Chapter 70: Provisions and Prejudice
The 11.7% was a ghost I was determined to outrun, and the best way to do that was with cold, hard steel and preparation. The morning of the departure, I stood in my room at the Mikaelson Inn, a different man from the one who had washed the war off his skin the day before. I was armed, stocked, and poorer, but it felt good.
The centerpiece of my spending spree was the new sword. It wasn't Dux, the memory of that immovable, eight-hundred-pound monster was a fresh bruise on my pride but it was a damn sight better than the chipped, blood-caked loaner I'd been using. It was a hand-and-a-half length of polished grey steel they called "shadow-iron," with a leather-wrapped grip and a simple, cross-shaped guard. It cost me a staggering five gold pieces-5,000 Pele. The weight of it on my hip was a tangible promise of better odds.
My belt also held two new, balanced daggers, costing me another 2,000 Pele. But the most significant upgrade was invisible. With a thought, I could feel the contents of my Inventory:
Slot 1: The ten Greater Healing Potions from the System, each vial a small sun of potential life. Slot 2: Five standard yellow healing potions I'd bought for 500 Pele. Slot 3: A bundle of dried, salted meat and hardtack. Slot 4: A coil of rope and a small tinderbox. Slot 5: The remaining 2,317 Pele, a mix of guild notes, the gold from Laron, and a jumble of silvers and coppers, all consolidated into a single, weightless thought.
I was a walking armory and pantry, and no one would know it unless I wanted them to. The feeling of security, however fragile, was intoxicating.
---
The north gate at first light was a scene of organized chaos. Laron's caravan was modest: two covered wagons laden with what I assumed were his "ethically sourced" goods, and a four-horse team. Laron himself was fussing over the straps on a trunk, his grey rabbit ears twitching with anxiety. And Briza was already there, arms crossed, her impressive silhouette outlined against the rising sun, looking as welcoming as a spiked wall. There were a pair of additional servants but I paid them now mind and they seemed to do the same with me.
"You're late," she stated, her voice cutting through the morning chill.
"The sun's barely cracked the horizon," I replied, patting the hilt of my new sword. "I'm right on time. You just look like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Consistently."
Her eyes flicked to the new weapon, a flicker of assessment before the disdain returned. "A new sword doesn't make you a swordsman."
"Good thing I've got the scars to prove I am, then." I turned to Laron. "Everything secure?"
"Y-yes, I believe so," he stammered, finally abandoning the trunk. "We are ready to depart. The road to Silveridge is normally quite safe, but with the recent... unpleasantness..."
"Unpleasantness is one word for a horde of magic beasts," I said. "Let's just keep our eyes open. I'll take point. You two stay between the wagons. If anything happens, you get low and let me earn my forty gold."
Briza let out a sound that was half-snort, half-scoff. "We are not helpless. I can handle a blade."
"I'm sure you can," I said, my tone flat. "But you're also the reason we're going. If you get yourself killed playing hero, the client doesn't get his trinkets, and I don't get paid. So for the next seven days, your job is to be a precious, fragile cargo. Understood?"
Her face flushed with anger, but Laron placed a calming hand on her arm. "He's right, Briza. It is what we are paying for."
The gates groaned open, and our small caravan rolled out of Torak, leaving the scent of smoke and death behind for the fresh, damp smell of the open road. The first few hours were quiet, the only sounds the creak of the wagons, the clop of hooves, and the distant calls of birds.
As we rode, Laron, perhaps to break the tense silence, elaborated on his business. "The client in Silveridge is a patron of the arts. He appreciates the story behind an item as much as the item itself. This shipment contains tapestries woven by the Stonemist Tribe, their patterns are a map of their ancestral lands. And these..." he gestured reverently towards a carefully packed crate, "...are singing stones from the Echoing Caves. They hum when the wind passes over them just so."
"It all sounds very... pure," I remarked, scanning the tree line.
"It is about connection," Laron said, his earnestness almost painful. "It is about reminding people that beauty and culture exist beyond city walls and coin purses."
Briza rode a little closer, her distrustful gaze fixed on me. "And what do you care about, mercenary? Beyond the weight of your purse?"
I glanced at her, then back at the road. "I care about the sun setting at the end of a quiet day. I care about a warm meal and a bed that doesn't have rocks in it. Simple things. They tend to be the most reliable."
It was a non-answer, and she knew it, her lips pressing into a thin line of dissatisfaction. But it was all the answer she was going to get. My real mission, the one that mattered, was to use this quiet road to push my Ki, to feel the flow of it through my body until it was as natural as breathing, and to make sure that when the next crisis hit, and the System guaranteed it would, I was worth more than an 11.7% chance.
For now, that meant playing bodyguard to a rabbit and his disdainful partner. It was a simple job. And I was damn well going to make sure it stayed that way.
The road to Silveridge unspooled before us, a ribbon of packed earth winding into the embrace of a forest's outer reaches. The forest here was less a looming wall of primordial terror and more a watchful presence, its ancient trees standing as silent sentinels. My senses, sharpened by Ki and a month of constant vigilance, were stretched to their limit. Every rustle in the undergrowth, every snap of a twig, was a potential threat. My head was on a swivel, eyes constantly scanning the dappled shadows between the trunks, my ears filtering the natural sounds from any that seemed… intentional.
The creak of the wagon wheels and the steady clop of the horses' hooves became the rhythm of the journey. Laron had fallen silent, seemingly absorbed in a ledger he'd produced from his pack, his brow furrowed in concentration. He'd occasionally make a note, his movements quick and nervous.
It was Briza who broke the silence, her voice a sharp intrusion on my focus. "See any monsters yet, swordsman? Or are you just admiring the scenery?"
I didn't turn my head, my gaze still sweeping the tree line. "Just being thorough. It's what you're paying for. Though if you see something, feel free to point it out. Your eyesight seems excellent for finding faults."
I could feel her glare burning into the side of my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her shift in her saddle, her hand resting on the hilt of her own sheathed sword. She'd been doing that a lot, casting quick, assessing glances my way, her expression a mix of curiosity and deep-seated suspicion. It was different from Lashley's noble disdain; this felt more personal, more tested.
After another half-hour of tense quiet, I decided to address it. Keeping my voice low so only she could hear, I asked, "Something on your mind? You've been staring a hole in my back for the last ten miles. If you've got a question, ask it. This silent treatment is getting boring."
She spurred her horse to pull up alongside me, her face set in a stubborn line. "I'm just wondering what the guild was thinking. You don't carry yourself like a guardsman. You don't have the look of a veteran. You're just… a boy with a new sword. It makes me wonder what you're really doing here."
"And what am I really doing here, according to your expert analysis?" I asked, my tone flat.
"I don't know. That's the problem. Maybe you're running from something. Maybe you're planning to lead us into an ambush. A man who keeps to himself that much usually has something to hide."
I finally turned my head, meeting her gaze directly. "Or maybe a man who keeps to himself just prefers his own company to dealing with unfounded accusations and a bad attitude. Has that possibility crossed your mind?"
Her cheeks flushed. "I have a responsibility to protect this caravan and its owner."
"And I have a contract," I stated, turning my attention back to the road ahead. "Right now, our interests align. You can either spend the next six days waiting for me to betray you, or you can accept that the most immediate threat is probably out there," I nodded towards the dense forest, "and not sitting right next to you. Your choice."
I glanced back at Laron, who was still pretending to be engrossed in his ledger, though his twitching ears betrayed his attention to our argument. "Everything secure back there, Laron? You've been quiet."
He jumped slightly, looking up with wide eyes. "Oh! Yes, yes. Just… double-checking the inventory. Must be precise for the client!" He offered a weak, nervous smile before ducking his head back down.
Briza didn't respond to my ultimatum. She just fell back a few paces, her watchful eyes now divided between the shadowy forest and the mercenary she didn't trust. The road stretched on, quiet save for the sounds of our travel. The peace was a veneer, stretched thin over the tension within our little group. My job was to make sure that whatever broke it, came from outside, and not from within.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]