The evening sun bleeds a bruised purple across the horizon as heavy, dark rain clouds begin to swallow the sky.
A howling wind whips through the streets of Aval, rattling the wooden signs of the market stalls. Downstairs in the tavern, the local patrons speak in hushed, awed whispers about two blood-soaked lads who just dismantled a goblin colony and brought back the missing women.
Hearing the frantic rumors, Elsbeth and Grace practically sprint back toward the inn.
Clutching Grace's hand tightly, Elsbeth rushes up the creaking wooden stairs, her heart hammering violently against her ribs.
They burst through the door of the room and freeze.
Leonard is propped up against the pillows of his bed, a cloth packed with melting ice pressed firmly against his grotesquely swollen, bruised face. Nearby, a bare-chested Henry is methodically using a damp rag to wipe smears of dark monster blood from his skin.
Before Grace can even draw a breath to speak, Elsbeth steps forward, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "W-what happened?"
Leonard lets out a wet cough, his jaw tightening as he attempts to force himself onto his feet. Grace blurs forward, placing a firm, unyielding hand on his uninjured shoulder.
"Stay on the bed."
Sinking back into the mattress, Leonard forces a reassuring smile through his split lips. "The colony leader was significantly tougher than we expected... but we got the job done. Don't worry, both of you."
Henry looks down at the floorboards, his face tight and silent. He knows the horrific truth of what actually happened, but he lets the lie stand to protect him.
Elsbeth's shoulders droop under an invisible weight, her eyes welling with sudden tears. "It's my fault..."
Before Leonard can even formulate a response to comfort her, Henry drops into a deep bow. "Your Highness, you ordered us to protect this town, and we did exactly that. You have absolutely no reason to feel guilty.
Because of your resolve, we managed to save those women from a truly horrifying fate. I am incredibly glad that you sent us there.
Please, do not say such words—you saved lives today. Even if we got hurt in the middle of it, it is nothing. We are not seriously injured, and we will be fine."
The raw warmth of his words hits Elsbeth completely center. Deeply moved, she breaks all royal decorum and bows her head directly to him.
Henry flinches in absolute panic, instantly waving his hands to stop her. "Your Highness! You shouldn't bow to a mere commoner like me! Please, raise your head!"
Leonard lets out a soft, breathy chuckle from the bed, his remaining eye crinkling with genuine warmth. "My lady, please raise your head. We are perfectly fine with just you being present here with us."
Grace quietly observing the scene. Watching a royal princess of Liveria bow in genuine humility and gratitude to a commonner triggers a profound realization within her.
She has spent her entire life around the corrupt, arrogant nobility of the capital, and she has never seen royalty like this.
A faint, fiercely resolute smile touches Grace's lips as she thinks to herself: You have every right to sit on that throne, Your Highness. And I will do everything in my power to make sure you sit right where you belong.
A dry, hesitant cough echoes from the hallway . Everyone looks at the door to find an elderly man leaning on a wooden staff.
"I hope I am not interrupting," the old man says, his voice trembling with emotion.
"I am Brass the chief of this town. I have heard of the miracles you performed for our people today, and I am truly grateful. You are the living reincarnations of the hero Aval—there is no doubt about it."
He drops into a deep, reverent bow. "I am deeply grateful to all of you. You have brought peace back to this town... now we can finally live without fear.
If there is anything you need, please tell me. I will reward you handsomely."
Before the exhausted men can force themselves to speak, Grace steps smoothly between the chief and the bedside. "Perhaps we should speak in the adjacent room," she suggests, her tone polite but entirely unyielding.
"They are quite spent and desperately need to rest." She glances back at Elsbeth with a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back."
Grace leads the chief into her own room just beside Leonard's. The moment the wooden door clicks shut, her expression turns sharp and diplomatic. "We only did what was right, Chief. And remember, this was a direct order from the Princess of Liveria. Princess Elsbeth.
I hope you remember her name and exactly what she did for Aval today. We do not need your gold or your handsome rewards. But when the day comes that the Princess calls for your assistance, I hope you will help us in return."
The village chief blinks, completely taken aback, before bowing even lower. "I knew it... you are a true noble. Please excuse my poor manners, my lady.
But the rumors I heard from the central claimed the Princess preferred complete isolation, that she wasn't interested in the affairs of the world."
Grace's eyes flash with a dangerous intensity.
"Then you raised your head to the wrong rumors. The Princess cares about this kingdom more than anyone alive. She sees the nobles and the commoners as equals. To her, a commoner and a noble are both human."
The chief looks up, his eyes bright with profound respect. "Forgive me, my lady. If only I could show how truly grateful I am to the Princess... do not worry. The town of Aval will stand as a shield whenever the Princess of Liveria needs us."
Grace smiles smoothly, her objective fully secured. "Do not worry about it, I will convey your loyalty to the Princess. Now, please excuse me. I do not want to waste your precious time—I know how busy a town's chief must be." The chief bows deeply one last time and departs down the hall.
Grace slips back into Leonard's room, the diplomatic mask melting into a satisfied grin. "I took care of it. We officially have the town of Aval on our side now. But... we still have a problem."
Leonard shifts uncomfortably against his pillows, wincing. "What is it?"
"While the Princess and I were out, we spoke with a few traveling merchants about our upcoming route," Grace says, her arms crossing over her chest.
"They said the main highway is totally blocked by a massive rockslide. It could take a whole week for it to be opened."
She sighs heavily. "I guess we have no choice but to take the alternative route the smugglers path.
It is incredibly steep, dangerous, and completely unmaintained, meaning we will have to stay on high guard the entire time.
The only good thing is that it acts as a direct shortcut. We will reach the next town called Budsle in a single day, whereas the main route would have taken two straight days of travel."
Henry's chest tightens at the mention of staying a week. If they linger in Aval for seven days, the chances of running into that terrifying elven woman, or whatever dark past Leonard is running from, skyrocket.
"Let's take that route," Henry says firmly, his voice cutting through the room's hesitation.
"We don't have a choice. We can't stay here for a week doing nothing." He looks at Leonard, his eyes communicating the silent urgency.
"Let's just rest for now, and we will set out the moment the sun sets. Don't worry about me, I'm fine." Leonard replies in a calm voice.
Grace nods tightly in agreement. Elsbeth walks toward the threshold with Grace, pausing to cast a soft, lingering look at Leonard's battered form. "Take care...," she murmurs in a slow, quiet voice before leaving the room.
The moment the door closes, Henry practically collapses backward onto his own cot, letting out a long, ragged exhale.
"We need to buy more clothes and replace the gear we lost," he mutters into his pillow, his voice dead with exhaustion.
"Sir Leonard... you just stay here. I'll get everything once we wake up.
Leonard sinks back into his own pillows, his eyelids incredibly heavy. "Yeah... you're right. Let's rest first." Within seconds, both men drop into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Hours bleed away until a sharp, rhythmic knock on the door jolts Henry awake.
The room is dim, painted in the orange and gray hues of twilight. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, reaches for a clean shirt from the table to cover his bare chest, and pulls the door open. Grace stands in the hallway, fully geared.
"The sun is setting," she says crisply. "We have to leave right now. If you both need to buy anything, get it immediately."
Leonard stirs from the bed, sitting up, the severe swelling on his face has drastically gone down, leaving only faint, dull bruises—a testament to his rugged constitution.
He nods firmly at Henry. Slipping into a clean, black-collared shirt, Leonard adjusts his weapon belt. "We'll be back soon. Get everything else ready."
Both of them step out of the inn and into the busy twilight streets. The atmosphere has completely shifted from the afternoon.
The people of Aval turn to watch them pass, but the suspicion from earlier has entirely vanished, replaced by deep reverence.
Neighbors nudge one another, smiling warmly and calling out quiet words of thanks.
Suddenly, a frantic voice cuts through the crowd. The local food stall owner—the very same man who had violently beaten Henry when he first arrived in the village—comes rushing forward.
He stops directly in front of Henry, his chest heaving, and immediately drops into a deep, desperate bow.
"Please, forgive me, lad!" the old man cries out, his voice cracking with intense emotion. "I had no idea you were a true warrior.
I treated you like a common criminal, yet you went out there and saved my own daughter from those monsters... I am eternally grateful to you."
He frantically hands over a massive, heavy leather pouch bursting with fresh meats, freshly baked bread, and traveling snacks. "I heard a rumor that you guys are leaving tonight. This is everything I can do. Please, take it."
Henry scratches the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed by the public display. An easy, genuine smile touches his lips.
"It's alright, old man. Let's call it even. And thank you for the food, we'll need it."
The old man turns to Leonard, bowing just as deeply to express his gratitude before fading back into the crowd.
They keep moving down the road, stopping first at the local blacksmith. Leonard carefully inspects the inventory, purchasing a specialized set of small pouch bombs and a fresh row of balanced throwing blades to restock his empty bandolier.
Next, they stop at a basic clothing stall, grabbing a few durable, thick traveling tunics and trousers. With their arms full, they head back to the courtyard of the inn.
Elsbeth is already securely seated inside the wooden cabin of the carriage.
Grace stands by the wheel, waiting patiently for their return.
Henry walks over to the horses, gently patting their flanks and checking their iron shoes, while Leonard efficiently packs their newly bought luggage onto the back.
Leonard extends a firm hand to Grace, assisting her as she steps up into the carriage. With everyone secure, Leonard climbs up onto the driver's bench beside Henry, who snaps the leather reins.
The wooden wheels groan, and the carriage begins to rattle forward, steering away from the last flickering lanterns of Aval and plunging directly into the steep, uneven incline of the smuggler's path.
After a while the path shrinks into a claustrophobic corridor of ancient, gnarled oaks whose overgrown roots claw out of the dirt, ripping violently at the carriage's iron-rimmed wheels.
As twilight bleeds out, a suffocating, ink-black night swallows the mountainside. The light drizzle quickly morphs into a steady, rhythmic drumming against the wooden roof, and the air turns biting and sharp.
Leonard holds a sputtering oil lantern high, its frail amber glow barely cutting through the dense, fog-choked woods as the horses push deeper into the isolated wilderness.
Hours bleed into the dead of night, and the suffocating forest abruptly gives way to an exposed, terrifyingly narrow cliffside ridge.
Here, the wind unleashes its true fury, howling through the jagged crags and whipping the freezing rain horizontally into Leonard and Henry's chests.
Sudden, violent sheets of lightning tear the sky open in jagged violet fractures. In those split-second flashes, the sheer drop-off of the canyon is illuminated mere inches from the carriage's sliding wheels.
Henry's knuckles turn white as he pulls hard on the leather reins, his raw muscles screaming as a deafening crack of thunder scares the horses, forcing them to skid dangerously on the slick, unmaintained stone.
The ink of night slowly dilutes into a miserable, ash-gray dawn, but the daylight offers no warmth, remaining trapped behind a thick, roiling ceiling of storm clouds.
The path dips violently down from the high ridges into a low-lying, flooded gorge where the ground has completely dissolved into a treacherous soup of clay-like mire.
The carriage jolts and halts with a sickening thud as the wooden axles sink deep into the swirling mud.
Along the wayside, the rotting, moss-covered skeletons of old, abandoned smuggler wagons serve as a grim warning of the path's history.
Henry and Leonard are forced to hop down into the freezing, knee-high sludge, physically throwing their weight against the muddy wooden frame and crying out over the roar of the downpour to help the straining draft horses wrench the vehicle free.
As the heavy gray sky shifts toward a freezing afternoon, the terrain changes once more.
They push through a desolate, high-altitude graveyard of petrified, lightning-struck pine trees.
The wind whistles a hollow, haunting melody through the dead wood, spraying a freezing mist that turns the men's lips blue and numbs their hands.
The two massive draft horses are visibly hitting their absolute physical limits; thick, heavy plumes of white vapor blast from their flared nostrils, and their hind legs tremble violently with every agonizing, sliding step they take up the rocky incline.
Finally, the fading afternoon daylight dies completely, plunging the world right back into a secondary, pitch-black nightfall.
The storm reaches an apocalyptic climax, unleashing a blinding wall of roaring water and deafening thunder that reduces visibility to a few short feet.
The horses are nearly blind, moving purely on survival instinct through the swirling mud.
It is through this suffocating sheet of gray water that the jagged, rotting silhouette of a wooden entrance archway finally bleeds into view...
But as they cross the threshold into the settlement, an immediate, suffocating silence grips the area.
Henry steers the carriage to a halt. Leonard and Henry step down from the bench, their boots sinking deep into the freezing, muddy rainwater.
They look around, a heavy sense of unease settling into their chests.
The entire town is engulfed in a total, absolute blackout. Not a single lantern burns in any window; no smoke rises from the chimneys. The settlement feels completely dead.
"Are they all asleep, or what?" Henry mutters, his voice nearly drowned out by a violent crack of thunder that rips across the sky.
Realizing they cannot stay exposed, Leonard and Henry quickly help Elsbeth and Grace out of the carriage cabin, ushering the shivering women toward the closest wooden house.
Henry reaches out and pushes the front door; it swings open with a slow, eerie creak. It isn't locked.
They hurry inside, escaping the biting wind. Leonard clicks a flint and lights an old, rusted lantern sitting on a nearby table.
As the dim amber glow slowly fills the room, it reveals a chilling reality.
The house is completely normal. There are no clothes lying around, blankets and people's belongings.
Grace lets out a heavy, shivering sigh, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "Where are the people...?"
Leonard sets the lantern down, his rugged face etched with deep caution. "The rain is pouring incredibly hard out there. Perhaps they're all holed up in a central shelter where we can't see them.
It's too difficult to see what's even in front of us with this rain. Once it settles at dawn, we'll find out. Let's just rest here until then."
Grace sighs, nodding tightly as she and Elsbeth lay down on a dusty, bare wooden cot in the corner of the room.
Henry slides his back down against the rough wooden floorboards, collapsing entirely from exhaustion.
He glares out the cracked window at the pitch-black, silent streets, his hand instinctively resting near the hilt of his sword.
"We leave the absolute second this rain settles," Henry mutters into the dark, his voice tight and uneasy. "I'm getting a really, really bad feeling about this town."