Chapter 119: Remanants
The morning air of Sky’s Edge was cold and sharp. Rhys stood at the gates of the Whispering Willow Inn.
The first rays of dawn were just beginning to touch the highest peaks of the mountains, painting them a soft orange.
The city was still quiet, the usual morning bustle not yet begun.
A few moments later, the door to the inn opened. Princess Emma stepped out, followed by the old, wizened innkeeper.
She was dressed in the same simple but durable traveling clothes as the day before, her face still hidden behind the green veil.
She gave Rhys a slight nod.
"You are on time," she said. Her voice was as calm and clear as a mountain stream.
The innkeeper shuffled forward, bowing his head to the princess. "Your carriage is ready, Your Highness."
Rhys looked towards the street. A sturdy, dark-wood carriage was waiting for them.
It was not a grand, opulent vehicle of a royal family, but it was well-built and practical.
It was pulled by two Horned Horses, strong spiritual beasts known for their endurance.
It was clear that while House Lyra had fallen, the princess was not entirely without resources.
"I will drive," Rhys said simply. It was the natural role for a guard.
Emma did not argue. She gave him another long, analytical look with her piercing green eyes, then turned and entered the carriage without another word.
The door closed with a soft click.
Rhys walked to the front of the carriage and took the reins. The Horned Horses snorted, their breath visible in the cold morning air.
With a gentle flick of the reins, he set the carriage in motion. They moved slowly through the quiet, sleeping streets of Sky’s Edge.
The few early-morning workers and city guards who saw them paid them no mind.
They were just another small party leaving the city, a common sight in this frontier town.
As they passed through the massive city gates, Rhys’s gaze swept over the faces of the guards.
They were alert, professional, but he saw no special attention directed their way.
Rhys already knew about the enmity between the House of Lyra and the Crimson Sun family—and exactly what kind of hostility he’d invited by accepting the mission.
"Tsk." He snickered, giving a careless shrug.
They would send someone to kill him. That much was certain.
He knew that the order to have him killed would not be a public one. It would come from the shadows.
He was walking into a pre-set trap, and he was doing it with his eyes wide open.
He wasn’t afraid. The disciples of the Crimson Sun family were a nuisance, not a true threat.
His real curiosity, the question that occupied his mind as they left the city behind, was about the woman sitting silently in the carriage behind him.
He knew why no one else had taken this mission. The threat of the Crimson Sun family was a powerful deterrent.
But that only explained the actions of the other disciples. It didn’t explain the mission itself.
Why was Princess Emma, the last heir of a fallen house, traveling to the ruins of her ancestral home?
The Glimmerwood Forest was dangerous, and the lands bordering the Unclaimed Territories were a lawless frontier.
A journey like this was not a simple trip down memory lane. It was a life-threatening risk.
The reward was high, yes. Two hundred contribution points and a thousand high-grade spirit stones was a fortune.
But was it enough to justify this level of danger?
A fallen princess, even one with hidden resources, would not spend such a sum on a simple escort mission unless the goal was worth far more.
He considered the possibilities. There could be a hidden family treasury in the ruins, a secret cache of wealth that she needed to fund a new life or an attempt to rebuild her house.
Or perhaps it was a powerful artifact, a weapon or a defensive treasure that could protect her from her enemies.
It could even be a secret cultivation technique, a legacy of her family that she was trying to reclaim.
Whatever it was, she had not told him.
She had hired him as a guard, a simple tool to get her from point A to point B.
She did not trust him with the truth. He felt a flicker of annoyance, but he pushed it down. It did not matter.
Her secrets were her own. His job was to protect her, and he would do his job. But he would also be watching.
He was not just a hired sword. He was a player in this game, and he needed to understand all the pieces on the board.
The journey was quiet for the first few hours.
The road wound its way through the foothills of the mountains, the landscape slowly changing from rocky slopes to rolling hills covered in thick, green grass.
It was in the late afternoon that Rhys first sensed them.
It was a faint disturbance, a subtle shift in the flow of the natural energy around them.
To an ordinary cultivator, it would have been unnoticeable.
But to Rhys, with his heightened senses and his deep connection to the world, it was as clear as a shout in a silent room.
They were being followed.
His hand, resting on the hilt of his simple iron sword, tightened slightly.
His first thought was that it was the assassins from the Crimson Sun family. He had been expecting them.
He had assumed they would wait until they were deeper in the forest, in a more secluded location, to make their move.
He slowed the carriage slightly, letting his senses expand. He counted them.
There were at least twenty of them.
They were moving through the trees on either side of the road, keeping their distance, their movements skilled but not perfect.
He could feel their killing intent, a faint, cold pressure in the air.
He almost felt a sense of pity for them. They thought they were the hunters, but they were just lambs walking to the slaughter.
But as he continued to observe them, he realized something was wrong.
Their movements were not those of professional assassins. They were too clumsy.
They made too much noise. And the energy they gave off... it was weak. It was the energy of tired, desperate people, not of elite killers.
He waited for an opening in the trees, a place where he could get a clear view. He saw them. And what he saw made him frown in confusion.
They were not sect disciples in blue and silver robes. They were a group of ragged, tired-looking people.
There were men, women, and even a few older children. They wore simple, patched clothes, and they carried only small bundles of possessions.
They looked like refugees, like people who had been driven from their homes.
They were following the carriage, yes, but they were not trying to hide.
They were just trying to keep up, their faces a mixture of fear, exhaustion, and a strange, desperate hope.
This was not what he had expected. This was a new puzzle, another layer of mystery in a mission that was already filled with secrets.
Who were these people? And why were they following a fallen princess on a dangerous journey into the wilderness?
He knew he could not just ignore them. They were a risk. He did not know their intentions.
He decided to confront them. He pulled the carriage to a stop in a small, open clearing.
He calmly secured the reins and dismounted.
"Stay in the carriage, Your Highness," he said, his voice a low command. He did not wait for a reply.
He turned and walked towards the edge of the trees where he had last seen the followers.
He expected them to either run or attack. They did neither.
They stepped out from behind the trees and into the clearing. They were a pathetic sight.
Their faces were thin, their eyes were full of a deep weariness. They stopped a good distance away, looking at him with a mixture of fear and something else he could not quite place.
An old man with a long, grey beard and a kind, tired face stepped forward from the group.
He held up his empty hands, a clear sign that he meant no harm.
"We are not your enemies, young guard," the old man said, his voice rough but steady.
"Then why are you following us?" Rhys asked, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword.
"We are the last of the Lyra," the old man said, a deep sadness in his voice.
"The last loyal retainers of the house. When our lands were taken, we fled into the wilderness. We have been living in hiding for years, protecting the old ways, waiting for a day that we thought would never come."
He looked towards the carriage, his old eyes full of a deep, unwavering loyalty.
"We heard the whispers. We heard that the princess, our princess, was returning to the ancestral lands. We did not know if it was true. But we had to see. We had to follow. We had to offer our swords, our lives, what little we have left, to her service."
He knelt down on one knee, his head bowed. The other members of the group, the men, the women, the children, all followed his lead.
They knelt in the dirt, a small, ragged group of loyal followers offering their allegiance to a princess they had not seen in years.
Rhys stood in silence, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. This was the real reason for the mission. It was not just a journey to a ruin.
It was a gathering. A call to the last remnants of a fallen house.
But for what?
He heard a soft click behind him. The door to the carriage opened.