amusent.
"Hey, it’s revolutionary! You just need to think faster," Ethan replied, a smirk forming in his mind as he imagined her rolling her eyes.
"Faster? You nad your soldiers by numbers! Numbers, Ethan! That’s... not just fast thinking, that’s lazy!"
Ethan shrugged casually, his tone playful. "It’s convenient. Keeps things simple."
"Convenient? Those numbers are their nas now. That doesn’t work fine!"
"Works for ," he shot back, and she could practically hear his grin.
The day passed without incident. The wind rustled through the leaves, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Birds called from the treetops, and the hooves of the horses drumd a rhythmic beat on the dirt road. By the ti the sun began its slow descent behind the hills, painting the sky in streaks of gold and crimson, Darian finally spoke.
"We should set up camp at the next clearing," he said, voice calm but firm.
The group reached the clearing as twilight deepened, the forest around them fading into long shadows. Three tents were quickly erected—two soldiers assisted Darian, while Ethan and Lirael handled their own. One tent was for Darian, one for Ethan and Lirael, and the third, technically, for the soldiers, though it was little more than a courtesy. After all, the undead didn’t require rest.
Dinner was a quiet affair, the scent of simple roasted at and bread filling the air. Ethan instructed the soldiers to perform the motions of eating, exaggerating the chewing and swiping of utensils for Darian’s sake.
"Undeads don’t need food," Ethan whispered to Lirael as he mid cutting a piece of at.
"Or sleep," she added, grinning, watching the soldiers move in unnaturally precise, silent choreography.
Once the mock al ended, Ethan oversaw the night’s watch. Despite their lack of need for sleep, two soldiers would remain "awake" at a ti, patrolling the periter, while the others pretended to rest. Any threat would be communicated imdiately—either telepathically through Ethan’s link or by shouting, just in case Darian needed to know.
"Don’t forget to alert if anything moves," Ethan said, voice calm but commanding.
"Understood," the soldiers chorused, their movents precise, fluid, almost unnatural, yet perfectly convincing to any observer.
As the night deepened and the forest settled into quiet, the rchant’s anxious glances occasionally flicked toward the armored figures. Yet nothing stirred beyond the occasional rustle of leaves. The camp was orderly, secure, and utterly, unnervingly calm.
Lying on his bedroll beside Lirael, Ethan let out a quiet sigh, feeling the soft earth beneath him. She rolled onto her side, her blue eyes catching the faint glow of the campfire.
"Your system... still ridiculous," she murmured.
"Revolutionary, you an," he countered, smirking.
And in the silence that followed, broken only by the occasional snapping of firewood, the travelers of three very different natures settled in for the night, the first step of their journey toward Iridale behind them.
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