A few hours had passed since the attack on the caravan. By the time the soldiers finished reorganizing the carriages, the journey continued despite the heavy rain. This time, it was Garnold who proposed moving forward, asserting that it would be worse to remain on the mountain given the terrain advantage the enemies would hold over them.

  Ethan was quiet... well, almost. He didn’t say a single word, but his legs moved nervously in place as he thought about everything that had just happened. People had died moments ago, and they were moving on as if nothing had occurred? I mean... it’s true those people had attacked them, but still, shouldn't they at least bury the bodies or something?

  "Lord Ethan?" Helena called to him, concerned. "Perhaps you should sleep a little? The hour is late; we will reach the city of Trudon soon. I will wake you when the time comes."

  Ethan didn’t answer immediately; he just shifted his gaze toward her as if weighing a response. The truth was, he wanted to ask how she and Peter could be so calm after what happened. After all, they could have died—worse, they could still be attacked again during the trip. But thinking logically, he already had the answers to his own questions. Ultimately, these teenagers in front of him were from a different time; they had been raised with this sort of thing happening daily. Furthermore, they seemed to have confidence in Larry, Garnold, and the soldiers—a confidence Ethan hadn't shared since the attack.

  "Even if I tried, I’m not sure I could sleep, Helena," Ethan replied with a calm voice and a slight smile. "In fact, even if I managed to fall asleep now, I’m not sure I’d want to."

  "Does something trouble you, my lord?" Peter asked, joining the conversation. "Allow me to say it is very unlikely we will be attacked again. I also believe you should try to rest."

  There was no answer. Ethan simply took his injured hand out of his pocket and began to massage it while thinking about his situation—how he had used his Muay Thai skills to help kill someone... well... not exactly someone, but still...

  "Peter, tell me a bit about this city of Trudon where we’re arriving," Ethan said, trying to divert his thoughts.

  "As you wish, my lord," Peter replied with a slight bow. "The city of Trudon is a mid-sized city located at the foot of the Treacherous Mountains. It is a commercial hub where various hunters, mercenaries, and adventurers gather to make some coin."

  "Adventurers, you say? Like guys who take random missions based on their rank just to earn money? People with incredible talents and fighting styles who can even kill a dragon? Those adventurers?" Ethan said, and Peter smiled at his enthusiasm. It was good to see his lord unburdened.

  "I see that you, my lord, are familiar with adventurers. Tell me, sir, were there adventurers in your world?" Peter asked with a calm smile.

  "Oh no, we don't have things like that back there. Even so, any otaku like me knows what an adventurer is."

  Peter grew curious about the unknown term. What was an otaku? Why did they know what adventurers were even if they didn't exist in his world? He desperately wanted to ask and clear his doubts, but at the same time, he feared the subject would pull Ethan’s attention back to the melancholy of missing his home. Instead, he simply continued talking about the curiosities of Trudon.

  "I believe tomorrow Lord Larry will go to the city's commercial center to acquire a new wagon since we lost one in the ambush. Perhaps we can explore the market a bit, what do you think, my lord?"

  "That’s a great idea, Peter," Ethan said, more animatedly. "Seeing the market would actually be a great experience. I’ll probably look like a kid, I'll be so excited, hahaha!"

  Peter and Helena smiled in relief seeing Ethan more relaxed. They continued to strike up a conversation about Ethan's expectations of their world; after all, if he knew what adventurers were, what else could he know? What was his vision of the world of Valorn?

  "Now let us think for a moment, Garnold," Duke Larry said, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Who in these parts would be foolish enough to attempt an attack on my caravan?"

  "More importantly than that, Lord Larry—who would have the information and intelligence required to plan such a well-structured attack?" Garnold threw back his own question. "It shames me to say, but I believe without Lord Martins' help, we would have lost more than just a carriage. Whoever is behind this certainly has brass ones."

  "Truly intriguing. Few people know we are traveling at this moment. What could be the motive? I cannot think of a rival or a troublemaker who inhabits these parts," Larry commented pensively.

  "I believe there is nothing to be done for now. Unfortunately, I did not bring stealth troops for an investigation," Garnold added. "I say we push forward with as few stops as possible. The sooner we reach the capital, the better."

  "That has always been the plan, Garnold, but even with this troop of soldiers, we cannot continue the journey through the night. We don't have enough men for a night patrol."

  "Certainly not, but that can be resolved. I suggest we hire some extra hands tomorrow; that way we can move forward without stopping for rest."

  Larry didn't seem to like the idea much. Of course, he didn't say it out loud, but his expression of distaste said it all.

  "I believe there isn't much room for discussion. I will supervise the acquisition of new carriages and supplies tomorrow, and you, Garnold, must secure new soldiers to accompany us to the capital."

  "Certainly, Lord Larry. I imagine your messenger has already communicated the incident to His Majesty?"

  "Hard to say, but I believe not. He can only use his magic roughly once every half-day, so his magic likely hasn't become available yet," Larry explained thoughtfully, his left hand under his chin while his right hand held the wine goblet. "I will instruct him to send word in the morning, updating the court on our situation and new decisions. Our journey will likely be shortened to just two more days."

  "May the gods hear you and bless you, Lord Larry. This is probably the tensest journey I have ever undertaken."

  "Hahaha! That means a lot coming from the one responsible for the King's personal escort," Larry laughed, emptying his wine glass in one gulp.

  "I know of what I speak," Garnold confirmed, standing up and opening the carriage door. Soon, one of the soldiers brought his horse, and he leaped through the door, mounting it. "We will reach Trudon shortly. Donfrid should be awaiting us by this hour."

  About another half-hour of travel passed, and Ethan could already see the lights of Trudon in the distance, shining brightly through the persistent misty drizzle left over from the storm. It was far from a majestic capital, but to Ethan, those rustic stone walls and torches protected by wooden eaves looked like the pinnacle of an RPG session.

  When the carriages passed through the main gates, the swaying of the carriage changed, feeling the abrupt shift from mud to the gravel of the city's uneven pavement. Ethan seemed fascinated, observing everything he could through the small carriage windows. The simple houses made of cut stone with rudimentary tiled wooden roofs were like a movie set to him. His eyes seemed to glow as the carriage passed a blacksmith shop, the bright light of the forge still burning inside, indicating someone was still at work shaping metal.

  "A little more time and we will reach Donfrid's residence, my lord," Peter said. "You will certainly be impressed by his mansion; in fact, Donfrid takes great pride in his collections as both a merchant and a hunter."

  "He sounds like a pretty interesting guy."

  "He certainly is, Sir Ethan," Helena said, joining the conversation. "Donfrid does not possess great political power, but he is a very competent noble and admired by his own people."

  The carriage finally stopped before gates of wrought iron, adorned with a crest of a scale superimposed over a sword. Donfrid's property was indeed imposing: a light stone construction that blended the sturdiness of a fort with the elegance of a merchant palace.

  Stepping out of the carriage, Ethan felt the damp night air, but the scent of burning oak and spices coming from the mansion was welcoming. At the top of the staircase, a middle-aged man in a green velvet tunic—with calloused hands that betrayed his past as a hunter—awaited them with a restrained smile.

  "Duke Larry!" the man exclaimed, his voice echoing through the courtyard. "I heard of the misfortune in the mountains. My scouts brought news of unusual movement, but I didn't think they would dare touch your banner."

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  Larry greeted Donfrid with a firm handshake while Ethan approached, still processing the grandeur of the place. Peter and Helena remained a step behind out of respect.

  "Donfrid, this is Lord Ethan Martins," Larry introduced, with a tone that mixed formality with a hint of curiosity about how the "foreigner" would react. "Without his intervention, perhaps we wouldn't be here for dinner."

  Ethan said nothing; he was uncertain of what to say. He didn't want to be disrespectful, but he also had no interest in noble formalities. Since he didn't quite know what to do, he did the first thing that occurred to him naturally and extended his hand toward the noble.

  "As Larry said, I'm Ethan Martins. It's a pleasure. Thank you in advance for your hospitality."

  The Count squeezed his hand firmly with a smile. Ethan did his best not to show the pain he felt; after all, that was the hand he had injured in the fight against the troll.

  "It is an unspeakable pleasure, young lord," the Count replied. "I cannot even express how much honor my family feels to receive the Duke of Water and his guests in my home."

  As soon as they finished the handshake, Ethan crossed both hands behind his back and straightened his posture elegantly, a forced smile on his face to hide his pain and awkwardness.

  "Now then, let's not stand here in this drizzle," Donfrid commented cheerfully. "I have prepared a banquet for your arrival! I hope you are hungry!"

  "Agreed. Garnold, please put one of your officers in charge and join us for the feast; we need to discuss some matters."

  Garnold merely nodded with a sharp movement of his head, the metal of his armor clattering under the fine drizzle. He gave quick, brusque orders to a sergeant, ensuring the horses were taken in and that a ready sentry was posted at the mansion gates. The Captain's paranoia was his greatest shield; he wouldn't relax even in the territory of an ally.

  The group followed Donfrid into the mansion. The heat emanating from the stone fireplaces seemed to embrace Ethan, driving out the damp cold that had seeped into his clothes during the hours of travel. The interior was a spectacle in itself: rugs made of the pelts of monsters Ethan couldn't name, glass cases displaying coins from extinct civilizations, and—what caught his attention most—weapons that seemed to emit a slight glow of their own.

  "Enchanted weapons?" Ethan guessed, observing them with curiosity.

  "Ah, yes. My personal collection. Each one used to hunt my greatest prey," Donfrid replied, stepping to his side. This surprised Ethan; he expected Peter or perhaps Helena to answer, but not the Count himself. "They are all incredibly wonderful, but I adore this one in particular."

  The Count gestured toward an oak bow approximately two meters long, its wood detailed with carvings of various animals like bears and wolves. Its tips seemed designed to pierce enemies in close quarters, and its string seemed to shimmer in the light of the wall torches.

  "This oak bow was the weapon I used to slay a great wyvern ten years ago," he said, looking at the bow with pride. "The creature was fast and terrible! After two hours of combat, with my soldiers already wounded and weary, I took my bow and ran, luring the beast to the top of the Treacherous Mountains. With one precise shot, my arrow pierced its chest, sending it tumbling down the hill!"

  "The feat was so great that His Majesty personally ordered the change of Lord Donfrid's family crest," Peter added, magnifying the Count's status. "Before it was a forest wolf; today it is a wyvern behind a scale, for Lord Donfrid's merchant company is also one of the largest in the kingdom."

  Donfrid let out a boisterous laugh, giving Ethan a friendly pat on the back—which made the young man stagger forward slightly.

  "Peter has always been very generous with his words!" the Count exclaimed. "But enough stories from old hunters. A young man's stomach doesn't feed on crests and past glories."

  They entered the great dining hall. The table was vast, made of a dark, heavy wood that glistened under the light of silver chandeliers. Unlike the tense atmosphere of the carriage, the environment here was one of opulence and comfort. Servants moved with silent efficiency, serving platters of roasted boar with herbs, warm rye bread, and pitchers of a full-bodied wine that Larry seemed to appreciate immensely.

  Everyone began to sit at the table to enjoy the banquet, and that was when things started to get a bit uncomfortable for Ethan. There were many utensils on the table, all exceptionally expensive of course, made of pure silver and extremely clean, shining in the light provided by magic stones. The poor boy was wondering if he should ask for help to know which one to use or simply eat however he could, as if he were at home.

  On one hand, he didn't want to look like a disrespectful savage; on the other, he saw no sense in worrying so much about the types of spoons and forks to be used for each food. I mean, in the end, they were all for eating... right?

  Peter and Helena seemed to have noticed his discomfort, though they weren't sure of the reason. But even if they wanted to help, there was nothing they could do; the two were standing a few steps behind Ethan, merely observing the interactions between the nobles, waiting to be called if any of them needed something. Like it or not, they were still just servants.

  Ethan looked at the row of silverware as if they were pieces of an alien puzzle. In his world, a fork and a knife—or even a plastic spoon on a busy day—were the pinnacle of sophistication. Here, he saw forks with tines of varying sizes and knives that looked like miniatures of Donfrid’s weapons.

  He felt the weight of the silence from Peter and Helena at his back. Even if they were friends, Valorn's etiquette was rigid: servants did not sit at the table, and he, now carrying the title of "Lord," needed to act the part.

  "Trouble with the hunting tools, Lord Ethan?" Larry’s voice rose calmly, but with a spark of amusement in his eyes. He had already realized the boy did not belong to that social stratum, nor even to that world.

  Ethan let out a short laugh, deciding that honesty would be less shameful than knocking over a silver platter.

  "To be honest, Duke Larry... where I come from, we value efficiency. If I use the wrong fork, will the boar taste different?" he joked, relaxing his shoulders.

  Donfrid gave another laugh, this time so loud that the magic stones in the ceiling seemed to flicker.

  "Ha! I like him!" Donfrid grabbed the largest fork he could find and stabbed a bird leg with vigor. "Forget the capital's etiquette for one night, lad! Here in Trudon, what matters is if a man can hold a sword and if he has a stomach for drink. Eat as you like!"

  Ethan smiled and began to eat along with Donfrid. He had taken a liking to the guy. Something told him Larry didn't share that sentiment, but then again... Ethan didn't care about Larry's opinions.

  The food was simply incredible. The meat was succulent, and the bread—despite being poorly leavened—was soft and flavorful. He couldn't even tell which spices they had used, and he had considerable knowledge in the kitchen. His favorite was undoubtedly the rabbit stew. He had never tried the meat before and was a bit hesitant to taste it, but he certainly felt grateful he had; it was one of the best things he had ever eaten in his life.

  The dessert, on the other hand, left something to be desired. Apparently, sweets were not the forte of House Donfrid. There were some biscuits, cakes, and preserves, but nothing very extravagant. The others seemed to delight in those simple sweets, and Ethan wasn't complaining, per se, but after such a flashy dinner, such... common desserts just seemed strange. He missed ice cream at that moment.

  After the banquet, Donfrid's relaxed mood gave way to a necessary seriousness. At Larry’s request, the group retired to the Count's private study—a circular room lined with heavy bookshelves, tactical leather maps, and a lingering scent of pipe tobacco and beeswax.

  Donfrid closed the heavy oak door, and the silence of the room was broken only by the crackling of wood in the smaller fireplace. Ethan sat in a leather armchair that creaked, feeling Garnold’s gaze on him—a look that oscillated between military respect and professional suspicion.

  Helena moved with the grace of a shadow, serving wine in wrought metal chalices and placing a small tray of savory crackers on the central table. Meanwhile, Peter sat in a far corner under the light of a magic stone with an inkwell, a goose quill, and a long parchment. Ethan noted the young man's concentrated expression; it left him somewhat confused. Was he allowed to be there? To take notes on the conversation?

  "Let us look at the facts, gentlemen," Larry said with an extended hand while Helena filled his wine glass. "Any citizen of this kingdom would recognize my banner, and no matter how foolish they may be, simple thieves would not attack my caravan."

  "I fear some rival of yours was after your head again, Larry," Donfrid commented, taking a sip from his own glass. "Anyone in mind?"

  "That is the most likely reason for the attack," Garnold commented, refusing his glass of wine. "However, although the ambush was well-prepared, the equipment and strength of the attackers were too low to be considered the troop of a noble."

  Ethan picked up his own wine glass and stared at it for a moment. Granted, he theoretically shouldn't be drinking, but hey, he had helped kill a troll—what harm could a glass of wine do? The nobles seemed busy discussing countermeasures and possible suspects. Apparently, not even Count Donfrid knew who Ethan really was, which meant his summoning was something of a state secret; if even the nobility wasn't aware of his existence, it was a sign the King was deliberately keeping him hidden.

  "Lord Martins, what are your thoughts on the matter?" Larry asked after a while. His expression was serious; his wine glass was empty, and Helena was refilling it.

  "Um... well..." Ethan hesitated for a moment, uncertain of what to say, but then he took a deep breath and began to speak. "I believe we can't do much, since we don't even have an idea who attacked us. I suggest we follow the plan Garnold just explained: we hire some high-class adventurers we can trust and continue the journey toward the capital."

  Ethan paused and took a sip of the wine he had been served. It was surprisingly smooth, almost like juice, but he could feel a slight bitterness at the end indicating the presence of alcohol—definitely high quality. But that was to be expected, right? After all, he was in the house of a Count and a merchant leader.

  "That being the case, I say it would be good for us to depart tomorrow. Considering a minimum time to get ready, I say we can leave around late afternoon," Garnold added, standing up from his armchair. "If you'll excuse me, I must instruct the soldiers regarding the night shifts. We have a long day ahead in the morning."

  Garnold left the room before anyone could argue, and then it was just Ethan, Donfrid, and Larry in the room—along with Helena and Peter, of course.

  "Well, while you take care of those things tomorrow, I'm going to take a walk through the city market. I'm curious to see what I can find there," Ethan commented, taking another sip of wine. He definitely liked the drink.

  "Lord Ethan, I don't know if that would be advisable. Trudon is a considerably busy city; it could be danger—"

  "Don't be so rigid, Larry! Didn't you say the boy helped defeat the troll? He can certainly handle a few thieves," the Count interrupted. Larry obviously didn't look happy with the idea. "But don't worry, I'll send some of my soldiers to accompany them just to be safe. I’ll even ask my daughter to guide him through the market!"

  "Oh, that's really not neces—" Ethan tried to decline, but was promptly cut off by the Count.

  "Nonsense! My daughter will love keeping you company."

  "Well... if you insist." Better than being stuck in this house all day, Ethan thought.