The pushing from the before had thankfully amounted to nothing. Perhaps just the great stone settling, or some small forest creature that had given up. Our prayers were answered.

  Morning light filtered down through the vine-covered opening in the ceiling, a welcome sight after a tense night. We rolled aside the stone blocking the main entrance, stepping back into the wilderness.

  The forest seemed almost innocent in daylight, its dangers masked by dappled sunlight playing across moss-covered ground. Birds chirped overhead, as if the deathly silence of the previous night was just a dream.

  I squinted against the brightness, scanning for any remaining threats while Ragna helped Isolde to her feet.

  The princess still moved with the lethargy of someone fighting off poison, her skin carrying an unnatural pallor beneath the dirt and dried blood.

  Ragna and I had made some immediate medicine from the different leaves and fruits in the forest to stabilize Borric and the Princess. I appreciated the barbarian knowledge that assisted my already built military one which helped me make those.

  It was such an evolution, too. My former life's knowledge of "take two aspirin and call me in the morning" had evolved into "grind these suspicious berries and pray they don't cause hallucinations." Medical school would be impressed.

  "How much farther to the edge of this forest?" I asked the group, keeping my voice low as I adjusted my makeshift weapon.

  My obsidian ax head had been precariously lashed to a new wooden handle with vines I'd stripped from the cave walls. It wasn't pretty and it won't hold well in a decent battle, but it would have to do.

  Borric leaned heavily against the cave wall, his breathing labored but steady. "I used this road a few times before. So I'd say about a day, normally," he wheezed. "But with our... current state..."

  "Two, maybe three," I finished for him, frowning at the implications.

  “Or longer,” he added. Assuming five days of slow movement through monster-infested territory with two injured companions, I felt a sigh wanting to leave my chest.

  Isolde clutched her jewel box tighter to her chest, her knuckles white. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her eyes downcast. "I'm slowing everyone down."

  "We all are," Ragna snorted, gesturing to our battered group. "No one's exactly fresh as spring water here."

  I helped Borric to his feet, allowing him to use my shoulder for support. "We move as fast as we safely can. No more, no less."

  Ragna grunted, "Thorvyn, can’t we just carry them? We'd be faster."

  I shook my head. "And be useless if we're attacked? Carrying a person for days isn't just tiring, it leaves even us Valtherians defenseless. We must be prepared to fight at a moment's notice. Slow and steady is slow and alive."

  We set off cautiously. Borric, using the sun and the lay of the land, guided us parallel to the old road, keeping us deep within the densest undergrowth. It was slower, but it meant we could hear anyone approaching on the main path long before they saw us.

  It was not a fun journey. Every rustle in the bushes made us freeze, and each distant howl had us changing direction. The forest seemed endlessly the same – towering trees with trunks wider than buildings, underbrush thick with thorns and vines, and canopies so dense that only fractured light reached the ground.

  After what felt like hours of tense silence, even if we'd been making small comments among ourselves, Isolde finally spoke. "I don't know what I'm doing," she confessed quietly. “This is so confusing for me.”

  I glanced back at her.

  She walked with Ragna's support, her blue hair tucked beneath the hood of her travel cloak, her eyes fixed on the ground.

  "None of us do," I replied flatly. "We're just trying to stay alive, princess.”

  "No," she shook her head slowly. "I mean with the throne. With Thalassaria." She clutched the jewel box tighter. "I was trained in courtly manners, diplomatic etiquette, even defensive magic... but not this. Not what to do when your own brother tries to have you killed."

  I remained silent, allowing her to continue.

  "Heh. I guess as a royal child I should have been taught that too, but as a young princess nobody bothered to teach me. My father..." her voice caught. "He always handled the politics. The maneuvering. I was just... the spare. The daughter." Her bitter laugh sounded hollow beneath the forest canopy. "And now I'm supposed to take back a throne from someone who's already sitting on it?"

  Borric spoke up, his voice stronger than it had been since the ambush. "If I may, Princess... you underestimate yourself! Your father spoke often of your insight, your compassion – "

  "Compassion doesn't win thrones, Mister Borric."

  "But it does win people," he countered gently. "And thrones rest on people."

  I looked around and adjusted my grip on my ax, mind working through the practical problems rather than the philosophical ones.

  "We should avoid the main roads once we're out of here," I said evasively while drawing on memories of military tactics from my past life. "Your brother will have people watching them."

  Isolde went quiet for a moment before sighing. If I had to guess, she must be thinking, ‘What was I expecting bringing such a topic to a barbarian?’

  "Why avoid the main roads?" She asked a moment later. "How else would we reach Solstara?"

  "River routes. Merchant trails. Maybe old hunting paths." I shrugged. "Places where fewer eyes are watching."

  She stared at me, something like resignation crossing her features.

  "...You confuse me sometimes, Thorvyn. Sometimes you act as if you don't know how interactions work, but then you say surprising things like this. How is it that a barbarian from an isolated island knows more about proper strategy than I do?" She immediately blushed. "I – I didn't mean that to sound – "

  "It's fine," I cut her off. "I'm not offended."

  "You should be," Ragna muttered, but without any heat there.

  I laughed a little. "Point is, we need to be smarter than your brother expects. Both in choosing our routes, and our ideas. Even if he knows you'll be heading for the capital, he won't know which way you'll approach."

  Isolde nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "You're right. I've been so focused on what awaits in Solstara that I haven't considered how to actually get there safely."

  Borric smiled faintly. "This is why you need advisors, my lady. No ruler can see all angles alone."

  "And you, Borric?" I asked, genuinely curious. "Even after all this, you still believe in her claim?"

  The merchant's tired eyes brightened. "With every breath in my body. Let me tell you something, Thorvyn. My daughter is a commoner. In Waybound nobility and commoners aren't treated much differently, but that's just on paper. Of course in daily interactions the truth is more evident. My daughter encountered many troubles there, and it was the princess who helped her out! Princess Isolde is different from her foolish brothers. She's Thalassaria's true hope – not just because of her bloodline, but because of who she is."

  “You sound confident.”

  He straightened despite his wounds. "I've seen Prince Kaelan's cruelty firsthand. The kingdom will not survive his rule. So my words aren't even biased."

  Isolde opened her mouth to respond when a high-pitched shriek cut through the forest. I tensed immediately, pushing Borric behind me as Ragna moved to shield Isolde.

  "What was that?" Ragna hissed, her club already in hand.

  Another screech answered, followed by several more. The sound echoed through the trees, coming from all directions at once.

  "I think they're Spike-Tail Monkeys," I guessed, recognizing the distinctive call according to the Shaman's words. "They're surrounding us."

  Sure enough, the branches above us rattled as dark shapes moved through the canopy.

  I counted at least a dozen sleek, fur-covered bodies with long, barbed tails whipping behind them. Their yellow eyes glinted with predatory intelligence as they assessed us from above.

  "They hunt in packs," Borric whispered, his face paling further. "Vicious creatures."

  One of the larger monkeys dropped to a lower branch, its fangs bared in a hiss. A ridge of spines ran down its back, ending in the barbed tail that gave the species its name. Each spine glistened with what I knew to be mild poison – not lethal, but certainly debilitating.

  "We can't outrun them," I said calmly, shifting into a fighting stance. "Not with our injuries."

  "Then we fight," Ragna declared, her eyes tracking the movements above.

  I quickly assessed our group's condition. Ragna and I were battered but combat-ready. Isolde was still weak from the poison, but standing. Borric could barely walk. Our odds weren't great, but they weren't hopeless either.

  A sudden thought occurred to me as an idea formed in my head. If Borric and Isolde could level up from these creatures… they'd be able to heal off their injuries!!

  "Princess, Borric," I said, keeping my voice low and steady. "Ragna and I will beat these monkeys to near death. You two deal the killing blow. If you level up, much of your injuries will be healed, if not all."

  Isolde's eyes widened. "Is that how it works?"

  I guessed she'd reached 4th Ascension in the promise of safety to have never realized or heard about that.

  "Yes," I confirmed. "The System grants immediate recovery with level increases. It's our best chance to improve your condition quickly."

  Borric nodded grimly, clutching a small dagger that had somehow survived our ordeal. "I'll do my best."

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “That sounds fun!” Ragna laughed, the sound startlingly bright in our dire situation. "Just don't miss when it's your turn," she advised Isolde with a wink. "These little bastards don't look like they'll give us second chances."

  The first monkey launched itself at us with a screech, its barbed tail lashing forward like a whip.

  I ducked under the strike and swung my makeshift ax, careful not to put full force behind the blow. The obsidian edge caught the creature across its midsection, sending it crashing to the ground with a pained howl.

  "Now, Princess!" I shouted.

  Isolde hesitated for only a moment before thrusting a small ceremonial dagger into the wounded creature's neck. It spasmed once, then went still.

  Above us, the rest of the pack shrieked in outrage.

  "Here they come," Ragna growled, her club already in motion as three more monkeys descended at once.

  The battle had begun.

  ****

  The village of Meadow's Cross appeared through the trees like a mirage after days of wilderness. Simple thatched roofs and the occasional wisp of chimney smoke promised civilization, however modest.

  We approached cautiously, remembering the lessons from our encounters in the forest.

  The past few days had been productive, if exhausting. After the Spike-Tail Monkey attack, we'd faced several other creature encounters, each one turning into an impromptu leveling opportunity for our group.

  Ragna and I had each gained a level, bringing me to 36 and her close behind. But the real surprise had been Borric.

  "Level 11," I murmured to myself, still amazed by the merchant's rapid growth.

  Despite being a middle aged man, he'd started at a mere Level 6 before our journey. But now? Now he walked with the confidence of someone discovering strength they never knew they possessed.

  If there were an Olympic event in this world for "middle-aged man suddenly becoming lethal," Borric would take gold. I was almost expecting him to start complaining about his back while simultaneously decapitating monsters.

  "What are you mumbling about?" Ragna asked, nudging me as we approached the village gates.

  "Just thinking how far we've come," I replied. "Especially Borric."

  "Did you see him take down that rock lizard yesterday?" Ragna grinned, nudging me as we walked. "For a merchant, he's got a decent arm."

  Borric overheard us, looking down at his hands with a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

  "I used to get winded counting inventory," he admitted. "Now I'm slaying beasts. Haha… My daughter will never believe this."

  "Maybe we should get a signed statement from the Princess," I suggested dryly.

  Borric's eyes lit up. "Yes! With the royal seal. 'This certifies that Borric, formerly a respectable merchant, has become alarmingly proficient at stabbing things.' Ah, what a memorable journey this is."

  Isolde walked ahead of us, hooded and cloaked to conceal her distinctive blue hair. The disguise was simple but effective, just another travel-worn woman rather than the heir to Thalassaria's throne.

  Borric sped up to walk beside her, his merchant's instincts already assessing the village.

  "Small place," he noted quietly. "I've only heard about it, never dropped by. Primarily agricultural by the look of those fields. We should be able to resupply without drawing too much attention."

  I nodded, but kept my hand near my weapon. Even the smallest villages had eyes and ears, and news traveled fast in troubled times.

  Ragna examined the village with a strange look. “What’s wrong, Ragna?” Borric asked.

  "I think this is a trap,” she said, and we all were instantly alerted. What did she mean?! “I mean… look around! This place has walls but no warriors? How do they stop enemies? It must be a trap!"

  “....”

  Isolde exchanged glances with me, as if somehow it was my fault that Ragna was saying stupid stuff. "They have guards, but they're called a militia." Isolde explained.

  "Mi-lit-sha? Strange name. In the tribe, my people just hit things until they go away instead of using weird names." Ragna crossed her arms.

  I laughed. "That's basically what a militia does, just with more paperwork." Somehow, our little quip lightened the mood as we approached.

  The village square was modest – a well surrounded by a handful of shops and a single tavern called The Crooked Plow. Farmers and laborers moved about their business, their faces etched with the weariness that seemed to hang over the entire kingdom.

  Ragna stretched her arms overhead, rolling her shoulders after the long walk. Her black tunic rode up just enough to show a strip of muscle along her stomach.

  I looked away a beat too late.

  "See something, white hair?" she asked, not turning around.

  "Checking for injuries."

  "On my stomach."

  "Could be internal."

  She snorted, but when she glanced back, there was heat in her eyes that had nothing to do with anger.

  "We should split up," I quickly suggested to avoid her. "Borric and I will gather supplies. Ragna, you take the Princess to the tavern and listen for news."

  Ragna nodded, her expression unusually serious. "Got it. We'll be just another pair of weary travelers looking for a hot meal."

  Her speech, although still with that soft accent (which was lovely, by the way), was far more intelligent now than when I first came to this world.

  I felt a bit proud of her.

  As they headed toward the tavern, Borric and I made our way to the general store – a cramped building with dried herbs hanging from the ceiling beams and shelves packed with practical necessities.

  The shopkeeper, an older woman with calloused hands and sharp eyes, watched us suspiciously as we browsed.

  "You folks passing through?" she asked, her tone careful as she eyed me in particular.

  "Yes. Just restocking," Borric answered smoothly, examining a small collection of healing salves. "Been on the road for some time."

  "I see… Dangerous times to be traveling," she commented, watching me inspect a coil of rope. "Roads aren't safe like they used to be."

  "We've noticed," I replied dryly. We didn't actually, we've been avoiding those roads. "Any particular reason why?"

  She hesitated, then leaned across the counter. "The capital's in turmoil, isn't it? King's dead, and his son's got the throne now. Prince Kaelan, they call him. Been sending troops all over, looking for his sister, they say."

  Borric's hand paused over a packet of dried meat. "The Princess? What's being said about her?"

  The shopkeeper snorted. "Eh, that depends on who you ask. Official word is she stole a very valuable artifact, abandoned the kingdom, and ran off with barbarians from the outer isles." She glanced at me, her eyes lingering on my white hair. "Some say she's plotting against her brother. Others say she's dead already."

  The Prince knows Isolde has barbarian allies? That means that bastard Allister sent him letters to report us to him. I wondered how much he'd reported, but it probably wasn't much since he didn't think we were threats.

  I maintained a neutral expression despite the worry behind my brows. "And what do you believe?"

  "Me?" She shrugged. "Look, foreigner. It doesn’t really matter who rules us small folks, it’s always the same. Sometimes it's a little better, sometimes it's a bit worse. But this time… I believe times are harder than they've ever been. Taxes doubled right after the Prince took the throne. Food shipments to small villages like ours got cut in half. Whatever's happening in Solstara, it's the common folk who suffer for it."

  “Fair…”

  “Forget I ever said anything. Let’s do business,” she clapped her hands. “Since you seem like you’ll be traveling for a while now, are you interested in this map?” She pulled out an old, wrinkly map. “It comes with a guidebook too, with names of monsters and stuff! Great, right?”

  “....”

  Ah, yes.

  The fantasy equivalent of a gas station attendant trying to upsell me on the "collector's edition" road atlas from 1997. Some things truly were universal across worlds.

  I could see that she was trying to sell an item that had been rotting in her shop for a long time, since nobody wanted to buy it. But when I flipped through the pages of the guidebook, titled Guides to Monsters of Solstara, I found valuable information.

  After purchasing our supplies, Borric and I made our way to the tavern, finding Ragna and Isolde huddled at a corner table. The princess's eyes were red-rimmed beneath her hood, her hands trembling slightly around her mug.

  "What happened?" I asked quietly, sliding onto the bench beside Ragna.

  "They know," Isolde whispered. "There are whispers everywhere, even in this remote village. Everyone knows. My brother's told them I've betrayed Thalassaria." Her voice caught. "They're saying I murdered my own father."

  Ragna's face was grim. "The innkeeper was telling everyone about increased patrols, rewards for information about a blue-haired woman traveling with 'island savages.'"

  "But how does he know?" Borric wondered. "About the barbarians specifically?"

  "Allister must have sent him letters, and wrote about us there. And my brother must have figured out what happened when Allister didn't report back for a while," Isolde explained quietly, reflecting my own thoughts. "My brother's cautious. He would have prepared contingencies. If Allister succeeded, he'd send confirmation. If he failed..."

  "He'd assume you were still alive and with us," I finished.

  "Exactly. For all his faults, Kaelan never leaves these sort of things to chance."

  Silence fell on our table. We exchanged glances, but then a commotion at the bar drew our attention.

  A group of farmers were growing louder, their cups being refilled as an elderly man spoke passionately.

  "My grandson's in the royal guard," he was saying. "Says the new taxes are just the beginning. The prince is negotiating with Erebia, selling off our northern territories for their support."

  "Erebia?" a woman gasped. "But they've been treatin’ us like shit for decades now!"

  "That's Kaelan for you," the old man spat. "He'd sell his own mother if it bought him power. Then again, according to the stories the Princess is worse. Hahh… our country just has bad fate.”

  Isolde's face had gone pale. She stared at her hands, knuckles white around her mug. "This is my fault," she whispered. "My people are suffering while I've been running."

  "How is running for your life your fault? Don't be stupid,," Ragna corrected firmly. "Your brother's the one selling out the kingdom."

  "But I should be there," Isolde insisted, her voice gaining strength. "On the throne. Protecting them."

  I studied her face, seeing real pain there, not just for herself but for the villagers talking around us. "You will be," I said simply. "But first we need to get you there alive."

  "It will stay like this – or get worse – if Kaelan truly secures the throne," she said, looking directly at me. "I have to sit on that throne fast before he gains more influence, Thorvyn. Only I can make this country better."

  That was quite the bold thing to say, but given what even these remote villagers were saying about this Prince, I didn't doubt her.

  Still, I couldn't help a skeptical statement. "One ruler rarely changes everything overnight."

  "Maybe not," she admitted. "But I won't sell my people to Erebia after somehow gaining freedom from them centuries ago. I won't double their taxes while cutting their food supply. I can start there."

  Ragna kicked me under the table, her eyes warning me to back off. For a moment, I was the barbarian between the two of us. I decided to heed her silent advice.

  “Ahem, anyways,” Borric cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "What's our next move? The main roads will be watched more heavily now."

  Isolde looked around the tavern, taking in the tired faces of her subjects – farmers with calloused hands, mothers with thin children, elderly folk with worried eyes. Then she straightened her shoulders, a determination entering her expression that I hadn't seen since the forest.

  "We take the wilderness route," she decided firmly. "It's more dangerous physically, but safer from my brother's patrols. These people – " she nodded toward the villagers, " – they can't afford for me to be captured. Not now."

  The princess who had wavered in the forest now spoke with quiet authority, weighing risks and making hard choices. I found myself nodding in agreement.

  "The wilderness it is," I confirmed. "We leave at first light."

  As we prepared to depart the tavern, I noticed Isolde slip something to the innkeeper. It was a small, plain silver locket she wore beneath her cloak. Valuable, but without any royal markings that could trail it back to Isolde. The woman's eyes widened at the unexpected generosity, but before she could speak, Isolde pressed a finger to her lips.

  "For those who need it most," I heard her whisper. "And a promise that help is coming."

  That wasn't the wisest thing to do in my opinion, even if there was no royal engraving, but she was the Princess and these were her subjects. I had no right to comment.

  Even so, I smiled slightly, thinking perhaps there was more to this princess than I'd first believed. As Aristotle once observed, the true measure of leadership lies not in self-advancement, but in improving the lives of others.

  Maybe Isolde understood that better than I'd given her credit for.

  "You keep staring at her," Ragna said suddenly, bringing me out of my thoughts. I noticed that her voice was flat.

  "I'm watching our employer."

  "You watched me too, and now her?” she asked, a little offended. “You watch her differently than you watch Borric."

  I didn't have a good answer for that. Ragna's jaw tightened, and she walked ahead without another word. I caught up a few steps later. "Ragna."

  "What."

  "You're the one I trust to watch my back."

  She didn't slow down, but her shoulders relaxed just a little.

  Tomorrow, we would face the wilds again, but with clearer purpose. The path to Solstara would be difficult, but as more days went by, I believed our destination might be worth the journey. I was guarding not some little princess, but a Queen.

  Alongside a Barbarian Princess…

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