The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master-Chapter 154: Here we go again...

The road widened as the trees thinned, trunks spacing out until the forest gave up and the land tilted downward.

Dawn had barely settled when the merchant arrived at the edge of the forest, cart lantern still hooded, horse blowing steam into the cold air.

He spoke Airan cleanly, with the ease of someone used to border roads, and that alone smoothed the exchange. Vencian showed him the seal and, names that carried weight without explanation, and the price they named was one the man accepted without hesitation.

Another cart joined them before the sun cleared the trees, a subordinate taking its reins and keeping distance. By the time the forest thinned, the road was already behind them.

Gravel shifted under the cart’s wheels. The canopy broke apart, patches of sky showing through, and the air felt cooler along the slope. The descent came in long grades rather than drops, the road cut to follow the hillside, bordered by a low rail of fitted stone.

The merchant cleared his throat.

"We’ll reach Tiria after nightfall," he said, eyes forward. "Ferry doesn’t run once the lamps are lit. First crossing is at dawn."

The cart rolled on. The sound of water was still distant, more suggestion than presence.

Vencian shifted his weight as the road curved. His hand found the rail without looking. One foot braced when the grade steepened, heel settling into the boards as the cart leaned inward.

"If we miss the ferry, we miss it," the merchant said. "Happens all the time."

Seris watched the man’s shoulders as he spoke. His voice stayed level, shaped by repetition rather than care. Each detail came out complete, nothing held back.

The road bent again. Stone markers appeared at intervals, their faces worn flat. The trees below grew shorter, scrub replacing pine, and the air carried a trace of damp earth.

Vencian’s gaze tracked the line where the slope fell away. The gorge announced itself by absence first, the land opening into a wider span before the cut became visible.

Seris adjusted her grip on the sideboard. She did not ask questions. The information arrived in sequence, and she filed it as given.

The merchant flicked the reins once.

"By morning, you’ll be across," he said. "Tiria keeps its schedule."

The cart settled into a straight stretch, wheels drumming at a steady interval as the slope eased.

Vencian spoke without turning. "What are the cities that can be travelled through Viluwyn?"

The merchant glanced back, surprised into interest. His shoulders lifted, spine straightening as if the question had invited him to stand properly.

"Depends which way you follow the coin," he said. "Aruain sits east. Grain and river trade. Loud markets, narrow streets. Guilds stacked on guilds."

The reins shifted in his hands as he warmed to it.

"Ilaen is cleaner. Port city. Salt, glass, ship timber. You smell it before you see it. Everyone there belongs to someone, whether they admit it or not."

The cart rolled on. Wind slid along the open stretch, carrying dust rather than pine.

"Valuin," the merchant continued, pleased now. "Crossroads city. Nothing made there stays there. Routes tangle, deals pass through. Good place to lose track of things."

Vencian nodded once, eyes still on the road. "All busy."

"That’s cities," the merchant said. "Noise arranged into profit."

Seris shifted on the bench.

"The talking is unnecessary," she said, voice level. "The noise is interfering with my rest."

She did not look at either of them. Her gaze stayed on the far side of the road, expression unchanged.

Her tone cut him off too cleanly and that alone was enough to make the decision for him, fine then I’m going to talk harder and longer until stopping me becomes work.

The wheels kept their rhythm. Wood creaked. The road dipped again as the trees pulled farther apart and the light thinned into a flatter wash.

Vencian spoke.

"Anything changing on the roads," he said, tone easy. "Beyond tolls and weather."

The merchant hesitated. His glance slid sideways, checking Seris’s still form, then returned to the reins.

"Depends what you call change," he said carefully.

Vencian waited.

"Bandits move," the merchant added. "They always do. Taxes follow protests. Caravans reroute."

"Rumors travel faster than caravans," Vencian said. "What are people repeating lately."

The merchant cleared his throat. The cart rolled on. Gravel ticked under the wheels.

"Mostly talk," he said. "Markets being watched closer. Extra guards near crossings."

Vencian nodded once. "Any place drawing more traffic than it should."

Another pause. The merchant’s eyes flicked again toward Seris. Her posture did not shift.

"Some," he said. "Farther out."

Vencian leaned an inch forward. "Which."

"Aruios," the merchant said, voice lowered. "Small city. Wasn’t much reason to pass through before."

"And now?"

"And now people detour for it," he said. "Something turned up nearby. No one agrees what."

He lifted one hand off the reins, palm half open.

"Lord Aldanel’s hiring diggers. Pays steady. Brings carts in and out. Enough to-."

"If you continue," Seris said, "I will remember you. That will be the last useful thing you do on this road."

She did not turn. The command landed flat and absolute.

The merchant swallowed and nodded at once. "My apologies," he said, relief plain. "Shouldn’t have spoken."

He faced forward again. The reins snapped lightly, and the cart carried on.

Vencian said nothing.

-- -- --

The road dropped into Tiria in controlled turns, following the gorge as trade routes always did.

The town clung to the rock rather than crossing it. Buildings stacked along the descent, stone walls tied directly into the cliff, each level braced to hold the next. The river stayed hidden below, but its sound threaded through the streets without pause.

The inn sat where the road narrowed, anchored into the stone just above the final drop toward the ferry path. Its yard was cut flat from the slope, wide enough for carts to turn and wait. Behind it ran a narrow service path with a wash line stretched between iron hooks and shallow channels carved to carry runoff back into the rock.

Below the inn, unseen from the road, the river broke into a waterfall. At this hour it was distant, a low, continuous sound that belonged to the place.

The ferry crossing lay downstream. The inn existed for the space between arrival and morning.

Vencian slowed near the yard’s edge and touched the merchant’s sleeve.

"Go on," he said. "I’ll follow shortly. Need to settle something with the cart."

"Fine," the merchant said. "We’ll take the keys."

Lamps burned low along the walls. Travelers spoke in short bursts, voices kept close to tables, fatigue flattening tone. The air carried cooked grain and damp wool. The river reached the room only as a faint undercurrent, easy to miss beneath footsteps and chair legs.

The innkeeper looked up as Seris entered. He repeated the schedule without pause. Dawn ferry. First crossing at full light. Rooms upstairs. Locks set deep into the frames, keys thick and worn.

Seris placed coin on the counter. "Three separate rooms."

The innkeeper nodded and slid three keys across the wood. "End of the hall. Stairs on the left."

She took one without comment and gave the others to the merchant implying his job to give the remaining to that irksome guy.

The stairs creaked under use that felt routine. Doors opened and closed along the upper hall, each sound contained, each movement accounted for.

No one watched her longer than courtesy required.

Keys turned. Wood met frame. The hallway emptied.

From inside the rooms, the waterfall remained a suggestion, distant and steady, easily folded into the quiet.

The hallway shortened as doors closed, sound thinning with each latch.

-- -- --

Seris returned from the washroom with damp hair tied back, sleeves changed, boots set square beside the door. Water darkened the edge of the towel where it touched the floor. She wrung it once, hung it over the chair, and checked the window latch with a brief pull.

The lamp stayed low. The room held its shape without comment.

Seris reached for the door and opened it.

Jerenir sat at the small table by the wall.

He had chosen the chair that left the door clear. His coat was folded over the back, boots placed beneath as if he expected to leave again soon. One hand rested on the tabletop. The other held nothing.

He looked up when the door moved.

"Good evening," he said, voice level.

The door remained open behind her. The sound of water filled the space between them.