Chapter 1101

The sound of a donkey bell clinked in the night air along the main road. The man, a blade of grass in his mouth, hummed a tune. He loved night travel; the darkness held a thrilling mystery, a sense that anything could happen. He’d relish encountering strange creatures, perhaps sharing a drink with them. His flask held Everett’s wine – stolen, since he lacked a horse and had to borrow the Lunar Guild’s donkey.

The Guildmaster, after much hesitation, had reluctantly provided the donkey, repeatedly warning him to walk alongside it, lest the old beast collapse under his weight. It could, however, carry his belongings. He considered walking, but admitted the elderly were often underestimated. The donkey, though old, possessed surprising speed and stamina, traversing the distance from Meadow Ridge to Riverstone without apparent strain.

Another two hours, he estimated, and they would reach Riverstone. Isaac Prince hummed louder, anticipating the capital's bustling life, fine wines, good company, and, most importantly, his junior guild member. He adjusted the carrot dangling before the donkey, which munched contentedly.

Instead of an inn, Isaac found a scenic spot outside Riverstone, opened his wine, and waited for a strange encounter. He spread his mat, swatted four mosquitoes, tied up the donkey, lit insect-repelling herbs, and uncorked the wine bottle. Propping his legs, he took a generous swig.

The rose wine, last year’s vintage, was crisp and fragrant, intoxicating him. He almost heard the sound of hooves – many horses – and squinted down the hill. His keen night vision, though not perfect, easily discerned a lamplit carriage. Strange, he thought, that travelers would hurry through the night so near Riverstone. The carriage was luxurious, clearly belonging to a wealthy family.

He checked carefully; no coffin, so it wasn't a funeral procession. They stopped at a small grove, not to rest, but to wait. A large group, perhaps dozens, waited, their movements suggesting training, yet their fine clothes didn't suggest bandits. What respectable people would stop here so late?

Isaac loved a good mystery. He stowed his wine, rolled up his mat, and blew out his lamp, the little hill offering concealment. They hadn't moved, instead establishing a camp – exceedingly strange, given their proximity to Riverstone at sunset. Furthermore, they erected only one tent for so many people. A single leader? Unlikely. Some wore luxurious clothes, and he glimpsed jeweled hair ornaments on several women – certainly not maidservants.

He watched for nearly an hour, puzzled by their inactivity. Why hadn't they sought rest in the tent? A large group swatting mosquitoes? The lack of a campfire made sense; the night air was stifling. He fanned himself lazily, sipping his wine, contemplating whether to retire for the night.