CHAPTER 47: QUESTIONS

The rented horses’ hooves clopped steadily against the dirt road as Wade and Rowan made their way beyond the walls of Hiving.

The city slowly receded into the background, its towers shrinking against the horizon, while rolling fields stretched out ahead of them in waves of green and gold.

The morning air was crisp, carrying with it the scent of freshly turned soil.

Farmers were already at work in the distance, bent over their crops or guiding oxen along plow lines.

Wade shifted slightly in the saddle, the leather creaking under his weight.

"You know," he muttered, "riding sounds a lot more romantic until you’re actually doing it for an hour straight. My legs are killing me."

Rowan chuckled from Wade’s side, his own horse snorting like it could understand their conversation. "You’ll get used to it. Or, at least, you’ll stop complaining as much."

"I doubt that." Wade winced as his horse trotted over a dip in the road. "If I’m not sore tomorrow, I’ll count it as a miracle."

Rowan only smirked, his eyes scanning the path ahead. "Focus on the job. We’re almost there."

Wade narrowed his eyes. "So, why are we going to the man?"

"Because monster behavior doesn’t always stay consistent." Rowan answered. "And sometimes, ordinary humans can mistake a monster for something else. So, we have to ask questions of our own, so that we can be sure of the details."

"I see."

The road eventually dipped into a small cluster of houses. They were plain wooden structures with thatched roofs and smoke trailing lazily from chimneys.

Chickens scratched in the dirt, and children stopped mid-play to watch the horse and its riders pass through.

The people here were simple folk, their clothing patched but clean, their expressions weary but kind.

Rowan slowed the horse to a walk, pulling it toward a larger house at the edge of the cluster.

The fence surrounding it was sturdier than the others, and the small field behind it looked half-devastated, rows of plants uprooted, their stalks gnawed and chewed to stumps.

"That looks promising," Wade muttered dryly.

Rowan dismounted smoothly, eyeing the property. "Come on. This should be the farmer who posted the quest."

Wade also dismounted, and they tied their horses to the fence post, before walking up the short path.

Rowan rapped on the wooden door, and after a moment, it creaked open.

A middle-aged man with a lined face peered out.

He wore a roughspun shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his hands still dusty from work.

His eyes flicked from Rowan to Wade, cautious but hopeful.

"You’re from the guild?" the farmer asked, voice low, as if afraid of being overheard.

"That’s right," Rowan replied, his tone professional. "We’re here about your beetle problem. You’re the one who posted the quest?"

"Aye, that’s me." The man opened the door wider, gesturing for them to step inside. "Name’s Toman. Come in, come in. No sense talking out in the open."

The interior was humble but neat, with a table in the center and shelves lined with clay jars.

The smell of dried herbs clung to the air.

Toman’s wife lingered near the hearth, her eyes flicking nervously towards the windows.

Rowan pulled out a chair and sat, while Wade leaned against the table, arms crossed.

"We’ll need details," Rowan said. "The more we know, the better chance we have of fixing this."

Toman nodded, his fingers tapping restlessly against the tabletop. "They came two weeks ago."

He paused.

"At first, we thought it was just a few strays. Big beetles digging around in the soil. But then they came back, in greater numbers."

Wade frowned. "How many are we talking?"

Toman hesitated, then said, "Between ten and twenty, give or take. But it could be more. They’re hard to count."

"They move fast, burrow deep, and they don’t always attack at once. Usually, they send out scouts, then more follow if they find food."

Rowan leaned forward. "So, they have a nest nearby?"

"Aye." Toman nodded grimly. "Just past the fields, near the old stone wall."

"I found their burrow when I was chasing them off my crops. The ground there is loose, tunneled through. You can hear them scratching sometimes if you stand quiet enough."

"Lovely." Wade muttered. "Anything else we should know? Weaknesses? Something the guild left out?"

Toman scratched his chin. "Their shells are hard as stone, hence the name. Blades can glance right off if you don’t strike true. But they’re not invincible."

"Their underbellies are softer and easier to pierce. Catch them flipped, or strike when they rear up, and you can kill them."

"Good to know," Rowan said, nodding thoughtfully. "What about their behavior? Aggressive? Do they scatter or swarm?"

"They swarm." Toman’s face tightened. "One starts, the rest follow."

"They don’t stop until they’ve eaten everything green in sight. Crops, weeds, even bark off the trees. And if they’re hungry enough, they’ll attack livestock too."

"Sounds like a plague," Wade said, shaking his head.

"It is," Toman agreed bitterly. "We’ve tried burning the burrow, but the smoke just drives them deeper. We tried smashing them ourselves, but our tools broke against their shells. That’s why I posted the quest."

Rowan folded his arms. "Alright. We’ll head to the burrow and assess it ourselves."

"We can’t guarantee every last beetle will be gone today, but we’ll do enough damage to drive them off and give you some breathing room."

Toman exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "That’s all we ask, adventurers. Just give us peace to tend our fields. The harvest depends on it."

Rowan stood, nodding firmly. "You’ll have it."

Wade glanced at the man’s wife, who was still hovering nervously near the hearth. "Don’t worry. We’ll handle it."

With that, they stepped back outside.

Wade tightened the strap of his sword across his back, glancing at Rowan.

"So... ten to twenty beetles, maybe more. Hard shells, swarm tactics. Still think this’ll be easy money?"

Rowan smirked as they mounted their horses. "Easier than wraiths in a haunted castle, don’t you think?"

Wade couldn’t argue with that.