Chapter 3 - Rested Feet
Second day, and she was already dead tired. Running through the night was not the smartest idea—but she could not rest. Not yet. Too many Cognifiends and beasts waited along the way, eager to use the dragon's flesh to imbue themselves with more power. She did not want to stop and kill any creature that might chance a bite. So, with a slight haze clouding her mind, she trudges onward.
Normally, a day of running without sleep would not tire a knight of Zarracen's caliber. However, her previous weeks' adventure—fighting that dragon for days—has her nearly on her last legs. And even if she could stop, rest would not come easy. If she had studied the magical arts like some of her counterparts, she could create a barrier for rest. But despite her outpouring of mana, she could not form the calculations to weave magic—not as easily as the other knights could.
This meant she could not veer too far from the regular roads. But she also did not want to appear on the smaller roads mostly traveled by farmers and wrought with bandits. She had no choice but to make her way toward a high road.
Soon enough, she finds herself on the high road of Sesway—the main roadway branching in six directions to different regions. Many carriages move along the road, and she knows she will draw attention the closer she gets. Zarracen's arrival is noticed almost immediately.
"Gah!" someone shouts.
Schink!Shwip! Pop! Clang!
The sounds of weapons being drawn and armor clanking reach Zarracen's ears.
"Hah."
An audible groan escapes her lips as she sees mercenaries staring at her with unsurprising amounts of greed, shock, apprehension, and reverence—all in the same stare. She cannot help but acknowledge that this will be another night without sleep, and perhaps humans will be the ones giving her issue.
"Make way! Make way!" a woman's voice rings out. "Idiots! I said move!"
Crack!
"Ow!"
Zarracen glances to the left of one of the merchant carriages. The carriages appear to be escorted by a group of mercenaries. She sees a woman kicking a mercenary. The woman isn't tall—though few women are as tall as Zarracen—but she is fit, surprisingly so, considering she wears a spelled mage cloak with a leather breastplate.
The woman walks toward Zarracen. The closer she gets, the more the knight can make her out. She holds a simple staff—likely expensive—given the ornate engravings meant to bolster spell weaving and the opal gem at its apex to boost power. The weapon is well cared for, no chips or damage visible to Zarracen's keen eyes.
Her mage cloak is equally well maintained, though her boots are scruffy and damaged. Her weapon and standard gear are well cared for despite this. The men she kicked aside also hold good gear. Whoever they are, they care more about their weapons than other menial options—meaning they are likely hunters of Cognifiends.
Most protection mercenaries who guard merchant caravans care more about defensive gear—boots, shields, armor. Hunters, however, strike fast with quick magical attacks to bind and kill. Their armor is usually cheaper yet durable. Protection mercenaries must survive volleys of arrows; hunters do not.
"Is that a real dragon?" the woman asks.
Zarracen stares at her, wondering if she should respond. The quest is no secret, but dealing with any of them will be troublesome. Besides, the woman didn't even introduce herself.
There are two types of mercenaries: those who do anything for money, and those who do anything for material. Given the woman is likely the latter—if Zarracen's assumption is correct—she must be careful. Despite being the strongest person for miles, mages are tricky.
"I believe before asking a question of someone, the polite thing to do is introduce yourself. It's no matter, however—I must be going."
Better to avoid trouble.
"Wait! The name's Prawm. Are you headed to Arthwa?!"
Zarracen chants to herself: Ignore Prawm. Ignore her. Ignore her. She glances toward the woman's mercenary group, who are carting a dead Cognifiend beside the merchant caravan. A Fen. A large one—at least ten feet. Larger than normal. Jagged canine teeth as long as short swords, spiked ears bloody. Definitely a Fen.
"Come on! We're both carrying precious cargo—we can go together!" Prawm says, stepping forward.
That is enough for Zarracen to place a blade to her throat. A drip of blood graces the tip. Prawm tilts her head upward, blinking in shock.
"Boss!"
"Go back to your men. I have no interest in joining a group."
With that, Zarracen keeps moving at a faster gait, carting her spoils. The road is slow moving, but luckily she won't have to deal with constant droves of monsters thanks to patrols that clean up Cognifiends and beasts alike. Roadway security is the reason she chose this route—for a chance to rest.
However, she now regrets it, seeing the greedy eyes upon her. If they try anything, she'll kill them. She sighs, realizing fully how bad an idea this was. She prays to the Gods none disturb her.
She cannot move at the pace of others if she wants to reach Arthwa within the next day. She looks around, seeing others eyeing her dragon like it's their prize. Yes, this was not the best idea—but at least she can move at a reasonable pace surrounded by others and highway guards.
Zarracen increases her speed to a light jog instead of the full sprint she used the previous day. The highway isn't completely filled—just a few carriages here and there—giving her room to maneuver the cart.
It isn't long before those she met are shadows on the horizon behind her. Expertly avoiding slower caravans is difficult, but soon she turns down the fork toward Arthwa. Arriving at the fork, she steps off the magically protected highway and runs parallel to it. With this, she increases her speed.
This type of movement is frowned upon but not outlawed. The highway's magic—concentrated in the cobbled stone and gem towers—forms a barrier she is no longer protected by.
She's fine with that. Especially if she can sprint past the crowd. Honestly, perhaps she could quit the knights after this and become a porter. She's strong enough to run across most of the empire without worrying about dying. Not many can say that outside the emperor's ranks.
Which is also why the guards on the road didn't bother her.
Zarracen looks toward the road and finds the perfect spot to fade back in. Night will fall soon, but it looks like she will reach Arthwa before then. She fades back into traffic and slows her pace enough to rest—and to keep her tattered boots from further destruction.
Hours pass, and she arrives at the checkpoint into the city. Several carts and people are ahead of her. She moves out of line with the dragon in tow and orders people to make way.
"You can't just cut ahead!" a man shouts—only to fall silent at the sight of her armor bearing the Grand Knight of Valor insignia and the giant dead dragon behind her.
Zarracen doesn't even need to glare. She marches forward, people stumbling out of her way. Carriages move, and the road practically parts for her.
She approaches the city gates where guards check for forbidden goods or criminals. The guards straighten upon her approach. Their mouths agape, eyes shining as they stare at her and her prize.
"Halt!" one barks, snapping out of his trance. He steps forward. He is no knight, but she can tell he can use aura. From the deference of the others, he is respected.
"This is a caravan for the Star of Ixmtaraza, bringing the White Dragon of Arcus to Illuvia."
"Galt Zarracen?" he asks. His eyes roam her armor, disbelief clear. They land on her insignia, and he nods.
"Let 'er through!" he orders. "Lake! Escort Galt Zarracen to an area where she can rest."
Less trouble than expected. Likely due to her rank—and the dead dragon behind her. She passes through the gates, ignoring frustrated glares from common folk who likely waited hours.
"Where's the closest yard?" she asks the escort.
"Over there—by the knight yard. Likely the biggest one that can hold that beauty," he says.
Zarracen follows his gesture. Arthwa hasn't changed much—bustling streets, teleportation towers, carriages, travelers. Between them are open yards with small houses or shops. The yard he points to is hard to see through the throng of people and peddlers, but the distance is short. Her body relaxes. Soon she will rest, and with a knight barracks nearby, she will have adequate guards to watch the beast.
The trip is short, guards clearing a path as she steers the cart.
"Lake, go inside and bring me the commanding officer," she orders.
Lake bows, worry on his face. Hopefully she won't deal with an ass of a knight—though the order is full of them.
A man stumbles out, haggard. He bows at the waist, shivering in fear. Pale face. Protruding ears wiggling beneath short orange hair. A Fealt. Not rare among knights, but rare this far from their territory without a Duke or Marquess.
Arthwa's highest nobility is merely a viscount. Oddness aside, this man is clearly not the commanding officer. His armor bears two XX strikes—Knight of 2nd Class. A commander would be at least a Captain.
"Where is your Knight Captain?" Zarracen asks.
"Apologies, Galt Zarracen. Our Knight Captain was summoned to see the Lord," he says.
"Fine. Get me a yard and new boots—enough for high‑speed foot travel to Illuvia. I'll also need food, guards, and a bath for the night."
"Of course, Galt." He bows again and runs off.
With Zarracen settled, Lake is dismissed. She lets the cart handle down and stretches. A few knights stop their training to stare. She stares back until they look away.
"Milady, we've got a yard for ya!" the Fealt shouts, returning. His tone is entirely different now.
"Where at?"
"The sub‑barrack training yard. There's a bath and everything. We don't have squires, so the place is empty—you can rest without worry. The knights have been advised not to bother you. Though… unlikely they'll listen. They might wanna hear some stories."
He says all this in a hurried breath. Zarracen smirks, and his pale face flushes. He murmurs for her to follow, and they move through the wide alleyway to the sub‑barracks. Most nobles would take offense at such a place—but this is exactly what she wants.
A yard big enough to hold the dragon. A place to bathe, eat, and rest. Knights nearby to keep watch.
Yes. This is perfect.