Chapter 6: The Road to Elmswood
Mark refused to wait. His thigh was still a mess of tight, throbbing muscle and hastily applied salve, but his mind raced with the fear of economic collapse. He spent the late morning preparing, moving with a focused intensity that silenced Thomas's worried protests.
"You're going to the city, son? Alone? With that wound?" Thomas asked, hands nervously twisting the strap of his old woodsman's pack.
"I have to, Father. That hide is worth everything. We can't survive on forty shillings." Mark gently pushed him toward the bedroom door. "Stay here. Watch Mother. When I get back, we'll buy seeds, a new cow, and maybe even fix this roof."
Thomas, seeing the ruthless conviction in his son's eyes—a conviction he hadn't known Mark possessed—simply nodded, a strange mix of fear and pride on his face.
Mark took ten shillings of his seed capital and bought the cheapest cart he could find from a retired farmer: a rickety, two-wheeled affair held together mostly by hope and rust. He purchased basic rations—dry biscuits, cured meats, and a flask of sour cider. The remaining thirty shillings he wrapped tightly in linen and tucked deep inside the inner pocket of his tunic.
The massive, odiferous hide of the Variant Alpha, along with the pouches of crystal fragments and elemental glands, was carefully folded and secured inside the cart, covered by an old canvas tarp.
As he steered the cart out of the village, he looked back once at Oakhaven. It looked quaint, peaceful, and utterly bankrupt. He was leaving the world of survival for the world of business.
"Host, the Port Elmswood Expedition is commencing. Distance: 70 kilometers. Optimal travel time: 48 hours. Caution: The main King's Road is populated by transient low-tier monsters, rival couriers, and high-risk bandit groups. Maintain a low profile," Jarvis advised.
"Low profile? I'm pulling a cart with a giant, dead mutant fox under a tarp, Jarvis. We smell like a traveling slaughterhouse."
"Irrelevant. The scent is masked by the woodsman's wintergreen distillate. However, the visible limp and the cheap nature of the cart classify you as [Low-Value Target: Easy] to professional groups. Recommendation: Prepare for a social encounter at the first checkpoint."
The King's Road was wide but poorly maintained—a dirt path carved through dense pine and oak forests. It was an intimidating sight for Mark, who had barely left the confines of his village in his short life here. Towering trees crowded the shoulders of the road, giving way to the oppressive silence of the wild lands.
By midday, Mark's thigh was screaming. He realized his Level 3 attributes were still utterly inadequate for this kind of physical labor, even with the Agility and Strength buffs. The thought of fighting even a single stray Goblin-Fox made him dizzy.
"Jarvis, is my Reader/Courier class completely useless for combat, or am I just weak?"
"Both, Host. The Reader/Courier class specializes in memory storage, navigation, and cognitive processing speed. It is a support class. Your current combat capability is almost entirely reliant on the [Basic Stone Skin] skill, which has an unacceptable cool-down period. You are effectively Level 3, but operating at a Level 0 combat profile."
Mark sighed. "So, if a real threat appears, I just die."
"Correct. Therefore, the strategy remains: Do not engage in combat. Utilize [Basic Negotiation (Lvl 1)] to mitigate social threats."
The opportunity to test that strategy arrived sooner than expected.
Late that afternoon, where the King's Road crossed a narrow, stone-built bridge over a fast-flowing creek, a large, official-looking checkpoint had been erected. It was manned by two stern-looking men in ill-fitting, stained leather uniforms—local guards tasked with collecting toll, and possibly, something more.
One guard, a thick-necked man with a scarred cheek, stepped into the road, holding a rusty pike across the path. "Halt! Toll is 3 Copper Pieces per axle, and a standard transit fee of 5 Copper Pieces for livestock or cargo."
Mark mentally counted the cost: 11 Copper Pieces. He could afford it, but Mark was no longer paying for services he didn't need.
"Good afternoon, Officer," Mark said, pulling the cart to a stop and leaning heavily on the cheap wood. He made sure the guard saw his slight limp and the pale exhaustion on his face. He deliberately avoided making eye contact, instead focusing on the ground, projecting non-threatening weariness.
"Toll is 11 Copper, boy. Pay it and move on."
Mark pulled out a pouch that held only copper and counted out the 11 pieces. He paused, holding the coins out.
"I understand the toll, Officer. But I should inform you, on the authority of the Church, that I am not carrying livestock or cargo. I am a Specialized Courier transporting materials for Brother Elara of the Unified Light Church."
The guard frowned. "What materials? I need to inspect the cargo."
"Host, deploy [Basic Negotiation (Lvl 1)] now. Utilize the Church reference and the perceived risk of the cargo," Jarvis prompted.
Mark took a breath and activated the skill. He felt a tiny, almost imperceptible shift in his confidence, a fractional reduction in the lump of fear in his throat.
"You don't want to do that, Officer," Mark said, his voice dropping to a low, respectful, but incredibly serious tone. "What's under that tarp is the stripped hide of the Variant Alpha Goblin-Fox—the one that terrorized Oakhaven. It's on emergency transport to the mages of Port Elmswood for elemental neutralization, as commanded by the Church. Those things stink of death, Officer, and they carry a residual contamination of the Earth element. If you break the seal, you'll taint your weapon and your uniform."
The guard hesitated. The story of the Alpha's death was already spreading, embellished and sensationalized. A low-tier guard, terrified of being polluted by monster essence, was exactly the target Mark needed.
"You're carrying a beast corpse?" the guard asked, his eyes widening slightly as he unconsciously stepped back from the cart. "Why didn't you just say that?"
Mark replied with exaggerated weariness. "Because I am an Elemental Courier. I only deal with high-value, high-risk contamination. The toll applies to trade goods, Officer, not bio-hazards."
The second guard, who had been leaning against the checkpoint booth, suddenly stood upright. "If it's contamination, let him through. We're not paid enough to touch that muck. Just pay the axle toll, Courier."
Mark smiled internally. The [Basic Negotiation] skill had reduced the guards' reluctance by 10%, which, combined with the power of fear and bureaucracy, was enough.
He paid the 6 Copper Pieces for the axle toll and put the remaining 5 Copper Pieces back into his pocket.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Officers. May the Light protect your station." Mark gave a respectful, if slightly stiff, bow and pulled the cart forward.
"Negotiation Check: Success. Result: 5 Copper Pieces saved. Trustworthiness Rating: Established as [Eccentric But Official]. Efficiency: 100%," Jarvis summarized.
Mark sighed, relieved. It wasn't glorious, but it was profit.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Mark pushed himself until the late evening, finally collapsing in a clearing just off the main road. He ate his dry biscuits and nursed his wound, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the deep forest.
He thought of Elias's steady breathing and Thomas's grateful face. He had saved them from death, and now he was going to save them from ruin.
The following day brought rolling hills, increasing traffic, and the slow, inevitable creep of civilization. The farms grew larger, the carts more polished, and the people on the road looked healthier and better dressed. The world grew more complex, and Mark kept his tarp secure and his mouth shut, allowing his [Eccentric But Official] reputation from the checkpoint to precede him.
Late that afternoon, Jarvis's warning suddenly blared in his mind:
"Warning: High-Density Population Anomaly Detected. Unlocking [Urban Navigation Module]."
Mark pushed the cart over the crest of the final hill, and there it was: the capital.
Port Elmswood City.
It was an overwhelming sight. Massive stone walls, easily sixty feet high, encircled the city, broken only by immense, heavily fortified gates. Behind the walls, towers of carved granite and polished white marble rose into the sky, dwarfing the pine forests that surrounded them. The very air felt different here—charged with raw magic, the scent of coal smoke, commerce, and distant sea salt.
A line of people snaked toward the main gate, where armored city guards stood like statues, overseeing the flow of goods and people. Mark swallowed hard, the magnitude of the task ahead—selling a rare monster part to an urban mage who would try to swindle him—suddenly felt monumental.
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"Host, Port Elmswood City is a Level 8 urban environment. Your current Charisma rating is 8. Your [Basic Negotiation] skill is insufficient for profitable interaction. Further planning is mandatory before entry."
Mark reached the end of the line, staring up at the massive, rune-etched gates. He was finally here. The next move determined whether he was a savior or just another failure.
"Jarvis," Mark whispered, his gaze fixed on the gleaming, powerful city. "What's the first step to surviving a city full of Level 8 crooks when you're only a Level 3 trash man?"
[AUTHOR NOTE SAME RULE, 5 POWER STONE = 3 NEW CHAPTER
AND
5 HONEST REVIEW = 3 NEW CHAPTER]
**** everyday 8:30 pm 'evening' new chapter ****