The forest finally began to thin, and the oppressive canopy overhead gave way to glimpses of open sky. The sun was high, its golden rays spilling onto the grassy plains that stretched out ahead. For what felt like the first time in weeks, the group could see far into the distance.
Mori was the first to break the silence. “Finally,” she breathed, shielding her eyes as she took in the expanse. “It feels like we’ve been walking through that forest forever.”
“Doesn’t it?” Neres added with a grin. “I was starting to think we’d never see the sky again.” He took a deep breath, relishing the fresh air untainted by the heavy dampness of the woods.
Boreas, however, was quieter. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the weathered walls of a town rose in the distance. He placed a hand on the hilt of his shortsword, his expression unreadable.
“That’s Dawncrest,” he said finally, his tone laced with a mix of nostalgia and tension. “The last frontier town of Verena.”
Midas looked at Boreas, noting the subtle shift in his posture. “You’ve been here before.”
“A long time ago,” Boreas replied. “When I was still in the army. Dawncrest was one of my posts. It hasn’t changed much from the looks of it.”
“What can we expect there?” Mori asked, her fingers brushing the string of her bow.
Boreas sighed. “It’s rough around the edges. A place for mercenaries, traders, and anyone looking to disappear. But it’s also one of the last places where you’ll find civilization before the wilds take over. Don’t expect much hospitality, especially if you’re strangers.”
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
“That doesn’t sound promising,” Neres muttered.
“It’s manageable,” Midas said calmly. “We’ve dealt with worse.”
The group began their descent toward the town, their footsteps crunching against the dry grass. As they approached, the walls of Dawncrest grew larger, revealing the wear and tear of years of neglect. The wooden gates were reinforced with iron but looked poorly maintained, the metal rusting in patches.
Two guards stood at the entrance, leaning lazily against their pikes. Their uniforms were mismatched and unkempt, their eyes dull with boredom.
“Look sharp,” Boreas murmured as they neared the gates. “These aren’t soldiers—they’re hired hands. Expect trouble.”
Mori straightened her posture, her hand hovering near her bow.
The guards perked up as the group approached, their gazes immediately locking onto Mori. One of them smirked, his gaze lingering far too long.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” he drawled, pushing off the wall and stepping forward. “A little too well-dressed for Dawncrest, aren’t we?”
“Travelers,” Midas replied curtly, stepping in front of Mori. His voice was calm, but there was a hard edge to it.
The second guard chuckled, leaning on his pike. “Travelers, huh? Don’t see many women like her out here. You sure you’re not lost, sweetheart?”
Mori’s hand tightened around her bowstring, but before she could respond, Midas moved.
In a blur of motion, he stepped forward, grabbing the first guard by the collar and slamming him into the gate. The second guard barely had time to react before Midas’s Star Wrought Fist struck with enough force to snap his ribs.
Both guards crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain.
Mori blinked, her hand falling away from her bow. “I had that under control,” she said, though there was no anger in her voice.
Midas glanced back at her, his expression unreadable. “I know.”
Boreas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Subtle as always, Midas.”
“I don’t tolerate disrespect,” Midas replied simply.
The commotion had drawn the attention of others. Townsfolk peered cautiously from behind stalls and windows, and a sharper, more authoritative voice barked from within the gates.
“What’s going on here?”