The reaction was instant.
The riders pulled on their reins, halting their horses in place. Spears were drawn in a flash. One rider even unsheathed his sword.
The driver stood up from the carriage bench, narrowing his eyes. "Oi! Who goes there?!"
Inigo blinked. He understood that.
"Uh… a lost traveler?" he said cautiously, lowering his hands just a bit. "I'm not armed—I mean, I am armed, but I'm not using it. That's an important distinction."
The riders glanced at each other.
The man on the left trotted forward, his spear angled downward but ready. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Not even a little bit," Inigo said, trying to smile. "Also, this may sound weird but… what's the name of this country?"
The man gave him a skeptical look. "...You don't even know where you are?"
"I… hit my head. Real bad. Memory loss. Very tragic," Inigo lied, giving an exaggerated shrug. "So yeah. Country?"
"You're in the Kingdom of Eldrath," the driver replied, still watching him with narrowed eyes. "This road leads to Valebrook. Closest village to these woods."
Finally! Inigo nearly collapsed in relief.
"I've been trying to find a village since yesterday," he said honestly. "I'd really appreciate it if I could, you know, maybe hitch a ride? Or just follow the carriage at a safe and respectful distance?"
The rider who approached him frowned. "That depends. Are you a bandit?"
Inigo gestured to himself. "Do I look like a bandit?"
They all stared at his hoodie, cargo pants, and combat boots. His face was that of a teenage boy with no unremarkable traits on it. Then their eyes fell to the Glock on his hip.
"What is that on your hips?"
"Ahh this…it's nothing. It's just a toy of mine."
The rider didn't buy it.
"A toy?" the man echoed, eyebrow twitching as his hand gripped his spear tighter. "That's a strange toy to strap to your hip like a sword."
Inigo laughed nervously and patted the Glock like it was a family pet. "Yup! Totally useless. Decorative. Cosplay, even. I'm a… performer. Traveling bard! You know, weird clothes, strange tools, lost memory—very authentic."
The other rider trotted up, an older man with a stubbled jaw and squinting eyes. "Never heard of a bard dressing like a city thief. But he doesn't feel like a threat." He stared a bit longer, then added, "Just smells like piss."
Inigo forced a smile. "I camped. In the woods. Alone. Without deodorant."
The driver finally exhaled and waved his hand. "Enough gawking. Let him ride in the back. We're late as is."
The younger rider gave him one last warning look before gesturing toward the carriage. "No funny moves. You do something that we don't like, we will end you instantly."
Inigo nodded quickly. "Wouldn't dream of it."
He climbed into the back of the carriage, careful not to step on the stacked crates or burlap sacks. The inside was cramped but covered, smelling of dried herbs, raw wool, and what might've been onions. He wedged himself between two boxes and settled in, keeping his hands visible.
As the carriage began moving again, he let out a slow breath.
Civilization. Finally.
After everything—killing a dire wolf, surviving the night, rationing tokens—this was his first real chance at getting information, shelter, maybe even a quest board or shop.
The ride was bumpy. Every pothole in the dirt road felt like a minor earthquake, and Inigo kept getting jabbed in the ribs by a suspiciously pointy turnip poking through a sack. But none of it dampened his mood.
After about thirty minutes of silence, the canvas flapped slightly, and one of the riders peeked in from the side.
"Name?" the older man asked gruffly.
"Inigo."
"That a southern name?"
"Probably," he said quickly. "I wouldn't know. Memory loss, remember?"
The rider grunted. "Fair. I'm Garrick. The other one's Colin. Driver's Brund."
Inigo nodded. "Nice to meet you all. I appreciate the ride, really."
Garrick gave a short grunt of acknowledgment, then added, "You might want to keep your head down when we enter Valebrook. Folks aren't used to strangers showing up in weird clothes with metal tools. Especially after what happened last week."
Inigo's ears perked up. "What happened?"
Garrick stared for a moment. "Bandits. Attacked a merchant caravan near the river bend. Four dead. Whole town's on edge."
Great. Of course it couldn't be a peaceful starter village. He was expecting chickens and side quests, not murder and mistrust.
"You think they'll mistake me for one of them?" Inigo asked cautiously.
"If you act shady, yeah," Garrick said bluntly. "Just follow Brund's lead. Keep your mouth shut unless spoken to. Don't wave that 'toy' around."
"Got it."
Inigo leaned back, his fingers tapping idly on the grip of his Glock. The word bandits stuck in his mind. If bandits were active nearby, that could mean quests. Token-granting quests.
"Hey, quick question," he said. "Does your village have any kind of bounty board? Or, you know, a place where someone could get hired for… odd jobs?"
Garrick squinted at him again. "You looking to work?"
"More like… looking to be useful."
"Hmph. We'll see."
An hour passed before the woods finally began to thin out.
Inigo leaned forward and peeked through a small gap in the canvas—and saw it.
Valebrook.
It wasn't much—a modest village nestled in a valley clearing, surrounded by a low wooden palisade. Smoke rose from chimneys. Farmers worked small fenced plots. Children chased each other near a water pump. At the far end, a stone church rose like a sentinel, its bell tower gleaming under the morning sun.
There were no high walls. No guards on turrets. Just simple, rural life.
His heart swelled a bit. Finally. A save point.
The carriage slowed as they reached the gate. Two men with spears stood on either side, eyeing the travelers and raising the wooden barrier after a short exchange with Brund.
As the cart rolled in, people stopped and stared.
And not in a good way.
Inigo could feel it—the weight of their eyes. Suspicion. Whispers. A little girl pointed at him and tugged her mother's skirt.
"Mommy, what's that man wearing?"
The mother quickly turned her child away.
Brund halted the wagon near a central square and climbed down.
"End of the line," he said flatly. "Garrick, take the lad to the hall. Let the elder deal with him."
Garrick waved him out. "Come on."
Inigo followed, keeping his Glock hidden under his hoodie as best he could. His boots crunched softly against packed dirt as they walked toward the largest building in the village—a hall with wooden columns and a slate roof, likely the local government center.
Two guards stood outside, clearly volunteers. One wore an apron over his armor. The other was chewing on a carrot.
Garrick whispered something to them, and after a moment, they nodded and stepped aside.
Inside, the hall was warm and surprisingly clean. A large hearth burned at the far end. A map of the region was pinned to the wall, drawn in charcoal and labeled in rough script. At a long wooden table sat a woman in her fifties, gray-streaked hair tied back, spectacles perched on her nose. She looked up as they entered.
"Another stranger?" she said flatly.
Garrick shrugged. "Found him in the forest. Claims memory loss. Carries strange tools. Says he's looking for work."
The woman folded her hands. "Name?"
"Inigo."
She gestured to a stool. "Sit."
He obeyed.
"Where are you from?"
"Don't know. Memory loss."
"What do you remember?"
"…That I'm good at shooting things."
Garrick coughed beside him. The woman blinked slowly.
"I see."
She sighed and stood up. "We're short on guards. Too many mouths. Too few hands. You want work? Prove you're useful."
"Give me something to shoot," he said instinctively.
She raised an eyebrow.
He blinked. "I mean… I'm skilled in ranged combat."
"…Right. Well we do have some quests posted. Garrick, show him the board. Let him pick something small. If he survives that, we'll talk again. If not, no loss."
"Understood," Garrick said, motioning to Inigo. "Come on."
As they exited the hall, Inigo let out a low whistle. "Friendly place."
"You caught us at a bad time," Garrick muttered. "Bandits, famine, taxes, and now weirdos walking out of the forest with shiny black sticks. You think people are gonna throw you a feast?"
"Fair." Inigo couldn't really argue with that.
They crossed the square to a notice board nailed to a crooked post. Several parchment sheets fluttered in the wind, pinned with dull iron nails. Garrick pointed with the butt of his spear.
"This here is the job board. Don't expect anything glamorous. Mostly missing livestock, pest control, hauling firewood, that sort of thing."
Inigo scanned the sheets quickly. The text was readable, thankfully—whatever language it was, he could understand it. Maybe a perk from the Shop of Freedom.
[POSTED: Missing Chickens - Farmer Hobb]
[POSTED: Goblin Sightings by the Creek]
[POSTED: Wolves Near the Northern Ridge - Reward: 15 Copper]
[POSTED: Strange Noises from the Abandoned Mine - Inquiry Only]
He tapped the goblin one instinctively.
"This one. Goblins by the creek."
Garrick raised a brow. "You sure?"
Inigo checked his token count. Still at 34. Enough for ammo or a small supply purchase. But not enough for a rifle yet. If goblins gave tokens—and he assumed they would—this could be the grind he needed.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Let me handle it."
Garrick tore the parchment from the board. "Then take this to Farmer Hobb. He filed the report. Northwest edge of town. That way."
"Very well, I'll take my leave."