90: Overnight at the farm

The surviving horses were re-harnessed.

We dismantled the burnt wagons and reinforced the remaining vehicles with new wood.

Under the pale afternoon sun, the reorganized trade company set off again.

Randall rode his white horse at the front, his silver armor bearing several scratches from arrows—medals of battle.

The Amn guard captain told me that in previous years, there hadn't been so many bandits on this road, especially not organized Goblin and Kobolds like those we encountered today.

This was very unusual; otherwise, their trade company wouldn't have brought a team of new recruits here for experience.

I looked back at the winding ruts.

The ice and snow were burying the traces of battle, but some things were forever etched into this land:

Hardy grass seeds sprouting from the scorched earth, snow moss nourished by the toxic blood purified by Holy Light, and the re-ignited, blade-like cold light in the eyes of the twenty-three survivors.

...

Dusk settled like lead, and a blizzard whipped up pale vortices on Wan'an Highway.

We hadn't found a suitable place for such a large trade company to camp.

Two of the trade company's pack horses suddenly neighed and knelt, and George stumbled into a snowdrift, his eyelashes already covered in ice crystals.

"We can't go any further!" Old Hather's roar was fragmented by the wind, "Find a place to shelter from the snow!"

As if in response to the shout, a blurry halo of light suddenly appeared from deep within the snowstorm.

Randall's greatsword cut through the curtain of snow, its tip pointing towards the faint outline of a barn half a mile away—a few wisps of cooking smoke emerged from beneath the snow-covered roof, stubbornly rising straight in the storm.

"There are people!" I pulled my cloak, frayed by ice shards, tighter. "The convoy pulls over! Randall! Let's go check!"

Randall and I rode our horses off the road, heading south towards the lights.

Upon nearing, we found it was a small village.

We rode to the nearest wooden house, Randall dismounted, and went to knock on the door.

The farmer who opened the door was wrapped in a patched leather coat. "Lord!" His gaze swept over the Holy Knight's ice-covered armor. "Come in quickly and warm up!"

Pine wood crackled in the fireplace, and the old farmer's wife—a plump woman with rosy cheeks—was stirring stew in an iron pot.

Two boys, about seven or eight years old, peeked from the stairwell, their fingers still wet from making snowballs.

Everything was so unsettlingly ordinary: the peeling oak long table, the crooked candle holder, even the pile of muddy turnips in the corner, all exuded the scent of years of domestic life.

"The guest room is in the attic." As the old farmer accepted the silver coin, his thumb skillfully rubbed its edge. "But you'll have to squeeze in; the other folks..." He pointed towards the faint lights of the horse team half a mile outside the window. "Tom's and Martha's houses also often host travelers."

Randall went back to lead the way, and I sat at the dining table, drinking the hot soup the plump woman served me.

The taste wasn't great, but it was warm, which was a plus.

Randall took the people from the village trade company and Anm Trade Company to stay with nearby farmers in several groups; his handsome face and thoughtful manners played a significant role in getting so many doors opened and everyone, including the wagons, settled.

When the Holy Knight returned, I glimpsed a mist over his holy emblem on his chest—whether from melting snow or something else, I couldn't tell.

John helped Old Hather into the house behind him, and George carried in four small puppies wrapped in a blanket.

Dragon King, Black Little Leopard, and two Wild Dogs followed last.

"This, this..." The old farmer and his wife were too nervous to speak when they saw these animals.

Randall's handsome face appeared before them with a smile, performing a standard gentleman's bow, "These are our lord's beloved pets; they will not bite anyone without command. And they do not require extra separate rooms or food." Saying this, he slipped two more silver coins into the old farmer's hand.

The plump woman snatched the silver coins from her husband's hand, "No... no problem, let them stay inside."

The old farmer and his wife's expressions shifted from shock to pleasant surprise.

Indeed, a handsome appearance, proper etiquette, and tangible money, combined, are always effective.

Pine wood crackled in the fireplace, sparks splattering onto the dark red stains of the unicorn tapestry.

"Have something hot." The old farmer approached with a pewter pot, and the sweet, cloying scent of apple cider wafted over.

Randall was about to take the wooden cup when the old farmer suddenly stumbled—amber liquid splashed onto the Holy Knight's holy emblem, flowing down from the emblem onto his armor.

"morning light lord above!" The old farmer hastily wiped it with his sleeve, the sound of cloth rubbing metal grating on one's teeth.

Randall frowned and pressed his wrist: "No need." The holy emblem suddenly grew warm in his palm, but it was fleeting.

The floorboards creaked upstairs. I looked up; the faded tapestry swayed slightly, as if someone had just passed behind it.

"Eileen!" The old farmer called towards the stairwell, "Come down and meet the guests!"

Faint footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs.

A girl of about ten, wrapped in an oversized wool shawl, appeared, her pale ankles faintly visible beneath her skirt.

The button on the right eye of the cloth doll in her arms had come off, revealing blackened cotton inside.

"This is Brother George from the Black Leopard Trade Company." The old farmer ruffled her golden hair, "His hands are frostbitten; can you help him with your ointment?"

Eileen hid the cloth doll behind her, took a medicine jar from the corner, and a pale green ointment seeped from her fingertips. George's frostbite receded at a visible rate; the efficacy was too good, and I widened my eyes.

"Time to eat!" The old farmer suddenly rang a brass bell.

Eileen, relieved, retreated into the kitchen and, with the plump woman, began bringing out food.

The taste of the meal was truly uncomplimentary, but given the etiquette Randall had taught me, I had no choice but to force myself to eat some.

I thought I'd go to my room later and get some food I'd prepared earlier from the system space to eat.

After dinner, everyone, tired from the day, prepared to go upstairs.

Eileen's bare feet tapped lightly on the wooden stairs, like a testing fawn, "Brother, do you want to play hide-and-seek?" She asked me, blinking her bright eyes, like a beautiful doll.

"Brother still has homework to do." I smiled as I walked past her.

Randall, Black Little Leopard, and I shared one room; Old Hather, John, and George shared another.

Two Wild Dogs lay resting outside our door.

Dragon King, unafraid of the wind and snow, still circled low outside the house, keeping watch.

The attic room was not drafty, and a bonfire had already been lit in the brazier.

The glow of the pine tar torch moved among the cobwebs in the corner, and there was no musty smell.

I took Sphere Professor out of the system space; half of the language lesson was over, and Randall was already emitting a faint snore on the single bed by the window.

I told the professor to continue tomorrow, and forcing myself to stay awake, I took out my spellbook and spell notes, beginning to silently study magic.

Late at night, I suddenly felt a pang of abdominal pain.

Hearing the gurgling sound from my lower abdomen, I felt like I was going to have an upset stomach.

Was it because of dinner? How come they were fine?

I quietly went downstairs and asked the old farmer by the fireplace where the latrine was.

"No latrine?" I looked at the old man in surprise, "You mean for me to relieve myself in the snow!"

The old farmer rubbed his hands, revealing an awkward smile, "Sir, there's a dung heap in the backyard; please make do..."

I pulled my cloak tighter and pushed open the door; cold wind mixed with snowflakes assailed me.

Not long after, Dragon King suddenly swooped down from the sky, the airflow it created swirling the nearby accumulated snow.

Its vertical pupils were fixed on the depths of the village, and its intention conveyed the message that there was something happening there.