Chapter 10

  ?The road to San Pedro was paved with good intentions, bad maps, and an uncomfortable amount of silence.

  ?Two days had passed since they left the illegal settlement of Buli. The Whispering Woods had begun to thin out, the oppressive canopy giving way to patches of blue sky and the occasional honest-to-god cumulus cloud. The air was less humid here, smelling of dust and dried grass rather than ancient, bio-luminescent moss.

  ?Homer walked with a steady, rhythmic gait, his eyes glued to the leather-bound book Griphook had sold him in Carmona. He frowned, stopped, looked at the horizon, looked back at the map, and sighed.

  ?"Castor," Homer muttered under his breath, tracing a line on the yellowed parchment with a dirty finger. "According to this map, we should be swimming right now. There's supposed to be a lake here. 'Lake Serenity'. Deep blue water. Abundant fish."

  ?"Geographical analysis complete," Castor’s voice chimed, crisp and annoying in his auditory cortex. "There is no lake. There is, however, a very large patch of dry scrubland and a colony of dirt-beetles. The topographical data in that book is approximately four hundred years out of date. The lake likely dried up during the last minor tectonic shift caused by the dormant terraforming processors attempting to re-route the water table."

  ?"Four hundred years?" Homer whispered, closing the book with a snap. "Griphook ripped me off. He said this was a 'classic edition'. I paid good silver for this."

  ?"In the antiquities market, 'classic' is a synonym for 'useless'," Castor corrected. "My theory stands, Architect. The scarcity of updated cartography is a direct result of the societal reliance on magic. Why write a book or draw a map when a mage can simply teleport or use a scrying spell? The magical aristocracy hoards knowledge, while the common folk rely on oral tradition. It is a classic feudal stagnation loop."

  ?"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

  "?I am an AI designed for strategic oversight. Observing the inefficiency of a magic-based society is statistically fascinating. Also, yes. It is amusing to watch you get lost."

  ?"We aren't lost," Homer grumbled. "We're just... taking the scenic route."

  ?He glanced behind him. Elara was walking ten paces back, maintaining her usual distance. However, unlike her usual pristine, terrifyingly perfect High Elf self, she looked... frayed. Her silver hair was tied back in a severe, messy knot. Her armor, usually gleaming, was dull. And she was radiating an aura of pure, unadulterated grumpiness that was almost palpable.

  ?"We are not lost," Elara called out, her voice sharp. "San Pedro is five miles north. I can smell the stables from here."

  ?"Good nose," Homer said, trying to be cheerful. "You hungry? I think I have an apple left."

  ?Elara’s eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "Do not speak to me of food, human. Or wind. Or apples. Especially not bread."

  ?Homer winced. "Right. Sorry. Still touchy about the bread?"

  ?"Touchy?" Elara let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You blew my lunch into the stratosphere! It was honey-nut! It had glaze!"

  ?The tension had started yesterday morning. They had come across a group of hunters—three burly humans and a dwarf—struggling to lift their kill onto a wagon. It was a "Terror-Strider," essentially a chicken the size of a minivan with razor-sharp spurs and a beak that could crack stone.

  ?Homer, being Homer, couldn't walk past without helping.

  ?Flashback: 24 Hours Ago

  ?"Need a lift?" Homer had asked, stepping off the road.

  ?"Back off, twig," the lead hunter grunted, sweating profusely as he tried to lever the massive bird carcass. "This thing weighs a ton. We've been at it for an hour."

  ?Homer didn't argue. He just positioned himself upwind. He checked his surroundings. Elara was sitting on a fallen log nearby, unwrapping a package wrapped in wax paper. It was a loaf of honey-nut bread she had bought in Buli. She had been guarding it like a dragon guards gold, saving it for a special moment. She lifted the bread to her lips, closing her eyes in anticipation of the sweet, soft texture.

  ?"Castor, wind assist. Vector four, up-draft," Homer whispered.

  ?He snapped his fingers. A concentrated burst of air, like a localized tornado, erupted from his palm. It hit the Terror-Strider, lifting the massive carcass effortlessly into the air so the hunters could slide the wagon underneath.

  ?It worked perfectly. The hunters cheered.

  ?Except for the back-draft.

  ?The displaced air rushed in to fill the vacuum. It created a sudden, violent gust that swept across the clearing. It hit the log where Elara sat.

  ?The honey-nut bread, light and fluffy, didn't stand a chance. It was ripped from her hands, sailing in a perfect arc over the treetops, vanishing into the deep woods like a migrating bird.

  ?Elara sat there, her hands still raised in the shape of a sandwich, holding nothing but air. She opened her eyes. She looked at her empty hands. She looked at the sky where her lunch had ascended to the heavens.

  ?Then she looked at Homer.

  ?"Oops," Homer said.

  ?The hunters slapped Homer on the back, offering him dried jerky as thanks. Elara ate a sour, unripe 'Puzzle-Fruit' found by the roadside, staring at Homer with murder in her eyes for the next six hours.

  ?End Flashback

  ?"It was an accident," Homer said defensively, coming back to the present. "Physics is unpredictable."

  ?"You owe me a bakery," Elara muttered. "A whole one."

  ?But the bread incident was just the appetizer. The main course of Elara's misery had been served only three hours ago.

  ?Flashback: 3 Hours Ago

  ?The road had widened, allowing for carriage travel. They heard the shouting before they saw them. A caravan of three ornate wagons, painted in the white and gold of the Elven merchant caste, was in chaos.

  ?"Get back here! You little vermin!" an Elf merchant screamed, waving a silk pillow at the trees.

  ?Swarming the caravan were dozens of small, agile creatures. 'Glint-Monkeys'. They were about two feet tall, with four arms and fur that shifted color to match the leaves. They were notorious for stealing anything that shined.

  ?One monkey sat on top of the lead wagon, chattering triumphantly. In its four hands, it held a leather satchel stamped with the Royal Seal.

  ?"My papers!" the merchant wailed, clutching his head. "My trade permits! I cannot enter San Pedro without them! I will lose my contract!"

  ?Homer watched, amused. "Cute little guys. Mischievous though."

  ?"They are pests," Elara declared, stepping forward. "And that is an Elven caravan. We will assist."

  ?"We?" Homer asked. "I thought we were on a schedule? You said no more stops."

  ?"They are Highborn," Elara said, her tone implying that helping an Elf was a duty, while helping a Human was a charity. "Besides, if we recover the papers, they will likely offer us a ride. No more walking to Muntinlupa."

  ?Before Homer could formulate a plan, Elara drew her sword. "Stand back, slow-foot. I will handle this. Glint-Monkeys are cowardly. A show of force will scatter them."

  ?She charged. She didn't use stealth. She used speed. She leaped onto the wagon, slashing at the monkeys. The creatures screeched, scattering into the trees.

  ?"Ha!" Elara shouted, reaching for the bag that the lead monkey had dropped on a branch.

  ?She forgot one thing: Glint-Monkeys are pack hunters. And they have poor hygiene.

  ?From the branches above, fifty monkeys appeared. They didn't attack with claws. They attacked with... projectiles.

  ?Rotten fruit. Mud. And other, less savory organic compounds.

  ?Elara looked up just in time to see a rain of filth descending.

  ?"Shield!" she tried to cast, but she was too slow.

  ?The monkeys swarmed her. They grabbed her cape. They pulled her hair. The one with the bag leaped to a higher branch, blowing a raspberry.

  ?"Get off me!" Elara screamed, flailing.

  ?Homer sighed. "Castor, calculate trajectory. Gentle push. Don't hurt the monkeys."

  ?Homer extended his hand. "Ventus."

  ?A wall of wind slammed into the tree line. It was effective. It blew the monkeys away, sending them tumbling harmlessly into the deep brush, dropping the bag in the process.

  ?Unfortunately, Elara was also in the tree line.

  ?The wind caught her mid-jump. She was launched backward, flailing like a ragdoll. She hit the ground, rolling down the embankment into a ditch.

  ?A ditch that the monkeys had been using as a latrine for weeks.

  ?SPLASH.

  ?Silence descended on the road.

  ?Homer walked over to the edge of the ditch. Elara was sitting waist-deep in a slurry of mud, monkey urine, and manure. A banana peel was draped elegantly over her shoulder pauldron.

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  ?She was vibrating. Steam was literally rising from her armor.

  ?"Elara?" Homer asked tentatively. "You okay?"

  ?Elara looked up. Her violet eyes were glowing. Not metaphorically. Literally glowing red.

  ?"You..." she hissed.

  ?She raised her hand. There was no 'Ventus' this time. No elegant elven chant.

  ?"IGNIS!"

  ?A fireball the size of a beach ball erupted from her palm, screaming toward Homer’s face.

  ?Homer yelped, ducking. The fireball flew over his head, singeing his eyebrows, and exploded against a tree, turning it into instant charcoal.

  ?"Fire," Homer noted, scrambling back up the bank. "Okay. Fire and Mind Magic. Good to know. Don't shoot! I saved the bag!"

  ?Elara climbed out of the ditch, dripping slime. She looked like a swamp monster in expensive armor.

  ?The Elf merchant stared at her, horrified. "High Guard...?"

  ?"One word," Elara growled at the merchant, smoke curling from her fingers, "and I burn your wagon."

  ?End Flashback

  ?Now, walking the final mile to San Pedro, Elara still smelled faintly of singed wood and wet dog, despite the water mage in the caravan hosing her down for ten minutes.

  ?"There it is," Homer said, pointing ahead.

  ?San Pedro.

  ?It was a fortress town, built on a rise overlooking the valley. It was significantly larger than Buli, enclosed by a proper stone wall with watchtowers. A paved road led up to the main gate, where a queue of wagons and travelers waited for inspection.

  ?"Finally," Elara grunted. "Civilization. Soap. Hot water."

  ?They joined the queue. The guards here were uniformed, wearing the crest of the San Pedro Barony—a rooster on a shield.

  ?"Name and business?" the guard asked, eyeing Homer’s dusty gear.

  ?"Homer. Adventurer. Just passing through."

  ?The guard looked at Elara. He wrinkled his nose. "And her?"

  ?Elara stepped forward. She didn't flash her badge. She just glared. "I am his... handler. Let us pass, or I will file a complaint about the width of your gate."

  ?The guard, sensing a Karen of mythical proportions, waved them through immediately.

  ?The town of San Pedro was bustling. Unlike the improvised chaos of Buli, this was a structured settlement. Cobblestone streets, two-story timber buildings, and shops displaying actual glass windows. It smelled of coal smoke, roasting meat, and unwashed bodies—the perfume of the middle ages.

  ?"Inn," Elara barked. "Now."

  ?They found a place called "The Golden Rooster." It looked decent enough.

  ?They entered the common room. It was crowded with merchants and travelers. The noise died down as Elara walked in. Even after the magical cleaning, she carried an air of tragedy.

  ?An old woman with a face like a dried apple stood behind the counter.

  ?"Room," Elara said, slamming a silver coin onto the wood. "With a tub. A large tub. And soap. All the soap you have."

  ?The old woman blinked, looking from the furious Elf to Homer, who was standing behind her looking like a kicked puppy.

  ?"Rough road, dearies?" the woman rasped.

  ?"You have no idea," Homer said. "Is the bathhouse open?"

  ?"For her?" The woman eyed Elara’s stained armor. "I'll have the boys fill the copper tub in the back. Private room. Extra copper for the water."

  ?"Take it," Elara growled. She grabbed the key. She turned to Homer. "I am going to scrub until I have no skin left. If you are not here when I return, I will hunt you down."

  ?"I'll be... around," Homer said.

  ?Elara stormed up the stairs, leaving a trail of angry footsteps.

  ?Homer exhaled, slumping against the counter. "Sorry about her. She's... passionate about hygiene."

  ?"She smells like monkey-musk," the old woman observed shrewdly. "Glint-Monkeys?"

  ?"Got it in one."

  ?"Nasty buggers."

  ?Homer paid for his own room—a small attic space—and asked, "Is there a bookshop in town? I need a map that isn't from the previous era."

  ?The old woman pointed a knobby finger out the window. "Three blocks down. 'The Ink & Quill'. Run by a Beastkin named Jareth. He's got the good stuff."

  ?"Thanks," Homer said. "If the Elf asks... tell her I'm at the shop."

  ?"Will do, love."

  ?Homer stepped back out onto the street. The sun was setting, casting long orange shadows across the town. He took a deep breath.

  ?"Freedom," Homer muttered. "At least for an hour."

  ?He headed straight for the bookshop.

  ?'The Ink & Quill' was a dusty, cramped shop that smelled of old parchment and glue. Jareth, the owner, was a Badger-Beastkin with spectacles perched on his nose.

  ?"Maps?" Jareth squeaked. "Aisle three. Just got the new Imperial Survey in. Shows the new borders of the marshlands."

  ?Homer spent thirty minutes browsing. He bought the updated map (which actually showed the lake had dried up fifty years ago), a book on Regional Flora and Poisonous Berries, and a treatise on The Political Structure of the High Council.

  ?"Knowledge is power," Castor noted approvingly. "And this map is 98% more accurate than the previous one."

  ?"And it didn't cost me an arm and a leg," Homer muttered, paying the Badger.

  ?With the new map tucked safely in his bag, Homer decided it was time to deal with bureaucracy. He navigated the streets to the Guild Hall.

  ?The San Pedro Adventurer's Guild was a sturdy stone building with the universal symbol of the Sword and Shield.

  ?Inside, the air smelled of stale ale and sweat. Adventurers of all races sat at tables, boasting or brooding. A massive quest board dominated one wall.

  ?Homer walked up to the reception desk. A bored-looking human woman with glasses was stamping papers.

  ?"Help you?" she asked without looking up.

  ?"Reporting in," Homer said, placing his Guild Card on the counter. "Copper Rank. Homer of Cupang."

  ?She took the card, slotted it into a brass reader. "Homer. Copper 3. Lowest of the low. What do you have?"

  ?Homer cleared his throat. He had been keeping a list.

  ?"Well," Homer began. "It's been a busy week. First, I repaired a transport vehicle for a fruit merchant on the Carmona road. Saved a shipment of Star-Melons."

  ?The receptionist paused, her quill hovering over the ledger. She looked at him. "You fixed a cart?"

  ?"The wheel was shattered," Homer nodded solemnly. "Structural integrity compromise."

  ?"Right..." she scribbled something that looked like 'Labor'. "What else?"

  ?"I provided emergency medical transport for a civilian female with a tibia fracture. Carried her four kilometers to safety."

  ?"You carried a woman home," she translated.

  ?"Then there was a dispute resolution between two civilians regarding floral arrangements under a bridge. Prevented potential domestic violence."

  ?The receptionist sighed, rubbing her temples. "You stopped a couple from arguing about flowers?"

  ?"It was very heated," Homer insisted.

  ?"Anything involving... I don't know... monsters? Danger? Things adventurers actually do?"

  ?"Oh, right," Homer snapped his fingers. "Wyverns. Three of them."

  ?The receptionist dropped her quill. The entire room went quiet. "Three Wyverns?"

  ?"In the ravine near Buli," Homer continued. "But, full disclosure, I arrived late. The local party—Kaelen's group—had already engaged. I just provided wind support. Pinned them down so the real heroes could finish the job. So, put it down as an 'Assist'."

  ?The receptionist narrowed her eyes. "An assist on three Wyverns? That's... unusual humility. Most rookies would claim they wrestled them bare-handed."

  ?"I know my limits," Homer shrugged.

  ?"Anything else?"

  ?"Monkey infestation," Homer added. "Recovered Royal Documents from a Glint-Monkey pack. Returned to owner."

  ?"Okay," the receptionist said, standing up. "Standard procedure for rank adjustment. Put your hand on the Truth Stone."

  ?She pointed to a large, clear crystal mounted on a pedestal. It pulsed with a faint white light.

  ?"It's a lie detector?" Homer asked.

  ?"High Elf construct," she recited the standard script. "Detects pulse, mana fluctuation, and intent. If it turns red, you're lying and we fine you. If it turns green, we process the XP. Go on."

  ?Homer placed his hand on the crystal. It was cold.

  ?Castor?

  ?"Magical analysis: It is a rudimentary psychometric scanner," Castor explained. "It reads surface thoughts and stress levels. I am currently looping a mental image of you feeding a duck. It is a very truthful, calming image."

  ?"I did all those things," Homer said aloud. "Even the flowers."

  ?"Technically true," Castor noted. "You manipulated the wind pressure. The method is irrelevant to the scanner."

  ?The crystal glowed a bright, happy green.

  ?The receptionist blinked. "Huh. Usually, rookies lie about the size of the pack. Okay. Verified."

  ?She scribbled on a ledger. "Wheel repair... Transport... Dispute resolution... Wyvern Assist... Monkey recovery..."

  ?She stamped his card. It glowed briefly.

  ?"Congratulations," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You have ascended from Copper 3 to Copper 1. You are now slightly less expendable."

  ?"How close to Bronze?" Homer asked, taking the card.

  ?"One point," she said. "You need one more verified assist or a D-Rank monster kill."

  ?"One point?" Homer sighed, staring at the card. "Seriously? If I had just punched one of the Wyverns instead of holding it, I'd be Bronze."

  ?"You should have punched the monkey," a voice said from behind him.

  ?Homer didn't jump. Castor had already highlighted the thermal signature approaching his six o'clock.

  ?He turned around. Elara was there.

  ?She looked... civilized. Her hair was clean, shining like spun silver. She wore fresh clothes—a simple white tunic and grey trousers—having stowed her armor. She looked like a noblewoman on a casual stroll, except for the lingering glint of annoyance in her eyes.

  ?"Elara," Homer smiled. "You're squeaky clean."

  ?"And you are still playing at being a hero," she said, looking at his card. "Copper 1? All that effort... the 'Mega-Wyvern' story you told the children... and you get promoted for fixing a cart?"

  ?"Hey, it's honest work," Homer defended. "And an assist is an assist."

  ?"You are wasting your potential," Elara scoffed. "If you had just used your wind to decapitate the beasts, you would be Silver by now. But no. You have to be... helpful."

  ?"Helpful is my brand," Homer grinned.

  ?"Your brand is 'inefficient'," she corrected.

  ?She looked around the Guild Hall. Adventurers were staring at her—it wasn't often a High Elf graced a human guild with her presence. She ignored them effortlessly.

  ?"How did you find me?" Homer asked, feigning surprise. "I thought you were scrubbing the memory of the monkeys away."

  ?"The bath was sufficient," she said primly. "And finding you is not a challenge, Homer. You are predictable. You buy a book, you go to the Guild, you boast about your 'small things'. I knew you would be here."

  ?"I wasn't boasting," Homer said. "I was filing paperwork."

  ?"Come," Elara said, her tone shifting. It wasn't the angry tone of the monkey incident. It was something else. Something sharper. "We are going back to the inn."

  ?"Why? Dinner time?"

  ?"No," Elara said. She stepped closer, lowering her voice so the nearby adventurers couldn't hear. "I have... news."

  ?Homer looked at her. Her face was serious. The banter was gone.

  ?"Good news?" Homer asked hopefully. "Did the monkeys send an apology note?"

  ?"Bad news," Elara said. Her eyes locked onto his, searching for something he couldn't quite identify. "Very bad news. And we need to discuss it behind a locked door."

  ?Homer felt a knot of tension form in his stomach. Castor? Analysis?

  "Subject Elara’s heart rate is elevated," Castor reported. "Pupils dilated. She is not angry. She is... anxious. Whatever she found out, it has unsettled her."

  ?"Lead the way," Homer said, pocketing his newly stamped card.

  ?They walked out of the Guild Hall, into the cooling twilight of San Pedro. The rank up to Copper 1 suddenly felt very insignificant compared to the look on Elara’s face.

  ?Whatever news she had, it wasn't about a broken wheel. It was about something much, much bigger.