Chapter 42: Ch42 – The Rupes Kingdom

The Sun dimmed, night was nearly upon them.

The valley widened as they descended, the gentle slope giving way to a bustling town tucked at the base of the mountains. Smoke curled from chimneys, mixing with the crisp evening air, and the faint clatter of carts and horses echoed across the cobblestone streets.

“Look there,” Ryan murmured.

His elbow nudged into Eleanor and he pointed ahead. “A town.”

The town’s walls rose only a few metres high, enough to mark the boundary, but the gates were open wide. Lanterns flickered along the streets, casting warm light across the timbered buildings. People milled about—farmers, merchants, and guards, they all paused to watch the small band approach.

As the group entered the town gate, villagers and a couple guards hurried forward with friendly curiosity.

“You there! From the mountains?” a stout woman called, beckoning them closer. “Did you come from the frontline?”

Myna inclined her head. “Yes, we’ve come from the encampments.”

The woman’s eyes brightened. “Thank the gods. You’ve come far.” She paused, “We have seen thousands of soldiers pass through this town, the war has begun again, hasn’t it?”

Another man, a soldier in the town guard, stepped forward, his gaze sharp. “Captain, you came from the first encampment… what of my brother? He was stationed there with General Aldric. Is he alive? What’s the situation?”

Myna’s expression tightened, her usual composure faltering for only a fraction. She lowered her gaze, letting the weight of the news settle on her.

“I… I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “The first encampment has already fallen. A while ago. I don’t imagine anyone survived other than us.”

A silence fell over the group, thick and suffocating. The villagers’ faces mirrored shock and disbelief, some bowing their heads.

“Are you… are you certain?” The soldier said.

“Your brother could be alive but if he is—he has been most likely captured. I’m sorry to say but I don’t believe you will see him again…” Myna said.

The guards face, instead of a waterfall of tears, turned red with anger, “How come you are here and he is not? How come you can live and my brother can not!” The guard accused them, falling to his knees as he did.

Tears began to well up in the soldiers eyes. Myna was stunned, she didn’t do well with emotion.

Ryan felt a cold weight in his chest. Eleanor, usually sharp-tongued and brimming with energy, only placed a hand on his arm, her own expression grim.

Myna turned to her group, “We’ll stay here tonight, we need rest.” She then turned to the small crowd of villages, “Is there a good tavern here?”

One villager’s voice shouted out, “The Howling Lion, is good, just reach the town centre and you will see it.” The villager pointed further into the town.

Myna hesitated for a moment, her eyes moving to the soldier crying on his knees, his hands in his face. Her gaze didn’t linger long, she marched forward to the centre.

Eleanor stayed behind for a few seconds, kneeling beside the soldier, her hand on his shoulder. Soft words passed from her lips.

Eleanor then patted the guard on his back and stood up, she then rushed to catch up.

Ryan frowned, tilting his head. “What did you say to him?”

Eleanor’s eyes were gentle. “I just… gave him a little nudge… helped steady his thoughts. Psychic suggestion. Nothing harmful. He’ll remember it as encouragement, not magic.”

Ryan blinked, still processing. “You didn’t… hurt him— his head, at all did you?”

“Of course not,” she said, patting his shoulder lightly. “It’s very safe.”

The group reached the town centre and approached the tavern. The smell of roasting meat and wood smoke hit them instantly. Myna led the negotiations, efficiently securing three rooms for the price of two. A benefit of being a soldier.

Ryan and Ben were assigned to one room, Eleanor and Micah another, and Myna and Gerald a third. Ryan glanced at Ben, who gave a small, tight nod, eyes still haunted.

The rooms were much better than the fortresses. It had sturdy beds, wooden floors, a couch and candles for light. It was far from perfect but after days on the mountain paths and stone fortresses, it felt like sanctuary.

Ryan dropped his pack on the floor with a soft thud, letting out a long breath. “Finally,” he muttered. “Finally somewhere I can sit without worrying about falling off a cliff or freezing my ass off.”

Ben didn’t answer, merely moving to the far side of the room and sitting on the edge of his bed. His gaze lingered on the door.

Poor kid

Ryan shook his head slightly.

He stripped off the leather armour, letting it fall with a soft thud onto the floor. He sank onto the edge of the bed, legs drawn up, and closed his eyes. The room was still, save for the occasional creak of the wooden floor or the soft flicker of candlelight across the walls.

He focused, drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Meditation.

Thoughts of Aldric’s encampment, of the fallen soldiers, and of the endless mountain paths pressed against the edges of his mind. He tried to push them back, to focus, to grow stronger, faster—but even after hours, progress was minimal, he was too distracted.

Time slipped past. Five hours later, Ryan opened his eyes, the faint moonlight seeped through the window slats. He ran a hand across his face, unsatisfied. He had hoped for more mana, faster.

He glanced at Ben. The boy lay curled under his blanket, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. For a moment, Ryan felt pity—then shook it off. There was nothing he could do for him right now.

It’s time to sleep.

He lay back, pulling the covers up to his chin. Minutes passed. He counted heartbeats, measured breaths, tried to let go. But he just could not sleep.

A faint shuffle at the edge of his hearing made him pause. Ryan ignored it. Probably just the floor settling.

Another thirty seconds.

A soft tap, then the whisper of footsteps.

Please don’t be another assassin…

Ryan cracked an eye open.

Ben?

The boy was fully dressed in his Rupes soldier uniform, backpack slung over one shoulder, moving with careful, silent steps toward the door.

“Ben,” Ryan whispered, voice low but urgent. “What are you doing?”

Ben froze, jaw tightening, but didn’t answer. He dashed for the door.

Ryan didn’t think. He launched himself off the bed, grabbed Ben just as his hand twisted the door handle, and dragged him to the floor.

“Stop! What the hell are you doing?!” Ryan hissed, pressing the boy down with enough weight to keep him from moving but careful not to hurt him.

Ben’s eyes flicked up, wide and panicked. His breath came fast, shallow.

Ben’s shoulders shook. His voice came in a strangled rush, words tumbling out faster than he could control.

“There’s… there’s no message! There’s no damn message! I—I left him—I left my father! He… he died! He didn’t know where I was as he burned alive! He didn’t know I left him! He… he—he died alone!”

He repeated it, broken, over and over, each confession tearing from him like a knife. Tears streaked down his cheeks, his body trembling beneath Ryan’s hands.

Ryan froze, then loosened his grip just enough to let Ben’s weight settle against the floor, letting the boy collapse into it.

God…

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by ragged breathing and the faint creak of the floorboards under their weight.

Ryan moved away from him, unsure what to do.

Do I shout for Captain Myna? What if he tries to kill me? He’s a soldier, he might be strong.

As Ryan backed off, Ben stood up, his hand moved down to his side.

The side where his sheathed sword was.

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