We have made quite a detour scouting for the goblins, not to mention the rest of the mission. However, we also left the village roughly three hours earlier than initially planned, and the horses rested up for quite a bit while we were raiding the camp.

  All in all, by the time the sun had set, we could already see the village lights in the distance.

  By now, Cupcake's breathing had become noticeably faster, and for the last few minutes, I could feel her muscles lightly quivering from time to time, indicating she was nearing exhaustion, and was in need of a good long rest.

  As we approached the town, the guard near the entrance shouted upon hearing our horses’ hooves.

  “Riders! We have riders!.. Erm… Two?.. Two raiders from the south!”

  By the time we reached its border, many of the village folk had already made their way outside to greet us. There were less people than Brightroot, but a man who looked like the elder was there, wearing brown robes.

  “Greetings, visitors. I’m Elias Grayleaf, chief of Westville. Under normal circumstances, we would first welcome you to our village, but today, if I may ask… how was your journey from Brightroot? Did you encounter anything on the way?”

  The old man fruitlessly tried to conceal the tension and urgency in his voice.

  “My name is Thomas Cleantoe, deputy sheriff of Pine Harbor. As for your question, if you're talking about the goblins, we just carried out a mission in their camp earlier today. We managed to buy some time…”

  Over the next few minutes, after flashing his official token and credentials, and having the elder confirm their authenticity (to the best of his ability, as the village lacked the crystal ball thing), the deputy quickly recapped the situation, starting from what we saw in Brightroot, to the assasination mission we decided to undertake.

  Obviously, he did not elaborate on how the captive villagers died – only that they did, during a failed rescue attempt.

  The story evoked gasps and faint whispers, turning from tension to sad relief near the end of the mission itself. However, as Thomas explained the likely course of events which would transpire over the next few days, the relief was replaced with different emotions, chief among which were shock and denial.

  “...return? In two to four days?”

  “We have to leave our homes? Perhaps for weeks?”

  “My father is sick. We can’t camp in the wilderness!”

  “My brother is still recovering from yesterday's wounds. There is no way he can march to Brightrood, let alone Pine Peak!”

  “Mommy, I don't want to leave!”

  The reactions were as expected.

  As the village chief's face grew grim, Thomas looked around with a stern expression.

  “Those goblins are after living sacrifices. This is why they kidnapped everyone they could. Those who are dragged into their lair alive – the fates that would await them would be worse than death.”

  At his ominous words, some of the women and children in the crowd began quietly sobbing, while many others froze in shock, and a few clutched their fists in rage.

  “Those who wish to fight, or try making it to Pine Harbor – depart for Brightfoot as soon as tomorrow’s dawn, at the latest. Those who wish to hide in the wilderness up north, or make their way to Pine Peak, might have an extra day, but you should still make haste if you wish to live.”

  A few angry whispers erupted, but each source was quickly extinguished under the deputy's stern gaze. Hushed voices filled with fear and desperation, on the other hand, were aplenty.

  “We do not require supplies. Give us a place to stay tonight, and take care of the horses. We shall be gone by tomorrow morning.”

  “You- you're leaving us?..”

  The chief was taken aback.

  “We are on an important mission. Of course, we will clear the road to Pine Peak of any dangers, shall we encounter them. If you depart tomorrow, the road should be much safer than usual.”

  The village chief wanted to say something, but in the end, he decided his time and focus would be better spent preventing the chaos that's been building up beside us from spiraling out of control.

  As such, he instructed a few villagers to lead us to their guest house, take care of our horses, and even deliver us whatever leftovers they had from the recent dinner.

  “They don't seem to appreciate our quick departure.”

  The deputy scoffed at my remark, taking a sip of water from the wooden mug on the table, but decided to answer nonetheless.

  “The village chief is the one who has to babysit them, not me. I have my own mission to attend to.”

  “But isn't it important to make sure none of them is captured by the goblins.”

  The deputy’s expression turned darker, as he looked at me.

  “It is important. But I believe people won't just stay here to face certain death.”

  He looked into his mug.

  “Did you notice? The head of their militia was not there. At the very least, it means he's seriously injured. There wasn’t even a single whisper about staying and fighting, either. In their minds, they’ve already accepted their departure. And with the looming threat, it won't take long for their hearts to catch up.”

  I had nothing to say on this matter – not that I was looking for a retort, as my question was mostly born out of the wish to prevent the awkward silence from setting in. Just like my next one.

  “By the way… every village here has a chief, a head of militia, a guest house, a dining hall… are those things common around these parts alone? Or is this something widespread across Valoria?”

  Thomas gave me a strange look, before suddenly chuckling.

  “A normal question, eh? I swear, by now, I forgot you're just a kid from Luskar and not a new, overly skeptical recruit.”

  Shaking his head with a tired smile, he explained.

  “When it comes to chiefs, I think every village in the world has one. Or at least close to that. Nearly as many would have a head of militia - unless a village has a single powerful guardian, its people would have to fend for themselves, and unless the chief fulfills the role, they’d need a different leader to rally behind.”

  “So I take it that every village has to be able to defend itself?”

  The short man looked at me like I asked a very strange question, but then his expression shifted to contemplation.

  “...No. Sometimes, when a village is near a large city, they don't really need a militia. Especially so if they reside beside a major road from that city, and even more so if they are surrounded by plains. In fact, there is one such village near Silverveil, on the road to Valor's End.”

  This was interesting to hear, especially considering I'd be journeying by that village in the future, but that was still far away – both figuratively and literally.

  “So the same goes for guest houses and dining halls?”

  “Actually, this is widespread mainly in Valoria. The gods we most often worship, including the Shining Lady, the Silent Sentinel and the Iron Judge, greatly affect our customs – values such as hospitality, generosity and justice are often at the core of such customers.”

  I could see the deputy’s eyes light up, shining with pride for his kingdom.

  “Most villages in the world likely have an empty house or two to dedicate to passing travelers, but in Valoria, it's a tradition to have one such dedicated house in the village. That, or an inn serving the same function, with a few basic rooms to offer for free for a single day.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  For a moment, he stopped, as if trying to recall something.

  “As for the dining hall, the roots of this tradition are ancient, and the reasons behind it are manyfold. On one hand, every villager contributes either ingredients or tax funds, so none is left wanting for food. This helps build stronger ties within the community, and acts to bolster equality between its members. On the other hand, just like with the guest house, it's a tradition to offer food to passing travelers, at least in remote places such as this.”

  “I see. Valorian culture is quite.. interesting.”

  “Ha ha. You bet it is. It's considered the true heir to the Empire for a reason.”

  “The…what?”

  The only thing I knew was that a long time ago, when gods last walked upon the land, there was an enormous human empire in this region of the world, called the Thousand-Flames Empire. It fell as the divine war, now simply known as The Calamity, engulfed the whole world in flames, nearly a millennium ago..

  All human languages today - at least in every human nation on this continent, now known as the Imperial Continent - were a dialect of the old Imperial language, collectively called ‘Post-Imperial’, or, in some dialects, ‘New Imperial’.

  This was why Sebastian's knowledge of Luskar - specifically, the Luskarian language - allowed me to effortlessly understand and write Valorian. Well, my accent was a bit off at first, but given that it was actually Sebastian's accent, I had no trouble shedding it pretty quickly.

  “The capital of the Thousand-Flames Empire was once here, in Valoria. Well, in truth, it's been somewhere around where the Gloom Swamps are now at, but, back then, they were under our control. That city has been completely wiped off the map, leaving only a crater. That was known as the third cataclysm."

  “Does… are there any remains? Like underground ruins?"

  I peeled my ears. This, in fact, could be related to me.

  “Of course. Over the centuries, there would occasionally be expeditions, both by us, by the Luskarians, and unaffiliated adventurers and explorers, who ventured deep into the Dark Regions, trying to find ancient remnants. They did find some ruins, and even brought back relics early on - a few are even on public display at the capital to this day.”

  “And now?”

  “In the last few centuries, nothing came from there but baseless rumours and unnecessary tragedies.”

  “I see.”

  This was quite interesting – even if everything of perceivable value has been pillaged by now, perhaps there were still some hidden secrets, or maybe, things which simply couldn't be carried out.

  More importantly, given the route Sebastian used to reach Valoria, there could definitely be more here.

  However, I wouldn't be returning to Pine Harbor for a long time – a year, at the very least, if at all.

  Also, I'd have to become much stronger – The Dark Regions were very dangerous, to begin with, and those under the Gloom Swamps sounded even worse.

  And so, I decided to change the subject.

  “Does Valoria have anything else to base that claim upon – about being the true heirs?”

  The deputy raised his eyebrow.

  “I know you're asking out of curiosity, but try to phrase it differently in the future. People might.. misinterpret it. Especially if they know your origins."

  “Thanks. I'll keep this in mind.”

  “As for your question, there is one more thing, although this subject is a bit more touchy.”

  He spoke, albeit with a touch of hesitation.

  “You see, no direct progeny of the old emperor survived. That was, beside a secret son from an unofficial concubine. His mother, as well as their guardian, survived the Calamity, and the latter even had the documents to prove the child’s origin.”

  His voice filled with disdain.

  “However, the Emperor had a single living brother who survived the previous succession war, as well as the Calamity. That brother claimed to be the true heir, but so did the young adult, who had built quite a large following during the last days of the war, and the years thereafter.”

  The shadow in Thomas's eyes grew deeper.

  “In the end, the brother, named Lurian, tried to claim the crown by force, in what is now called The War Of Valor. However, the emperor's child, King Valorian The 1st, managed to repel his attempt, dealing his forces a heavy blow, and nearly slaying the Usurper in the process.”

  “Valorian? So that was his name?”

  “Yes. He had no family name, being the illegitimate child of the late emperor. He decided against donning the old imperial family name, his name then becoming the new family name of our royal bloodline.”

  “Ho...”

  “Eventually, the injured Lurian and his remaining supporters fled south, establishing what would become Luskar, named after the imperial province, while we shed the old name, preserving instead the imperial spirit.”

  “I see…”

  I couldn't help but notice a few contradictions.

  “I mean no offense by this, but for those claiming to be the old empire’s heirs, didn't Valoria shed a lot of its old names?”

  “Pfft.”

  The deputy couldn't help but scoff.

  “A successor is free to discard dusty and worthless items found within his inheritance. We’ve kept the best of the old empire, I assure you. And as for what wasn't kept – nothing of value was lost.”

  I nodded.

  “Ahat about Luskar? Did the empire have a province ruled by a council of archmages?”

  Thomas shrugged.

  “Such a council existed. However, it never ruled the empire. Rather, at some point along Luskar's second century, they quietly overthrew the ‘New Emperor’, keeping him as nothing more than a puppet sitting on the throne.”

  The left side of Thomas's lips curved upwards, in a smile that was far from benevolent.

  “After his death, his bloodline was suddenly wiped out, and the council was granted temporary authority to restore order. Of course, they granted it to themselves, and the temporary state has itself become but an ancient footnote in Luskar's history by now.”

  I nodded once more, conveying my genuine gratitude.

  “Thanks for the tale. I never imagined the two countries shared such history.”

  “Don’t they teach you history in Luskar? Perhaps some twisted, distorted form of it, but still…”

  “I lived with my father in a remote hut most of my life. He taught me many things, but Luskarian history wasn't one of them.”

  “Hmm… I wonder whether it was negligence, or a stroke of brilliance.”

  knock knock

  “Dear guests! I've brought you some food.”

  This was the voice of the woman tasked with scraping together the leftovers.

  “Anyway, it seems like our dinner is here. Let's savor it – after all, this will be the last proper meal we eat for the next few days.”

  ***

  Knock Knock Knock

  On the second floor of a small tavern in Silverveil, a slender woman with silky black hair knocked on the slightly dirty wooden door.

  The tight - but sturdy - leather armor she was wearing suggested her occupation wasn't a common one, as did the two hand crossbows hanging from both sides of her waist.

  “Come in.”

  A male voice answered, and she opened the door, walking into a small but comfortable living room with a sofa, a couple of armchairs, and a fireplace, laying silent on this summer evening.

  “Those two still aren't back?”

  “No. Xin said he'll likely be gone for a few days, with all the digging that has to be done. Orthor? He said he'd go shopping today, so by now, he's either at some smithy, or he'd already found his way into a bar.”

  With a light chuckle, Bern, who had been staring into the still fireplace, finally turned his head towards Hilda, who slowly walked up to the sofa, sitting beside him, and slipping her hand over his, gently curling her fingers.

  “How did it go?”

  Bern sighed, lowering his eyes.

  “It went… better than expected, I suppose.”

  He once again turned his gaze to the empty fireplace. After a brief silence, he spoke once more.

  “He has changed. I.. I don't just mean his health. The way he talked – it felt like I was talking to a different man.”

  His tone was uncertain, barely concealing hesitance and disbelief.

  “This was the first time in decades I heard him speak not as a lord, or a family head, but like an actual father.”

  “He wasn't always like you remember him. He.. he is a good man, if someone like me has the right to say it.”

  The woman hesitated, before looking deep into the man's eyes, caressing him with her soft gaze.

  “Even if all those years changed him, deep down, he was always kind. And I’m sure he loves you a lot. All of you.”

  The black-haired man sighed with bitterness.

  “Maybe. Perhaps, very deep down, he did care about us.”

  He shifted his eyes to the small window to his right, his gaze turning colder.

  “If only he actually acted that way, too… towards all of us… if he wasn't as negligent, perhaps Chris would be alive today.”

  It was the woman's turn to lower her gaze – although her grip on his hand only tightened.

  After a while, the woman spoke once again.

  “Did he say anything?”

  “He said he used to be angry at me for leaving – but now, he came to believe this was the best decision I could have made. He said.. he didn't want us to fight. And he was glad I left to find my own path, rather than taking part in the.. family matters, which would soon rear their ugly head for all to see.”

  “...are you perhaps?-”

  “This doesn't matter.”

  Bern shook his head, his pitch-black pair of eyes meeting Hilda's.

  “I’ve waited far too long for this. It’s time now. By the end of this succession war, he will finally pay for what he’s done.”

  Silence returned to the cramped room, not to be disrupted for some time, as only the faint sounds of city life, audible from beyond the closed window, accompanied their thoughts.