Chapter 113: News

Chapter 113: Chapter 113: News

"I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." — Robert Frost

The eastern trade road grew narrower and lonelier with every passing mile.

The broad dirt turnpikes gradually gave way to winding tracks, their surfaces softened by rain and choked with fallen pine needles. Ancient trees crowded the roadside, their thick branches blocking much of the sunlight. Mountain fog drifted between their trunks, sometimes growing so dense that Riven could barely see a dozen steps ahead.

The farther east he traveled, the fewer people he encountered.

A handful of merchants passed him during the first day. On the second, he saw only a pair of hunters returning from the forest with a cart full of pelts. By the third morning, the road had become little more than a muddy trail winding through the timberlands.

Riven didn’t mind.

The silence was preferable to the crowded streets of the capital. There were no nobles trying to measure his worth, no guild officials asking him to explain his abilities, and no strangers attempting to pry into his past.

Just the road, the rain, and Nyx.

The little Wyvern had become increasingly comfortable traveling outside his shadow. She often perched on his shoulder, her dark scales blending with the fabric of his clothes. Occasionally, she would stretch her wings and glide between the trees before returning to him.

Riven allowed it as long as she stayed nearby.

He wasn’t particularly worried about the journey itself. The foothills were dangerous, but not enough to trouble him. Most creatures in the region would avoid a confrontation with him.

And if they didn’t, well, that was their problem.

By the afternoon of the third day, the trees began to thin.

The trail descended toward a wide valley where a cluster of buildings stood beneath the gray sky. Timber framed houses and low stone structures gathered around a muddy central road. Smoke rose from several blacksmith forges, while a wooden palisade surrounded the outer edge of the settlement.

A river cut through the valley beyond the city walls.

Riven slowed as he approached the gate.

A pair of guards stood beneath a wooden awning, their armor weathered by years of rain and use. One of them glanced at Riven’s hood, then at Nyx.

"Traveling alone?"

"More or less."

The guard’s eyes lingered on the creature perched on his shoulder.

"What’s that?"

"Nyx."

The guard waited for more.

Riven didn’t provide any.

The man sighed and waved him through.

"Welcome to Vaelen’s Ford. Keep your creature under control, and don’t start trouble."

"Okay"

Riven passed through the gate.

Vaelen’s Ford was a rugged provincial frontier city, far removed from the polished streets of the capital. Its buildings were mostly timber and stone, with narrow alleys connecting the main road to the lower docks. The smell of wet wood, coal smoke, and river mud hung in the air.

Merchants moved between stalls beneath makeshift awnings. Blacksmiths hammered away inside open workshops, their sparks briefly illuminating the rain. A few mercenaries stood near the city square, arguing over a contract while a tired looking clerk attempted to keep them from shouting.

It was an ordinary frontier settlement.

Riven found that reassuring.

He had no desire to draw attention to himself. He needed a place to rest, a meal, and perhaps a little information.

The rain had begun to intensify by the time he reached the lower docks.

Cold droplets slipped beneath his hood and ran down the back of his neck. Nyx shifted against his shoulder, clearly displeased with the weather.

Riven glanced at her.

"You’re the one who wanted to fly."

Nyx gave a quiet hiss.

"Don’t look at me like that."

He spotted a tavern tucked between a supply shop and a small warehouse. A weathered wooden sign hung above the entrance, its painted lettering nearly obscured by years of rain.

The tavern was crowded.

That made it useful.

Riven pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Warm air rolled over him, carrying the smell of stale ale, roasted mutton, damp wool, and smoke. The room was dimly lit by lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Merchants and mercenaries crowded the tables, speaking loudly over the clinking of mugs and the occasional burst of laughter.

Riven pulled his hood lower and moved toward a secluded corner.

A few patrons glanced at him as he passed. Their attention lingered briefly on his unusual clothing and the creature resting around his arm, but nobody seemed interested enough to approach.

Good.

He settled into a corner table where the shadows pooled thickest.

Nyx coiled neatly around his forearm, her obsidian scales blending with his dark sleeve. Her luminous violet eyes remained fixed on the tavern door.

Riven rested his hands on the table.

A serving woman approached.

"What’ll it be?"

"Broth. Something warm."

"Anything else?"

"That’s enough."

She nodded and moved away.

Riven leaned back in his chair.

The tavern was exactly the sort of place he had hoped to find. People came here to eat, drink, and talk. Most of them were too occupied with their own problems to pay much attention to anyone else.

And in frontier towns, information was often more valuable than coin.

Riven listened as the conversations around him drifted through the room.

A merchant complained about a shipment delayed by flooding. Two hunters argued over the tracks of a large beast spotted near the timberline. A group of guards discussed the rising cost of maintaining the eastern roads.

Nothing particularly useful.

His bowl arrived a few minutes later.

Riven thanked the serving woman and began eating.

The broth was plain, but hot. He took a few slow sips, allowing the warmth to settle in his stomach while he continued listening.

Then a conversation at the neighboring table caught his attention.

"Did you hear the chatter coming out of the central provinces?" a mercenary muttered.

His companion took a drink from his mug.

"Depends. What kind of chatter?"

The scarred man leaned closer.

"They’re saying the Sword Saint has reappeared."

Riven’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.

For a moment, the surrounding noise seemed to fade.

The Sword Saint.

He lowered the spoon slowly.

"The Sword Saint?" the other mercenary scoffed. "Old Master Kaelen? I thought he died during the dungeon expedition?"

"That’s what everyone thought."

Riven remained still.

His eyes had narrowed slightly beneath his hood.

Lakeside City.

The name meant little to him on its own, but the Sword Saint was another matter.

Elara had trained under the Sword Saint.

The woman who had helped him survive the Abyss, who had corrected his swordplay, and who had taught him to move with purpose rather than simply relying on strength.

Her techniques carried the unmistakable influence of that school. Every lesson, every correction, and every disciplined movement had been shaped by the martial tradition she had inherited.

If the Sword Saint had truly returned, the news would reach her.

And if she learned that her master was alive, she would have a reason to seek him out.

Riven lowered his spoon into the bowl.

That’s convenient.

He considered the possibility carefully.

Elara had been trapped in the Abyss for years. She had spoken little about her past, but he knew the Sword Saint and his order were important to her. The burden of her lineage had followed her even into the depths of that place.

If she had returned to the surface, she might have been searching for her master already.

A rumor like this could change everything.

She wouldn’t ignore it.

Not if there was even a chance that the Sword Saint was alive.

Riven leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the neighboring table.

If she knows, she’ll head to Lakeside City.

It was a reasonable assumption.

Not a certainty.

But it was the first useful lead he had found since leaving the Demon Empire.

He had spent the past several days traveling east without a clear direction. He knew only that Elara had been scattered somewhere across the surface when the emergency gate opened.

Now he had a destination.

Lakeside City.

The crystal basin.

If Elara was searching for the Sword Saint, that was where he needed to go.

Riven glanced down at Nyx.

The wyvern had been watching him closely.

"What?"

Nyx tilted her head.

Riven gave a faint, almost amused smile.

"Looks like we have somewhere to be."

He finished the broth, set the bowl aside, and reached into his pocket.

A silver coin landed on the scarred wooden table.

Riven stood.

His movement was quiet enough that the mercenaries at the neighboring table barely noticed him. He adjusted the edge of his hood, then glanced once more toward the two men.

The scarred mercenary was still speaking.

"Apparently, the guild has sent people to verify the report. If the Sword Saint really is alive, every major faction in the region will want to know why he’s returned."

His companion grunted.

"That sounds like trouble."

"It always is when someone that powerful disappears for years."

Riven walked past them.

He had no interest in hearing the rest.

The tavern door opened, letting in a gust of cold air. Riven stepped outside, and the door closed behind him.

Rain struck his hood and shoulders.

The street was slick with mud, and lanterns flickered along the lower docks. The river beyond the buildings moved beneath the gray sky, its surface broken by the steady fall of rain.

Riven stood beneath the tavern’s awning for a moment.

Lakeside City was three days’ hard ride or five days’ march across the basin, according to the conversation he had overheard. He would need to find a suitable route, perhaps a merchant heading in that direction, but the distance was manageable.

He had a new destination.

And for the first time in several days, the road ahead seemed less uncertain.

Riven glanced at Nyx.

"Come on."

Nyx climbed from his forearm to his shoulder, settling against the dark fabric.

He stepped out into the rain.

The streets of Vaelen’s Ford stretched ahead, crowded with merchants and travelers seeking shelter from the weather. Riven moved through them without drawing much attention, his hood concealing his face.

He would find a way to reach Lakeside City.

He would follow the rumor.

And if the Sword Saint was truly alive, then perhaps the search for Elara would finally lead somewhere.

Riven adjusted his cloak and continued into the wet evening.

"Let’s hope she’s there," he murmured.

Nyx gave a quiet hiss.

Riven glanced at her.

"Or at least knows where to go next."

Then he disappeared into the crowd, leaving the tavern behind and carrying the first real lead of his search with him.