The Map revealed a long road stretching north, connecting several cities in an almost straight line. After closing the house, Rue and I took to the skies, carrying Al and Mahya to a spot near the road. From above, the road looked alive with activity, its steady stream of travelers creating a moving tapestry of colors and shapes. We landed in the trees invisible and paid the mana to learn the language.
The road itself was a curious blend of paved and dirt construction. Flat stones, once meticulously placed to create a smooth surface, now lay unevenly embedded into the ground, the result of countless years of heavy traffic. Dirt filled the gaps between the stones, with only the tips peeking through in irregular patches, giving the road a patchwork appearance. It wasn’t quite rustic, but it was far from modern—a pragmatic design slowly giving way to time and wear.
The scene along the road was lively, a constant hum of activity and motion. People dressed in simple, earth-toned clothes moved steadily along, many riding in carts pulled by animals that looked like oxen, though their smaller, hornless heads and thick, muscular necks gave them a unique appearance. The carts creaked as they rolled over the uneven surface, laden with goods—bundles of cloth, baskets of brightly colored fruit, and crates filled with everything from tools to what might have been pottery. Others trudged along on foot, hauling handcarts stacked precariously high with anything that could be traded, sold, or bartered.
The sounds of the road were just as rich as the visuals: the steady rhythm of hooves clopping against stone and dirt, the creak of wooden wheels straining under heavy loads, and the occasional sharp bark of a driver spurring their animals forward. Every so often, a child’s laughter or a merchant’s shout rose above the general murmur of the crowd, adding to the atmosphere of constant movement.
But not everyone traveled with such simplicity. Among the handcarts and ox-drawn wagons were the more elaborate, self-propelling carts. These stood out like peacocks in a flock of pigeons. Square and wooden, yet adorned with vibrant red and gold patterns, they sparkled with inlays of semi-precious stones that caught the sunlight. Some were modest, built to seat two passengers comfortably, while others were larger, seating four or even six. The most extravagant ones were practically rolling palaces, their decorative carvings and painted details exuding wealth and status. At the front of each cart was a raised driver’s seat, with two long poles extending on either side. The drivers manipulated the poles with a practiced precision that suggested both experience and skill. How these carts moved, though, remained a mystery. Were they powered by mana? Some kind of internal mechanism? Either way, their smooth and steady motion defied explanation and increased my curiosity.
The people themselves were not quite what I had anticipated. They were shorter than I expected, with even the tallest man I saw standing half a head shorter than me—and I’m nothing special height-wise. On the other hand, Al would tower over them like a giant. For some reason, I had expected them to look oriental, with almond-shaped eyes and straight black hair. Instead, they were unmistakably Caucasian. Their skin had a warm, sun-kissed tan, and their hair ranged from dirty blond to deep brown. The canopy of trees lining the road cast dappled shadows over them, making it hard to make out the finer details, like eye color.
Learning the language took a while—we waited until Al was satisfied and his dignity was sufficiently mollified. In the meantime, we relied on telepathic communication until we became fluent enough in the language.
We walked deeper into the trees to turn visible, then turned toward the road. Leaves crunched softly underfoot, and the faint hum of distant travelers reached us through the forest.
“I don’t think our Jeep would work here,” Mahya said, glancing toward the packed road with a thoughtful frown. “Bikes and ATV?”
“The nearest city is close. We should proceed on foot and judge the situation,” Al suggested in a measured tone.
Mahya nodded. “Yeah, good idea,” she agreed, scanning the surroundings.
We merged into the sea of traffic, and Rue immediately became the center of attention. Some people recoiled in fear, while others stared at him in fascination, their expressions filled with awe. Rue, ever the showman, lifted his nose high and padded forward regally, as if all the attention were beneath him. I had to stifle a laugh and heard Mahya snort in amusement.
We walked along, taking in our surroundings and listening to the hum of conversations around us. Suddenly, a shout from behind caught my attention. Turning, I spotted three youths in fancy clothes, spears in hand, approaching us quickly.
“Trouble,” I whispered.
The youths caught up to us, their footsteps crunching against the road as they closed the gap. The one in front was decked out in an elaborate white robe embroidered with gold and red threads, the shimmer catching the light with every dramatic grand gesture he made. The other two wore gray robes with green embroidery—less flashy but clearly a uniform. It was considerate of them to color-code themselves, saving me the trouble of guessing who was in charge.
The ring leader strode up to me with all the swagger of someone who thought the world owed him an explanation. He tilted his nose so high in the air I wondered if he could even see me. Then, with a grand flourish of his hand, he demanded, “You will surrender that beast to me.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
I blinked. “Why?”
He froze mid-flourish, his confident smirk crumbling as if I’d just asked him to recite advanced calculus. His brows shot up, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and for a moment, he just stared. Then, as if rebooting, he blinked rapidly and glanced over his shoulder at his lackeys, who were standing stiffly like decorative props. Apparently, they had no backup answers to offer either.
His posture snapped back into stiffness, and he thrust his spear forward with what I assumed was supposed to be authority. “Because I said so!”
I tilted my head and shrugged. “That’s not a good enough reason,” I replied, keeping my tone light and reasonable.
His face reddened, his eyes narrowing as he let out a high-pitched, indignant, “Do you know who I am?”
I frowned. “Nope, can’t say I do. Should I?”
His jaw dropped, his eyebrows nearly flying off his forehead as his mouth hung open in a perfect ‘O’ of disbelief. For a moment, he just stood there, completely stunned. Then, with a dramatic leap backward, he shrieked, “Whispering Spear, Flowing Water!” and lunged at me, spear first.
I sidestepped and caught the spear mid-thrust with one hand. “What exactly are you doing?”
He tried to yank the spear out of my hand a few times, but I didn’t let go. He tried so hard he looked constipated, but couldn’t free his spear. “I’m exchanging pointers with you!” He finally said, his voice cracking on the last word.
“To exchange something, you need to offer something and ask for something in return. Or ask for something and offer something in return. All you’re doing is trying to stab me. Where’s the ‘exchange’ in this exchange of pointers?”
Behind me, I could hear Mahya snorting, barely stifling her laughter, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. I ignored her for now, keeping my focus on Mr. Whispering Spear.
His face turned redder than his embroidery as he stared at me, utterly dumbfounded. His expression screamed disbelief, his eyes wide, as though I were an alien that had just crash-landed on his very sensible planet.
Yes, buddy, I thought. I am an alien. But between the two of us, you’re the crazy one here.
“I never!” he spluttered, his outrage bubbling over like a pot left too long on the stove.
“Never what?” I asked, leaning in. “Never opened a dictionary? That’s obvious.”
The corners of my mouth twitched as his sputtering reached new heights, his face contorted into a mix of fury and utter confusion. Behind me, Mahya’s choking turned into full-on wheezing laughter.
“I am the scion of House Boan! You will show your respect!” he shouted, his face flushed with righteous indignation as he jabbed his spear into the ground for emphasis.
I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms as I looked him over. “Why should I respect you? First, you demanded I give you my friend, then you tried to stab me, and when that didn’t work, you started shouting your daddy’s name and demanding respect,” I said, my voice calm but pointed. “If you had spoken to me like a regular person from the start, I would have respected you as a fellow person. So what exactly do you want? You accosted us on the road with strange demands, and I have no idea what you want.”
His face twisted with fury, and he pointed a trembling finger at Rue. “You will give me that beast to absorb its core and become stronger!” he bellowed. “If not, all the might of House Boan will come down on your head. Your family will be eradicated root and stem, and I will watch and laugh.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Rue moved before I could say a word. He padded over to the idiot with deliberate steps, his tail swishing once behind him. Stopping just inches away, he stretched to his full height, towering over the youth like a shadow cast by a mountain. Lowering his head slightly, Rue stared down at the boy, his purple eyes glowing faintly.
“Small human want to exchange things,” Rue said, his deep voice rumbling in the air like distant thunder. “He want to devour Rue. In fair exchange, Rue devour small human.”
I froze, staring at Rue, my mouth hanging open. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. The words weren’t telepathic. They came out loud, clear, and perfectly audible, just like the animals I’d treated.
“How did you do that?” I sent to him, my thoughts still scrambled from the shock.
“Wolf friends teach Rue,” he replied telepathically, his tone casual, as though speaking aloud was no big deal.
I blinked, my gaze flicking back and forth between Rue and the scion of House Boan, whose face was quickly draining of color. This day just kept getting stranger. Then, a sharp, unmistakable smell hit my nose, making me wrinkle it instinctively. My eyes dropped to the ground, where a small puddle was spreading beneath the so-called scion’s feet.
I shook my head slowly, my mouth opening, then closing again. Words failed me entirely.
Mahya was doubled over, laughing so hard she was wheezing. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched her sides, her attempts to speak reduced to gasps and garbled chuckles. Even Al, ever the stoic, couldn’t keep it together. Though he hadn’t outright burst into laughter, his body shook with suppressed mirth, and his scrunched-up face betrayed the effort it took to hold it in. A small, stifled snort escaped him, and that seemed to tip Mahya over the edge again, sending her into another fit of hysterics.
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face as Rue remained utterly composed, his gaze fixed on the trembling youth before him.
I stood there, completely at a loss for how to resolve the situation. Thankfully, one of the sidekicks stepped up—or slithered up, rather—with a solution of his own. Leaning close to the idiot, he whispered something into his ear, glancing nervously at Rue as he did so.
The idiot blinked, his frozen expression breaking as if the words had jolted him back to life. Without another word, he jumped back, pointing a trembling finger in my direction. “You will regret this!” he shrieked, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence.
Then, in a flurry of robes and flapping arms, he spun on his heel and bolted down the road, heading in the opposite direction from where we were going. His two lackeys scrambled after him, casting hurried glances over their shoulders as if expecting Rue to chase them down. Rue didn’t move an inch, but his steady, predatory gaze followed them until they disappeared in the distance.
That broke Al, and he also doubled over.
I rubbed my face, looked at the sky, and asked, “Why me?”
I didn’t get an answer.