Chapter 424: Chapter 421 – The Caravan on the Road
The morning mist still blanketed Eldridge’s stone walls when the heavy city gate finally opened with a deafening creak. The massive explosion the previous night that had shaken the foundations of the ruler’s palace had left a deep wound in the hearts of the citizens. Fear spread faster than the fires that had once burned the warehouses on the city outskirts. Whispers about the increasingly suffocating tyranny, unreasonable taxes, and hired soldiers beginning to seize ordinary citizens’ property made many people choose to abandon everything.
That morning, it wasn’t just Sylvia and her two sisters who were leaving Eldridge. The wide dirt road leading northeast had turned into a slow-flowing river of people and carriages. Dozens of wooden carts creaked, their iron wheels swaying over the uneven ground, creating a monotonous rhythm clop... clop... clop... mixed with the sound of horses’ hooves, anxious quiet conversations, and the occasional tired cries of small children.
Small rchants pushed carts filled with spices and cheap cloth. Farming families carried sacks of wheat and simple, mud-covered farming tools. Young miners with muscular arms and faces blackened by coal dust walked while carrying worn leather bags. Even so housewives with babies strapped to their backs and older children walking beside them joined the exodus. Their belongings were ager: patched blankets, dented cooking pots, and mories they couldn’t leave behind.
Sylvia calmly guided her carriage through the increasingly crowded caravan. Her two zombie horses walked with steady, powerful steps, their pitch-black coats faintly gleaming under the rising red sunlight. There was no fatigue in their dim red eyes. These lifeless creatures knew no tiredness, no thirst, and were undisturbed by the crowd around them.
Inside the spacious but now heavily loaded carriage, Stacia and Alicia sat squeezed together on the rough wooden bench. Stacks of fragrant spice boxes, thick rolls of gray and brown wool cloth, and several small sacks of grains and dried spices made the space feel cramped. The scent of cinnamon and cloves mixed with the sll of road dust and human sweat. If a few more people climbed in, Stacia and Alicia would have been truly squeezed.
"This caravan is bigger than I thought," Stacia muttered while peeking out through a gap in the canvas cover. Her slightly ssy black hair from the morning wind made her look more human than usual. "It seems like half the city is fleeing."
Alicia, her soft silver hair swaying gently, nodded lightly. She floated slightly above the bench so she wouldn’t be crushed by the pile of goods. "Fear is the fastest-spreading fire. The ruler of Eldridge is reaping what he sowed."
Sylvia remained silent on the driver’s seat. Her cold red eyes narrowed under the thin gray hood that partially covered her face. As the Queen of Death, she was used to scenes of destruction and despair. But this morning, sothing felt different. It wasn’t excessive pity, but a sharp observation of simple injustice: innocent children having to bear the burden of greedy and foolish adult decisions.
The journey moved slowly. The red sun rose higher, illuminating the rough rocky hills and sparse forests on both sides of the road. Stunted pine trees swayed gently in the cold mountain wind, carrying the scent of damp soil and tree sap. Road dust rose every ti a cart wheel hit a pothole, causing many people to cover their mouths with cloth or cough softly.
Not everyone could keep up with the caravan’s pace. Especially the small children. Their short legs and fragile bodies tired quickly. After walking about five kiloters, so children began to fall behind. Their faces were pale, lips dry, and breathing ragged. Their small feet were covered in dust and minor scratches from sharp stones. So started crying softly from thirst and exhaustion, their cries rising and falling among the creaking wheels and adult conversations.
Sylvia noticed everything from the driver’s seat. She saw a seven-year-old boy who nearly stumbled, tightly clutching his mother’s skirt. Behind him, two girls and another boy walked unsteadily, their eyes weary. Sylvia gently pulled the reins, giving a ntal command to her two zombie horses to slow down until their steps were almost level with the children.
"You can ride on the horses’ backs," Sylvia said in a calm but firm voice, loud enough for the children and their parents walking a few steps behind to hear.
The young mother leading the three children, her face exhausted, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, and hands rough from hard work stared at Sylvia with wide eyes full of surprise and fear. "But... Miss... those are your trade horses. We wouldn’t dare... They look... different."
Sylvia shook her head slowly. Her hood shifted slightly, revealing a strand of pitch-black hair. "Just get on. These horses are strong. They don’t mind carrying light loads like you."
After a mont of hesitation and seeing Sylvia’s reassuring gaze, the mother finally nodded. With the help of trembling small hands, the first three children were lifted onto the back of the first zombie horse. Then three more small children from the family behind climbed onto the second horse. Their tiny hands gripped tightly onto the cold, smooth black fur. At first they were scared, their bodies tense, but gradually, a sense of safety began to set in.
The zombie horses themselves did not react excessively. In fact, there was a strange subtle tremor in their muscles, as if showing satisfaction. The children’s light weight was nothing to their limitless stamina. Their steps remained steady, as if carefully guarding the children, like silent, loyal protectors.
The children slowly began to relax. One of the smallest boys, six years old, with ssy brown hair, even giggled softly when the wind brushed his face. "This horse is cold... but nice!" he said innocently.
The girl beside him, holding the horse’s fur with both hands, whispered, "Mom... we don’t have to walk anymore, right?"
The mothers and fathers who saw the scene imdiately approached. Their eyes were teary. "Thank you, Miss... thank you so much," said one father in a hoarse voice, almost breaking. "We don’t know how to repay this kindness."
Sylvia only nodded slowly, saying little. "Just take care of your children. That’s enough."
Inside the carriage, Stacia smiled faintly while peeking from behind the canvas cover. "You still have a heart after all, Sylvia. Who would have thought the Queen of Death could be this gentle toward ordinary human children."
Sylvia glanced back briefly, her voice soft but clear. "Children are innocent. They are only victims of the stupid and greedy decisions of adults. The ruler of Eldridge is the one selling his people’s souls for power, not these children who should bear it."
Alicia floated a little higher to see the children sitting comfortably on the horses’ backs. Her gentle eyes were full of warmth. "They look so relieved. Their small shoulders are no longer burdened. This journey must have been very hard for them... dust, stones, and the piercing cold wind."
Throughout the afternoon, the caravan kept moving. The dirt road gradually sloped upward toward the hills. The sound of creaking cart wheels, footsteps of humans and animals, and quiet conversations about an uncertain future filled the air. The children on the zombie horses looked far happier. They occasionally whispered to each other, pointed at strange trees by the roadside, or laughed softly when one of the horses shook its head gently, as if playing along.
Occasionally, Sylvia heard stories from the people around her. An old rchant told how taxes had tripled in a year. A housewife cried softly while recounting how her husband was arrested for protesting against the ruler. The fear was real, and the hope for a new life in their destination city beca the only light they held onto.
As the red sun began to tilt westward and painted the sky with dark orange hues, the caravan started looking for a place to rest. They chose a fairly large open field beside the road, surrounded by pine trees and bushes that could provide shelter from the bone-piercing mountain night wind.
Sylvia and her two sisters got down as well. They set up a simple tent from thick cloth and wooden poles. Stacia lit a regular campfire with dry wood they had gathered, while Alicia helped arrange the belongings so they wouldn’t get wet from the night dew. Sylvia herself lit a black campfire in front of their tent, a fire that produced little smoke and burned with a strange, cold fla.
The camp atmosphere slowly grew warr even as the night air beca colder. The sll of salted grilled at and ward dry bread spread. People shared food with fellow refugees. So families contributed root vegetables they had brought, while others told funny stories to entertain the children.
Several young farrs and miners shyly approached the three sisters’ tent. Even in their simple disguises and hoods, the beauty of Sylvia, Stacia, and Alicia was difficult to completely hide. The campfire light danced on their faces, making their delicate features and sharp eyes even more prominent.
One young man around twenty years old, with a sturdy build and calloused hands, gathered his courage to approach. His cheeks flushed red. "Miss... the three of you are very beautiful. Forgive
if I’m being forward... If you don’t mind, I’d like to propose to one of you. I have a small plot of land near Silvermist. I can support a family with hard work. I... I’m not rich, but I’m honest."
Sylvia answered first, her voice cold but gentle, without any tone of mockery. "Thank you for the complint. But we are on a long trading journey and have no intention of marrying at this ti."
Stacia smiled faintly, her eyes twinkling with amusent. "We appreciate your good intentions, young man. But we prefer to continue our journey alone. There are many things we need to take care of."
Alicia simply shook her head gently, her silver hair swaying softly in the night wind. "I’m sorry."
The young man retreated with a disappointed but polite face. His friends patted his shoulder while chuckling softly, "I told you, they’re not the easy type." The light laughter spread around the campfire, lightening the previously tense atmosphere.
The night grew deeper. Campfires burned brightly at various points of the camp, illuminating tired but hopeful faces. The children who had ridden the zombie horses earlier now slept soundly in their mothers’ laps, dreams of the kind big black horses still lingering on their innocent faces.
Sylvia sat in front of their tent, staring at the black campfire she had lit herself. Its flas danced silently, as if reflecting its owner’s soul. Stacia and Alicia sat beside her, chatting lightly in soft voices.
"Tomorrow we should reach Silvermist before afternoon," Sylvia said quietly, her eyes never leaving the fire. "That city is larger and busier. We can gather information about other dinsional rifts that may have appeared in this region."
Stacia nodded while skewering a piece of grilled at with a small knife. "And we should sell so of our trade goods to look more convincing as ordinary rchants. It wouldn’t be good if we stand out too much."
Alicia floated slightly above the dewy grass, her voice soft like the wind. "I also want to look for new news from Nocture. It’s been several days since we left. Who knows if there have been important developnts."
The campfire crackled softly the sound of burning wood becoming a soothing rhythm for the night. Around them, the caravan of refugees from Eldridge also began to rest. The faint sounds of quiet conversations about dreams of a new life, sleeping babies’ cries, and occasional soft laughter from groups of young n could be heard in the distance.
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