For a while, the road remained wide and well-kept, pressed smooth by steady traffic between Verdance and its neighboring settlements. The forest here bore the marks of maintenance—trimmed undergrowth, carved drainage grooves, faint boundary markers etched into tree bark.
He passed a pair of merchants heading toward the city, wagon wheels creaking under bundled goods. They glanced at him briefly and moved on without interest.
Civilization still lingered in the air.
But it thinned with each step.
The carved markers became less frequent. The road narrowed. Roots began pushing through the packed earth unchecked. The hum of distant activity faded until only wind and the occasional call of birds remained.
The last signpost he passed bore weathered lettering, half-erased by time and rain.
Beyond it, the land felt less claimed.
Riven adjusted the pouch at his belt and continued.
It was only after the path had quieted fully—after Verdance felt like something behind him rather than beside him—that the road split.
One branch curved gently toward open farmland. The other angled upward, less traveled, rockier underfoot.
Riven slowed, reached into his ring, and drew out the silver disc.
The green needle steadied.
Toward the farmland.
He put it away and followed.
Soon a town appeared in front.
First came a broken fence. Then the faint smell of smoke. Finally, the edge of a roofline peeking above scrub brush.
Riven adjusted course and entered without ceremony.
It was the kind of settlement that existed because it had to, not because it prospered. Timber walls. Dirt streets. A general store that doubled as a storage shed. A blacksmith's shack with tools hung outside to imply credibility.
He paused outside the store.
He had meant to stock up in Verdance.
He hadn't.
The realization irritated him faintly.
Inside, the shopkeeper barely looked up. Riven selected several sets of simple travel clothes—undyed, rough-spun, cheap. The stitching was uneven in places. The fabric thin.
But they would serve.
Quantity mattered more than quality.
Outside, once he was certain no one watched too closely, he slipped them into his ring in a single motion.
He didn't want to run out of clothes again.
The town faded behind him quickly. The road stretched ahead in long, uneven lines, broken by stone and shallow ruts carved by cart wheels. Smoke thinned in the distance. The scent of livestock gave way to dry earth and wind.
For a while, nothing happened.
He walked.
Step.
Breath.
Step.
The simplicity should have been calming.
It wasn't.
There was a restless edge under his thoughts. A pressure that had nowhere to go. Verdance had dulled it briefly with movement and decisions and structure.
Now it surfaced again.
The memory of the travel with Yue Lin. And her absence now. The weight of Vaern in his ring.
He exhaled slowly.
The forest ahead shifted slightly.
Birds lifted from a patch of trees too suddenly. A foot scraped against stone where there should have been none.
Riven didn't slow.
He recognized it almost immediately.
An ambush.
A small, sharp part of him felt something close to anticipation.
Good.
Five men stepped onto the path ahead.
Blades drawn. Smirks rehearsed. Confidence borrowed from numbers.
"Hand it over," one called, eyes flicking toward the pouch at Riven's belt judgingly. "Whatever's in that."
Riven didn't answer.
The first man lunged, unwilling to wait.
Riven stepped aside before the blade had fully committed, striking the attacker's wrist with precise force. Bone cracked cleanly. The sword dropped.
He moved without pause.
A pivot.
A heel driving into ribs.
A palm to a throat that stole breath instantly.
The others reacted too slowly.
Riven didn't rush.
He didn't need to.
Each strike landed exactly where intended. Knees buckled. Wrists snapped. A shoulder dislocated under controlled torque. No wasted motion. No wasted strength.
It lasted less than half a minute.
When it was done, five men lay on the ground groaning, clutching broken limbs and gasping for air.
Riven stood still for a moment.
His breathing was steady.
None of them had been stronger than the Inner Essence Realm.
He hadn't needed qi.
His body alone had been enough.
He exhaled quietly, the faintest lift touching one corner of his mouth.
It was a good change of pace.
A chance to vent.
He stepped over one of the bandits and continued down the path.
Thanks.
Ten steps later, he stopped.
…Right.
He turned back.
One by one, he checked their pockets and belts, collecting loose coin, a pair of passable daggers, a ring that turned out to be worthless metal. Nothing impressive.
He stored it all without hesitation.
It didn't feel wrong.
They had chosen their trade.
A bandit writhed on the ground, trying weakly to push himself upright. Riven didn't spare him a second glance.
They were fortunate he hadn't killed them.
It wasn't that he couldn't.
After what had happened with Yue Lin, dealing with random bandits would be effortless.
But he didn't need to.
Riven turned and resumed walking, the forest swallowing the groans behind him.
He didn't feel like dirtying his hands any further.
That night, he built a small fire beside a rock outcrop.
The wind was stronger here, carrying the scent of dry grass and distant water. The compass lay beside him, its glow steady and unchanged.
Sometimes the quiet pressed harder than noise.
Another journey surfaced uninvited.
Another road.
Another fire.
Another presence across from him.
Yue Lin had never filled silence with useless conversation. She had walked slightly ahead most of the time, posture composed, gaze scanning terrain without obvious tension.
But still the absence beside the fire felt tangible.
Riven stared into the flames for a moment too long.
Then he reached forward and broke a branch cleanly in half, feeding it into the fire.
Watching Yue Lin build fires all that time had taught him a thing or two.
He lay down without further thought and rose before dawn.
The terrain shifted gradually as he continued.
Forest thinned into rolling land. Rolling land sharpened into uneven stone ridges. The trade path reappeared intermittently, then vanished again.
The compass never wavered.
With each stretch of ground covered, the direction felt less abstract. Less theoretical.
He was moving toward something real now.
Eventually, the land rose abruptly.
A tall hill stood alone against the horizon—steep-sided, its summit crowned by a single immense tree. The trunk was thick enough to dwarf structures below, its canopy spreading wide and casting long shadow down the slope.
At its base sat a village.
Small. Weathered. Practical.
Riven slowed as he approached.
This matched the mission description.
He stepped into the village, drawing a few wary glances from those still outside at this hour.
Riven stopped.
He drew out the compass.
The green needle cut cleanly forward.
Past the hill.
Past the village.
Beyond.
The sect was still further.
He closed his hand around the disc and slipped it back into his ring.
One task at a time.
His gaze lifted toward the biggest residence in the town.
He was supposed to notify the villager elder of his arrival.
He crossed the packed dirt road without hesitation.
The largest structure in the village stood slightly elevated from the rest—not grand, but sturdier. Thicker timber beams. A wider roof. Windows with shutters that had actually been maintained.
Authority, in a place like this, was measured in durability.
Riven stepped up to the door and knocked once.
It opened after a brief pause.
An older man stood there, shoulders slightly stooped but eyes sharp despite the age lining his face. His gaze flicked over Riven quickly—clothes, posture, weapons.
"Mercenary?" the elder asked.
"Yes."
The man nodded once and stepped aside. "Come in."
The interior was warmer than expected. A central table occupied most of the space. A kettle simmered faintly in the corner.
Riven took two steps inside—
And stopped.
He wasn't alone.
A figure stood near the far wall, wrapped in dark robes that swallowed detail. The hood cast shadow over most of his face, leaving only a faint outline of jaw and mouth visible. His posture was relaxed, but not idle.
Another presence stood beside the table.
A girl.
Slightly taller than Riven, with shoulder-length hair that brushed the top of her collar. Her armor was a strange blend—structured chestplate and bracers like a knight's, but paired with layered fabric that fell into a skirted design.
Authority radiated from her in a way that had nothing to do with age.
But that wasn't what made him pause.
His eyes settled on the emblem fixed to her chest.
A crest he recognized immediately.
The Knight's Order.