Mondholz did not dim with the sun.

  As the party passed beneath the open gates, the town greeted them with the steady hum of a place accustomed to movement even at late hours. Lanterns lined the main streets, their glow soft and constant, not flame but crystal. Pale light spilled from within carefully set housings, casting gentle illumination across stone and timber alike.

  Glowstones again, Xulian noted, her gaze lifting instinctively. So they weren’t a rarity. Good to know… mine was pretty useful.

  The streets were wide, well-kept, and busy. Shopkeepers drew shutters closed with unhurried familiarity. Workers drifted home in loose clusters, voices low but relaxed. Others moved in the opposite direction, laughter rising as they angled toward inns and taverns whose windows glowed warmly against the encroaching dusk.

  She caught sight of the river as they crossed a bridge, dark water reflecting lamplight in broken ribbons. Beyond it, sawmills loomed in orderly rows, their wheels stilled for the night, but the scent of fresh timber still lingered in the air.

  Farther along, music drifted faintly through the streets. Not crude noise, but structured sound. Strings. Percussion. An entire district given over to release rather than survival.

  At a broad intersection, Commander Brill gave a curt signal. The main body of soldiers peeled away toward fortified quarters near the river and caravan yards, boots striking stone in disciplined cadence. Only a smaller escort remained as Cilian led the core group deeper into the town.

  The mayor’s residence rose ahead, set back from the street behind a low stone wall and an iron gate.

  It was not ostentatious, but it was unmistakably important.

  Thick stone formed the lower structure, solid and defensive, while timber and plaster framed the upper levels. Balconies overlooked a modest courtyard, banners hanging neatly rather than decoratively. Lanterns flanked the entrance, their glowstones casting warm, steady light across carved doors marked not with heraldry, but with symbols of service and trade.

  No vanity, Xulian assessed. This house exists to function. Must be because of the border.

  They had scarcely dismounted before the doors opened.

  Baron Feltlin emerged like a battering ram given legs.

  He was enormous, broad-shouldered and thick-armed, muscle still heavy beneath the years. A round potbelly pushed against his belt, earned through peace and good meals rather than softness. His beard was trimmed but dense, his hair cropped short and streaked with gray.

  His voice rolled across the courtyard like a command bark.

  “Your highness!” he boomed, striding forward with a grin sharp enough to pass for a challenge. “If I’d known you were bringing this many important faces, I’d have cleared the whole street!”

  Despite the laughter, his posture was disciplined. Balanced. Alert. His eyes swept the group in a practiced assessment that spoke of decades spent counting threats without conscious thought.

  He must be a veteran, Xulian thought instantly. Not ceremonial. The real kind.

  Cilian stepped forward smoothly.

  “Baron Feltlin of Mondholz,” he said with a respectful incline of his head. “Thank you for your hospitality. Allow me to introduce my companions.”

  He gestured in turn.

  “You have already met Lady Vel Auilinwood, envoy of Aulin and commander Brill. However, let me introduce Saintess Lilian of Celestine. Luim Trill, monk of the Light Temple. Sunette and Agitha, paladins of the Order.”

  The baron acknowledged each with a sharp nod, respect evident beneath his booming presence.

  “And this,” Cilian continued, pausing just slightly, “is Ling Xulian. She travels with us under my protection.”

  The baron’s gaze shifted to her fully now, weighing without being rude.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Well then,” he said after a beat, grin widening. “Anyone under a prince’s protection is welcome under my roof.”

  Beside him stood his wife.

  She did not step forward, but neither did she recede. Upright and composed, her hands folded neatly before her, she watched the exchange with calm attentiveness. Her dress was elegant without excess, her posture precise, her presence quietly authoritative.

  Xulian’s gaze lingered just long enough to notice her ears.

  Shorter than an elf’s. Sharper than a human’s.

  Half-elf, she realized, a flicker of surprise passing through her. Which means she must be older than she looks. Much older.

  The woman’s eyes met hers briefly. There was no suspicion there. Only measured curiosity.

  Introductions were completed, and Baron Feltlin clapped his hands together once.

  “Inside,” he declared. “You’ll have no peace standing out here.”

  The interior of the house reflected its owners perfectly.

  Stone floors bore thick rugs woven with scenes of rivers, forests, and marching lines rather than noble crests. The walls were lined with polished wood, carved with motifs of tools and banners instead of lineage. Everything was clean, sturdy, and meant to last.

  Servants moved efficiently, taking cloaks, offering water, guiding guests without fuss.

  Rooms were assigned swiftly.

  Xulian found herself sharing with Lilian, who seemed oddly relieved by the arrangement, unpacking with the quiet decisiveness of someone afraid the decision might be reversed.

  So that’s how it is, Xulian thought faintly.

  Luim glanced at Cilian with a quiet smirk.

  “Never seen Lilian this… attached. And she’s a saintess of Celestine. She doesn’t get close to anyone,” he remarked silently to Cilian. “Except now, somehow, with Xulian.”

  Cilian’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of annoyance he didn’t fully understand.

  Dinner was announced shortly after.

  The dining hall was long and well lit, a heavy table dominating the space. Glowstones set into wall sconces bathed the room in warm light, reflecting off polished wood and stone alike. High-backed chairs lined the table, cushions thick and well-maintained.

  The food was… real.

  Roasted meats glazed with herbs. River fish seasoned with citrus and spice. Thick bread still warm from the oven. Stewed vegetables rich with flavor, probably found in the nearby forest. Bowls of fruit, cheeses aged properly, wine poured with a practiced hand.

  Gods, Xulian thought as the scent reached her. Actual food.

  Despite her need to devour the entire table at this point, she ate with restraint, posture flawless, movements precise, like a well-trained machine, leaving no flaw.

  Inside, she savored every bite.

  No stale bread or dried meats. No pretending hunger doesn’t exist. I forgot how much this matters.

  Externally, she revealed nothing.

  Vel noticed first.

  Then Cilian.

  Her use of utensils was impeccable. Timing exact. No wasted motion. No hesitation. This was not an imitation. This was ingrained.

  That’s noble training, Vel realized slowly. And refined, overly so.

  Cilian’s gaze lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he looked away.

  Conversation flowed easily. Patrol schedules. Timber quotas, recent events. Baron Feltlin spoke loudly, laughed often, but listened carefully, asking sharp questions that revealed a mind still tuned to logistics and defense.

  His wife interjected rarely, but when she did, the room adjusted instinctively. Xulian realized she wasn’t just a noble wife, but should also be a veteran.

  When the meal ended, fatigue settled gently rather than abruptly.

  Later, back in the shared room, Lilian lingered, talking softly about the temple, about Luim’s master, about small, grounding things. Xulian listened, responding in quiet tones until Lilian finally slept, curled inward like someone reassured by proximity.

  Alone with her thoughts, Xulian stared at the ceiling.

  I didn’t plan for this, she admitted to herself. Any of it.

  When the house finally fell silent, she slipped into meditation, or tried to at least.

  Ever since they started their journey, she couldn’t cultivate. At the time, she thought it had something to do with the wagon and the constant traveling, but now it felt wrong. It was like something was blocking her peace of mind.

  [Spiritual Energy: 6,553,600 / 13,107,200]

  She decided to let it go and opened her mental space. As she stepped into this vast, empty white space, she decided to think about it later. Right now, she has an urge to swing her sword, and there is no better place than here.

  New town. New people. Still no path. But at least I have a new partner, right? She mused, looking at the sword in her hand. The very one that unceremoniously decided to be in her hands

  She exhaled slowly.

  Looks like I really do need to find my own dao. Maybe the sword is a good place to start?

  The thought lingered as she started to swing her sword.