But almost halfway to their destination, they were close, traversing a forest that posed a probably ambiguous danger, according to the day laborer, who skillfully handled the horse pulling the cart.
Then, Don thought to ask an interesting question:
"Gregory, where are you heading?"
"Mmm. I was heading to the village of Duskfort in Valdric, to catch the next ship to Varnok."
"Varnok?" he asked, confused.
"That's where our journey ends, Don," Miriel mentioned with a neutral and cold tone, her words tinged with skepticism about Gregory's intentions. She stood up, turning her back to them, and gazed at the laurels passing by one by one at a modest speed, the loose and crushed leaves trailing behind the wooden wheels of the cart. The downside was that the noise echoed deep into the forest, into a darkness where thugs exploited their silent hiding spots, watching for the right moment to strike.
"When he mentions Varnok, it's the beast worshipped by the people living in the Kingdom of Montesis, but curiously, only the northerners call them Varnokians… Zephyrians."
A comment to which Gregory paid no attention.
There was definitely no reason for Miriel and Don to ignore each other.
But at times, they glanced sideways.
Sometimes, their gazes met.
Yet their facial expressions never revealed any emotion toward one another—a total and complete indifference.
Miriel clung to her personality's quirks, justifying that she simply wanted to do her job or find a more interesting client for her travels. Don remained serene, suddenly curious after his brief exchange with his new "friend," Gregory. More than anything, he no longer wanted to keep traveling and yearned to return to his small, lost village.
They had been traveling for nearly six hours. The wooden wheel spokes creaked and occasionally seemed to veer slightly off their axis, jolting over moderately rocky ground. In their expressions, it didn't seem to bother Miriel, who kept watch over the forest, or the cart's owner.
Don waited silently for their arrival at the next town, still an hour away, until Miriel shouted loudly at the man to stop the cart, sensing something wrong on the road. The man refused to listen, despite Miriel insisting she was a guide dedicated to traveling the world. Apparently, the old human didn't care three Varnok's claws, and a cock, who she was or what she did.
So, he kept going, ignoring her warning. But soon, when he heard a faint noise from the forest, it was too late to regret his stupid decision.
Suddenly, the cart began to move slower and slower, as if a heavy ball were dragging it back. Gradually, it stopped completely.
At that moment, instead of staying still, Don, Gregory, and the old man didn't realize what was happening until they felt the cart being swallowed by something from below, along with an intense heat.
Miriel didn't seem surprised at all. In fact, she called the others to look. Don stretched his head out and, looking down, felt intense heat: it was lava… boiling lava. He began asking himself questions, like who could be capable of this, but then it solidified, trapping the cart and its cargo under hardened lava.
At this point, Miriel was waiting for the moment. She already knew who they were. She told everyone this was a move by thieves, but she was interrupted.
"None of them show their faces… that's not—" she said before a dagger cut through her senses, and by a hair, she dodged it in time.
Realizing too late, the dagger sped past so quickly that her reflexes couldn't catch it, grazing her and slicing a few strands of her hair. As they watched in extreme slow motion, the dagger's trajectory aimed for Gregory, but she didn't try to stop it, as if she knew its path.
No one should've been able to catch a dagger at that speed without being prepared or alert, yet Gregory snatched it with two fingers, closing them sharply, halting all its kinetic energy as if it were nothing. Though it was intentional on Miriel's part, she saw that Gregory was no ordinary person.
Don hadn't even been paying attention and was stunned when he saw what Gregory did. Quickly, Miriel shouted for the attackers to show their faces, sensing their ether flow, stinking no matter how much they tried to suppress it.
From behind the trees emerged, walking calmly, a group of four men and a teenager. Professional thieves clad in high-quality leather armor, wielding clean, well-maintained weapons, they could easily pass for bounty hunters, given the interesting and valuable items they carried.
Gregory made a comment that surprised both Miriel and Don:
"In my life, I'd never seen such well-equipped thieves. They're successful thieves," he said gracefully in this tense moment, "but well, guys, I don't participate in this. I'm an artist, not a warrior. I'll have to abandon you if they kill you."
And he sat back down calmly, as if nothing had happened.
Miriel frowned when he finished speaking. Annoyed, she leapt off the cart with Don and snapped at him:
"Do you think you can fight?"
"Of course I can."
"You better can, son of the owl."
Don looked at her but didn't reply, focusing on the four figures standing before them. Then Miriel, with two beautiful daggers hidden under her sleeves, drew them simultaneously, dropping into a crouch with a fixed, murderous gaze on her enemies. She muttered:
"Info."
The cryptocristal hooked to her waist lit up, displaying—only to her eyes—basic yet critical information about her foes.
[Loading information... /... 17%... 49%... 100%.]
[Showing information]
| Race: Human
| Gender: Male
| Name: Bruno
| Surname: Tapia
| Age: 33 years
| Class: Tank
| Skill: Colossus - lv 2
| Magic type: Blue
| Rank: 4
| Ether power: 350
| Race: Human
| Gender: Male
| Name: Vargus
| Surname: Prado
| Age: 26 years
| Class: Assassin
| Skill: Specter Mode - lv 5
| Magic type: Blue
| Rank: 4
| Ether power: 350
| Race: Human
| Gender: Male
| Name: Vulcra
| Surname: Ashend
| Age: 26 years
| Class: Sorcerer
| Skill: Fire User - lv 3
| Magic type: Blue
| Rank: 4
| Ether power: 350
Though Miriel seemed to be a traveler—a guide aiding adventurers in exploring the vast world—that life was merely a facade. Her true existence, cloaked by night, concealed her ties to the group that had once faced Don in that dark, rubble-strewn hallway, reeking of ashes.