The next morning at dawn.

"Hmm? Where's Olekia?" Shaboray's voice rang out.

Rosen woke up blearily and looked around in confusion: "Yeah, where is Olekia?"

He had no intention of revealing the truth, as he planned to take advantage of the impending war.

Shaboray searched around but couldn't find her. He went back to his room and sat sullenly on the floor.

"Sure, she's a beauty, but something's clearly off in her head. Whoever marries her will be cursed with misfortune."

"You said it."

Rosen sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes: "Uncle, forget about her. Let's start investigating."

He couldn't rely solely on what he saw at the frost dwarf camp, since his words alone carried little weight. He had to somehow lead Shaboray there as well to settle the matter.

Shaboray sighed: "Alright, let's look into it."

After an unsatisfying but filling breakfast at the baron's castle, the two set off to investigate the ruins of the non-human camp as planned.

Logic dictated they would need a local guide, even with a map in hand.

So Shaboray requested one from the baron.

"My apologies, but I believe there is no such camp of savages, likely just a nest of wild beasts.

Furthermore, the location is deep within the Labyrinthine Mountains, with extremely treacherous terrain. No hunters dare venture that deep.

If you doubt me, feel free to ask around town."

The baron replied thusly.

Having walked the Labyrinthine Mountains himself, Rosen knew the baron wasn't lying about the confusing terrain that could easily get outsiders lost.

But claiming no locals dared enter was clearly an exaggeration and dismissal.

Yet one shouldn't make an enemy of the local lord, so it would be unwise to argue.

Besides, just the two of them were no match for the baron and his men in a fight.

Shaboray stormed off angrily from the castle, refusing to give up. "We'll pay good money, let's see if we can't find someone to lead the way!"

The two headed into town to look for a guide.

It was mainly Shaboray asking around, while Rosen followed and observed the town of Moonlight.

Arriving after nightfall yesterday by carriage, he hadn't gotten a proper look. But in daylight it was clear this was no town, but a primitive tribal settlement.

The buildings were haphazardly scattered, devoid of any planning. A minority were wooden houses, most were shacks of wood and thatch, all colored a dreary blackish-grey.

Most of the residents were gaunt and poorly dressed, the occasional better-dressed ones still had muddy hems and boots.

In contrast, White Horse immediately seemed a prosperous place, with Silvermoon Castle atop the mountain beyond reach.

Rosen also noticed the cold, even hostile attitude from the townspeople, especially the elders.

"Oh look, it's Count Bloodsucker of Olmishire!"

"I thought the envoy drank himself to death? Why are there new envoys? When will these two finally die?"

"Typical silver spoon lords of Silvermoon. I spit on your filthy money!"

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Going around asking, Shaboray was rejected at every turn. Even coins couldn't sway them.

After an hour he was drained of enthusiasm, sitting sullenly with two mugs of urine-scented cheap ale at an open-air tavern.

He loudly complained to Rosen after two big gulps:

"What's wrong with these country bumpkins? Refusing good money! No wonder this damn place stays poor!"

Rosen took a small sip of his drink, eyes darting around cautiously.

He noticed the obvious anger on the faces of some scruffy drunkards at the next table after Shaboray's outburst.

"Uncle, you may want to keep it down."

"What, they can insult us but I can't talk back? I spent all morning asking nicely only to get a bellyfull of frustration!"

"To hell with these yokels!"

He angrily spat on the muddy ground.

'Swish! Swish!'

Three brawny men with arms like logs stood up, clearly mine workers.

One took off his grimy felt cap and strode over, swinging it at Shaboray's face.

He yelled: "You bloodsucking leech of Silvermoon! I'll beat your face swollen!"

Of course Shaboray easily dodged it, then grabbed the man's wrist as he stood up.

"Looking to hit your father?"

The drunk miner bellowed: "Brothers! Get him! Beat him to the ground and make him eat cow dung!"

Seven or eight men immediately surrounded them, spoiling for a fight.

Seeing violence erupt, Rosen urgently called out: "Uncle, go easy! Don't injure them too badly!"

Against some country thugs, it would be a slaughter if Shaboray went all out.

"Don't worry, I know my limits!"

With a bellyfull of resentment, Shaboray welcomed the chance to vent some frustration and give them a beating.

But he still had some restraint, using just a fraction of his might.

Even so, it was a complete domination.

A short, fat, ugly brute like a giant black rat was suddenly brawling with seven or eight country men.

Shaboray was solidly built with a low center of gravity, moving nimbly and steadily. Their blows barely registered.

But his fists and feet were shockingly heavy. A glancing hit made them yelp in pain, faces twisted in agony.

Soon they couldn't take any more, unable to even stand, sprawled haphazardly in the mud.

Shaboray stood amongst them, kicking anyone trying to get up and knocking them back down.

Left kick, right kick, a dozen more and no one struggled anymore, just laying there loudly groaning.

It looked awful but was just superficial injury.

Much of Shaboray's anger dissipated as he stood amongst them, hands on hips, continuing to berate them.

"You louts are pathetic yet hateful, too weak to be men yet your mouths are bigger than ducks!"

One miner yelled from the ground: "You silver spoon bloodsuckers only care about moonlight stones! Moonlight stones! Moonlight stones!"

"There was a cave in, and my three sons were buried alive! Can't I complain a little?!"

Shaboray was struck speechless, looking down at the yelling miner, a man in his forties, face weathered and eyes bloodshot, with a hint of wetness in the corners.

A pang of guilt struck him, wanting to offer some consoling words but feeling anything he said would ring hollow.

After some hesitation he reached into his pocket and threw some silver coins: "Here's some money for your injuries!"

Then he said to Rosen: "Let's go, we'll find our own way without a guide. It's just the Labyrinthine Mountains, we'll manage a search ourselves!"

Rosen naturally had no objections. He went to the bar and paid for their drinks, bought some roasted mountain rats and a flask of water for provisions. Then hurried to catch up with Shaboray.

They quickly left town, arriving at the edge of the eastern woods.

A howling mountain wind blew past, already dissipating most of Shaboray's earlier intoxication. Looking ahead at the endless, dense row of towering trees, his heart started pounding anxiously.

"Rosen, can we rely on the map?"

Maps in those days were quite inaccurate, just sketching a general area and marking some major landmarks like rivers, boulders, ancient trees. Navigation depended equally on observation and luck.

Of course Rosen wouldn't admit to already knowing the way. Last night's events were neatly buried away.

So he just gave an honest reply:

"The map's not much use in the Labyrinthines. It just shows a big forested area, barely any unique landmarks."

Shaboray's brief drunk courage was completely gone, his earlier bluster deflated.

"I heard the Labyrinthines stretch over a hundred miles, filled with nothing but giant trees and rocks, all looking identical. Get lost as soon as you enter."

Seeing him cowering, Rosen had to fight back a laugh.

After a long pause he managed to restrain his amusement.

"Don't worry Uncle, I've got an excellent memory. Anywhere I've been I won't forget. Just follow me, we'll search around a bit."

Hearing Rosen say this, Shaboray felt tremendously relieved: "Thank goodness you're here, Rosen."

Just as they were about to enter, a man's voice suddenly called out from behind.

"Wait! Wait!"

They turned to see a middle-aged man in a filthy felt cap and mud-splattered coarse hemp clothes running up.

It was the miner Shaboray beat up at the tavern, who said three sons died.

Gasping for breath, he said: "M'lords, I'll...huff...take you there...but want...money!"

Shaboray was delighted but also puzzled: "What made you change your mind?"

The man caught his breath and glanced back cautiously.

Making sure no one else was around, he whispered:

"The baron says you're the bad guys, forcing us to work faster is why the mine collapsed."

"So the town hates Silvermoon. I hate it too! But m'lords seem like good men, so..."

Shaboray was very pleased: "You've got good judgement! I'd have broken your legs already if I wasn't a nice guy!"

"Yes yes m'lord, kind and generous! Now about payment?"

Shaboray immediately reached into his pocket and held out two gold crowns: "Enough?"

The man's eyes glittered at the coins. Taking them reverently, he carefully placed them into his filthy, stinking boots for safekeeping.

"Right this way, m'lords."