Chapter Thirty-Eight: Journey

The next day, a horse-drawn carriage made its slow way along a winding, rugged path. Up front, a middle-aged man, his face slick with sweat, struggled to keep the carriage under control, made nearly frantic by the abysmal condition of the road. Eyes fixed ahead, he kept his mind sharply focused on the path, and only when they reached a stretch that was somewhat more level did he glance back with an apologetic look. “Honored Priest, please bear with us a moment. It seems the wheels are stuck in some mud.”

From within the carriage stepped a young man clad in a crimson robe of ritual, his features refined and striking—it was Chen Ming. He alighted from the carriage and looked behind him, where a dozen more wagons labored along, each laden with cargo.

“Has there been heavy rain here recently?” he asked, surveying the road behind, pocked and flooded by puddles.

A burly man in leather armor, commanding a handful of guards who were helping to drag the wagons forward, heard Chen Ming’s question and hurried over. “Yes, a few days ago there was a sudden downpour, which has made these paths nearly impassable.”

A nearby warrior added with a grin, “The priests say the rain was brought about by the awakening of our god.”

At this, Chen Ming smiled mysteriously and glanced up at the sky. In a way, the rain had indeed come because of him. As the god of nature, his awakening had stirred the natural energies of the land, and the first tremors of his return had triggered such phenomena.

By now, it was nearly noon. He looked back and addressed the imposing man who seemed to be the leader. “Mulis, how far are we from our destination?”

“If all goes smoothly, a few more hours at most,” Mulis answered after a moment’s thought.

Chen Ming nodded. “Then let us rest here for a while. Noon approaches, and we might as well have our midday meal.”

“Yes, sir!” several warriors replied at once, then set off to relay the orders.

Soon, as the sounds of cheerful voices rose from behind, the other wagons were finally hauled over the difficult stretch. Under Mulis’s direction, some people set about clearing mud from the wheels with broad leaves, while others unloaded stores of food from the wagons. The coachman, who had driven Chen Ming, led a group to feed the horses with specially prepared fodder.

A sense of harmony pervaded the scene.

Chen Ming watched as pots and provisions were brought out. The pots, rare and costly in the north, hailed from the city-states of the south. The provisions were abundant: dried fruits and nuts for snacks, fresh bread and honey, and, above all, a bounty of meats.

There was good reason for this. Because everyone in the north worshipped Chen Ming, his divine domain enveloped the entire region. Furthermore, the nearby lands of corruption had been purified by him twenty years prior, and so no miasma lingered there. With the miasma gone, no demon beasts or spirits could thrive, and the wildlife population flourished far more than in the south. The priests who followed nature’s path had also advanced animal husbandry, making livestock plentiful and the price of meat, though still high, far lower than in the southern lands.

As those around him busied themselves, Chen Ming smiled and drew from his robe a pale green, tree-shaped emblem of his divinity. It shimmered faintly in the sunlight, emanating a constant, though mostly veiled, vitality.

Only an official priest of the nature god would carry such a symbol. At its sight, those nearby immediately became reverent, their eyes shining with devotion.

In preparation for his journey, he had disguised himself as a priest, hiring a group of retainers in a nearby town and stocking up on supplies for his expedition south.

Chen Ming rose and silently moved among the people, offering prayers. Whenever the pale green light of healing shone, fatigue melted away—one coachman felt invigorated in an instant and quickly bowed in gratitude. Chen Ming smiled and moved to the next, repeating the process.

By the time he had finished his ministrations, all the preparations were done.

He sat quietly upon a carpet of carefully tanned hide, with a layer of dry grass beneath, surrounded by his companions. A fleeting sense of dislocation came over him—once, in another world, he too had sat quietly among a crowd, exchanging easy conversation and laughter in an unknown place.

Before him, the food was set out, and all eyes turned to him. He knew they would not eat before he did.

“Let’s eat together,” he said with a smile.

Only then did everyone begin to eat, taking careful bites of the food before them. In the southern principalities, where etiquette was strict, commoners would never dine with nobles or priests. But here, such rules held little sway. After the initial hesitation, the group ate freely, unconcerned.

He smiled, spread honey on a piece of white bread, and ate silently.

After a while, he suddenly asked, “Mulis, how long have you been here?”

Mulis was surprised, pausing before replying, “More than ten years now.”

He spoke with a touch of nostalgia. “Not just me—most of the people here have walked this road for over a decade.”

Chen Ming’s eyes showed a trace of surprise. “Have you never thought about settling somewhere permanently?”

Most of these people were devout, not quite at the level of white-robed priests, but each had mastered a spell or two—impressive in their own right.

Mulis shook his head. “It would be easier, perhaps, but not for us.” Sensing Chen Ming’s confusion, he explained further. “At home, my kin and children can tend the land well enough. The spells I’ve learned are better suited to battle, so I help merchants transport goods along these routes.”

“And the pay you’ve given us this time, my lord, is worth several years’ earnings at home,” he added with a laugh.

Chen Ming smiled, then glanced at the road ahead. “Tell me more about our route.”

Mulis nodded. “At our current pace, we’ll reach Crowtown by dusk. The town was founded to house refugees from the south and offers a wide variety of herbs and handicrafts for sale. Beyond that, heading further south, we’ll enter the territory of the southern city-states. The nearest is the Duchy of Roya; farther on, we’d need a guide.”

Chen Ming nodded, understanding.

After a short rest, the group set out again, their shadows cast long and clear in the gentle light.

As dusk approached, a town appeared in the distance, its outline sharpening as they drew closer. Watchtowers stood at its outskirts, each manned by vigilant guards.

To Chen Ming’s eyes, a red aura hovered above the town, slowly coalescing into the shape of a tree, enfolding the settlement.

“The faith here is truly steadfast,” he thought, watching as the town’s soldiers advanced to meet them.