CHAPTER 27: A FAMILIAR SCENT

Hours bled into days, and after what felt far longer than it truly was, they finally reached the singular trail known as Ezra’s Path. Following it, the bleak desolation that had shadowed their journey gave way to scattered countryside dwellings.

They had arrived at the far outskirts of the Byzeth Kingdom.

Byzeth was one of the thirteen kingdoms under the sovereignty of the Valerian Empire. Though it was the smallest and far from the strongest militarily, the kingdom thrived as the empire’s business capital.

It was a vital trade hub, seemingly producing every commodity in demand, and had become a cornerstone of Valeria’s vast commercial network. Even if severed from the empire’s rule, Byzeth could likely endure on its own, having built a remarkably self-sustaining economy.

These strengths had bred arrogance in its ruler. But for all his pride, they were nowhere near enough to justify rebellion against the empire—at least, not without courting death.

Aszer Hait, King of Byzeth, was rumored to have ascended to the realm of Martial Master—the fifth stage of cultivation. With that, he had become a man said to stand against a thousand by himself. This power had tempted his greed, planting in him the thought of defiance. Yet even then, such strength was still insignificant compared to what he would face.

Among the imperial elite, Martial Masters were common. The emperor himself was whispered to have reached a realm where he now wrestled with divinity.

Aszer knew he could never oppose Valeria alone. Instead, he turned his eyes northward, plotting an alliance with the only power bold enough to rival the empire—the Northrenders. Through trade, he sought to bind them, then offer more than commerce: conquest.

"We’re finally here..." Serina sighed, gazing out the window at the rolling hills.

"Should we ride straight to the capital and give the king a piece of our mind?" Lerai quipped.

"Yeah, if the goal’s to find out how fast we can get killed, that’s the way to do it," Serina muttered, brushing her hair back.

Aric spoke calmly. "We’ll set camp in Midgard Province. It’s close to the capital and serves as the main dock for all northern trade routes. That makes it important."

Serina turned to him, one brow raised. "Don’t tell me you’ve conjured a whole plan to topple this kingdom’s government with only three people?"

"I have something in mind," Aric replied evenly.

---

The carriage creaked through the last stretch of road and entered Midgard Province. Here, the land grew dense with buildings; no longer sparse, they pressed against every corner of the cobblestone streets.

Though unlike the Imperial City, the town was just as alive.

Every building seemed tied to some trade or service. Smooth stone walls framed with finely carved wood gave the province a communal charm. Despite the late hour, the streets were crowded.

Vendors hawked wares, voices sharp with bargaining. Establishments overflowed with patrons. Taverns, brothels, and restaurants lined the road, every one of them lit, buzzing, alive.

The sun dipped beneath the horizon, yet here, the night was only beginning.

The carriage pressed through the central district until the businesses gave way to quieter, humbler residences. At last, the horses slowed. Exhausted from days of travel with little rest, they bent their knees and collapsed, finally relieved of their burden.

The group disembarked. Aric scanned the surroundings, confirming their location.

"Where to now?" Lerai asked, stretching stiff limbs after hours of confinement.

"There." Aric pointed to a lone building not far away. "If luck’s on our side, old man Hitoki still owns it."

"Old man Hitoki?" Serina gave him a curious look.

"Yes. An old friend," Aric said softly. He turned to the carriage driver and Alan. "Secure the horses and meet us there."

"Yes, Your Highness," they answered, watching as Aric led Serina and Lerai ahead.

The building stood apart from the others. Unlike the bustling shops of the district, it bore the quiet shape of a home. Built of brick rather than polished stone, it lacked the gaudy flash of consumerism.

Aric pushed the door open, and the three stepped inside. Cloaked and worn from travel, they moved cautiously. Serina and Lerai were weary from the road, while Aric, having pushed himself hard against the bandits, still bore the weight of his illness.

The warmth of a hearth greeted them immediately. The crackle of burning logs filled the room, the smoke carrying a scent Aric found oddly familiar.

The space was humble—chairs of soft hide arranged in a circle, rugs laid across the wooden floor, firelight spilling warmth against the cold night.

"Who are you... and why have you barged into my home?"

A voice came from the hallway. A man emerged—hair white, face wrinkled with age, yet his movements carried vigor.

"Old man..." Aric muttered, a faint sadness lingering in his tone.