Golden Radiance Valley, White Tower City-state.
This city-state, set on a broad river valley plain, is an important hub for east-west trade. Tall white stone towers rise at its center, overlooking the crisscrossing streets and busy harbors.
Winter in Golden Radiance Valley is not as bitter as the northern snowfields, but the cold wind still bites. The sky often wears a gray haze that makes the distant Shadow Mountains look like a black beast crouched at the edge of the world.
The city’s harbor district was unusually busy. Vessels of every size berthed along the stone piers, merchants, adventurers, and wandering mercenaries from all directions weaving through the crowd, a noisy mix of people. Among them were many elves preparing to board merchant ships back to the Emerald Crown, returning to their native city-state.
Elves live long lives, long enough that after leaving home they can easily travel the entire continent and witness the customs of every place. As a result, most elves are natural travelers and curious scholars.
When these elves’ journeys end, many return to Golden Radiance Valley each year to take ships back home from White Tower City-state.
Right now, beside a mooring at the dock, Eserin was speaking quietly with a dark-skinned human captain.
She wore a cloak to keep warm; her pointed ears peeking from the hood signaled her elven identity, which gave her some advantage when negotiating with the boat owner.
For captains who ply the Gray Zone year-round, wealthy, polite, and punctual passengers usually shape their impression of elves. Such high-quality clients tended to be favorites, unlike some goblins, dwarves, or green-skinned brutes who tried to stiff you on payment or got drunk and caused trouble aboard.
Perched on his shoulder, Count Bran smoothed feathers that trembled in the cold wind, glanced around for a moment, and then began muttering in low displeasure.
“Look at this wretched place, the wind is strong enough to ruffle my perfectly preened, glossy feathers.”
“And the air—reeky with sweat. An insult to my refined sense of smell.” It fanned its wings in disgust. “The Slime Kingdom is much better. Winterhold is cold, yes, but the air is clean, the streets orderly, and there are warm houses and hot bowls of soup.”
It reminisced about life in the kingdom. “I wonder how my little treasure chest is doing. Maybe His Majesty will reward my countless labors and refill it when we return.”
“Before I left I heard His Majesty plans to build a huge insect ranch in the swamp. Imagine those plump, tender grubs, roasted until the fat sizzles, sprinkled with a bit of salt and herbs...gah! I mustn’t think about it or I’ll drool.” Count Bran chattered on. Arthur habitually played the silent listener, his thoughts drifting with the rambling to the Slime Kingdom and Storm Territory.
It was as if the fortress battle had happened only yesterday; the memories were still fresh. He found himself missing his father and Alice.
After a while, Eserin finished with the captain and turned back, a relieved smile on her face.
“Good news. It’s settled. Pay up and we can board. This is the last merchant ship heading toward the Emerald Crown this year.”
She turned to Arthur and thanked him. “If not for Mr. Yana taking part in those friendly matches outside the city those days, allowing you to earn the travel funds, and for the Silverleaf Trading Company’s sponsorship and support, you might not have been able to get on this ship so smoothly.”
Arthur nodded, then performed a knight’s salute, voice sincere: “Escorting Lady Slime safely back to the elven city-state is part of my duty. It is His Majesty’s will; there is no need to be embarrassed by it.”
Lady Slime smiled and accepted his courtesy.
Count Bran smoothed his feathers and, in an almost deliberate tone, asked, “How many gold coins did that human charge him?”
“Seventy,” Slime said.
“Seventy?!” Count Bran’s eyes went tiny; it flapped its wings and squawked, “Gah! Blast it, boarding costs are a full seventy gold coins! That’s practically highway robbery.”
“That human is greedy! Excessively greedy!”
Eserin patiently explained, “The shadow creatures that fill the Shadow Mountains are not the most dangerous. They usually act like parallel lines to us and rarely harass travelers. The real dangers are shadow professionals who prowl the Gray Zone, demon rogues, and the treacherous shadow terrain inside the passages.”
“Without an experienced captain and first mate to pilot a magic ship, you cannot safely cross. This really is the last ship heading for the elven city-state this year. If we miss it, we must wait until spring.”
“By ourselves, it’s hard to cross these shadow mountains.”
As she spoke, her gaze passed over the noisy docks and fixed on the end of the river.
The imposing Shadow Mountains rose like a black barrier joining earth and sky. Most of the range lay shrouded in an ever-present gray-black mist, only the highest peaks showing snowy caps, looking especially cold and mysterious beneath the sullen heavens.
To return to the Emerald Crown they had to traverse this north-south mountain range. For safety, no price was too high.
Count Bran heard this and proudly raised his head. “The Shadow Mountains? That’s my homeland. When I ruled lands in those mountains my domain was vast beyond imagination.”
“Those shadow lurkers and spectral wolves would detour just to avoid me. With me around, crossing the mere Shadow Mountains is like strolling through the back garden.”
Eserin smiled and changed the subject. “The fare is steep, but our cabin is private, not a crowded bunk. There are a few other elves returning home nearby. It’s more orderly and therefore safer.”
Count Bran was still grumbling about the cost when a clear shout rang from the distant quay, “Mr. Arthur! Wait!”
At that sound Count Bran suddenly stiffened. It hurriedly wrapped its wings around Arthur’s helmet and hissed, “Gah! Trouble, trouble, it’s that woman—how did she find us here?”
“Hurry! Retainer, we must board!”
Before Arthur could move, an elven girl had already hurried over, lifting her skirt and running with small quick steps. She stopped in front of Arthur, breathless but with eyes that sparkled.
The elf maiden was neatly dressed for winter—fur-trimmed cloak over a seasonal gown—with golden hair and green eyes, livelier and more vivacious than many other elves.
“Mr. Arthur, you’re going back home? Why...why didn’t you tell me earlier? I thought you’d stay a few more days in White Tower.” She panted softly, voice small.
Arthur blinked, maintained a serious expression, and saluted: “Miss Liyana, this is the last ship this year. Time is tight; I apologize for not informing you sooner.”
Count Bran muttered dissatisfied nonsense into Arthur’s ear. “Gah! My retainer, don’t be seduced by her beauty. We still have important duties from His Majesty.”
Arthur nodded earnestly—whether in agreement or out of habit wasn’t clear—and said to the girl, “Miss Liyana, the ship is about to depart. Thank you and the Silverleaf Trading Company for your support, and thank you for coming to see us off, but we must go.”
A flash of disappointment crossed Liyana’s face, but she quickly rebuilt her smile, showing good breeding and gracious manners.
“I heard you came from that newly established Slime Kingdom in the east? Father says the Trading Company has been discussing opening a new trade route there. Maybe...next year we’ll meet again in Floating Winterhold!”
Her eyes shone with expectation. “Then, Mr. Arthur, you must be my guide. It’s a promise!”
Arthur nodded woodenly. “Miss Liyana is welcome in Winterhold. If I am there then, I can show you around. The city’s warm house flower market has many fine blooms, worth seeing.”
Liyana brightened as if discovering a new world. “You study flowers, Mr. Arthur? I adore frost-kissed roses and starlight orchids. I wonder if Winterhold has them...”
The two seemed ready to chat endlessly when sailors from the merchant ship called out, “We’re casting off, last boarding! Final passengers, get on board or we leave!”
Eserin, who had been watching the small scene with interest, stepped forward with a smile and interrupted. “Sorry, Miss Liyana. We really must go now. Thank you for seeing us off.”
Liyana blinked and reddened, reluctantly taking a step back and waving vigorously at Arthur. “Mr. Arthur, safe travels. Don’t forget our promise.”
Arthur raised his hand and waved seriously. “I won’t.”
The three boarded the gangplank and stepped aboard the merchant ship Goat, which slowly pulled away from the quay. Liyana’s figure shrank into the mist and distance until she disappeared into the bustling crowd on the dock.
Only after she was out of sight did Count Bran exhale deeply, patting its chest with a wing and saying with relief, “That nearly scared me to death. Women are terrifying, especially pretty and enthusiastic ones. They almost lured away my most loyal retainer.”
Eserin stood at the rail watching White Tower City-state grow smaller, then teased, “Mr. Arthur seems popular with the ladies. Miss Liyana is the Silverleaf heiress; she has many suitors in White Tower.”
Arthur replied a bit slow, “Miss Liyana helped us and deserves thanks.”
Eserin scoffed and waved a hand. “It’s pointless to explain this to you, wooden knight. I only wondered what expression that passionate heiress would have when she finds out your true identity...hmm.”
Count Bran hopped to the other side of Arthur’s shoulder and chimed in at once, “Yes, yes, retainer, you must stay alert. Elves hate the undead. If she learns you’re a walking skeleton, she’ll be shocked and disgusted.”
“Only Count Bran is your most reliable and faithful companion!”
It puffed its chest, striking a look that begged for praise.
Arthur nodded solemnly and said sincerely, “Count Bran has always been my best companion, from the Dark Realm until now.”
Count Bran burst with joy, its black feathers seeming to spread. It flapped its wings on Arthur’s shoulder repeatedly. “Gahahaha! Well said, my most valued retainer — you have taste!”
Eserin watched their banter and couldn’t help but smile and shake her head.
Her gaze shifted from them to the ship’s forward course.
In the distance, the Shadow Mountains’ outline grew more distinct and awe-inspiring against the winter’s gray sky, a vast black shadow bridging earth and sky, the snow-capped peaks like a cold crown.
The river narrowed and the current quickened; the surrounding shadows seemed to stir restlessly.
She suddenly recalled something and turned to Arthur. “By the way...when we enter the river routes that cut into the Shadow Mountains, could we get lost?”
Along the way they had taken a few unplanned detours—wrong forks or unexpected incidents. Although things turned out all right, sometimes turning a misfortune into benefit, like unexpectedly uncovering a heretic den in a small town and allowing Arthur’s Judgment power to grow, Eserin could not help but wonder whether Arthur’s legendary knack for getting lost was still quietly at work.
It was worth mentioning that Arthur’s sword had indeed judged and cleansed much hidden evil along the way. His Judgment power had notably increased; not long ago he had reached level eleven.
Thinking this calmed Eserin slightly about the unknowns of crossing the Shadow Mountains.
Arthur hesitated at Eserin’s question, as if thinking hard. He wasn’t sure whether his “getting lost” really affected their route or if it had been coincidence.
Count Bran clapped its wings and shouted, “Gah! Bad news. I knew luck felt off; the shiny things I picked up along the way have dwindled. My good fortune must’ve been used up in those matches and hagglings.”
“Lady Xueni must be starting to test her most faithful believer harshly.”
Eserin rubbed her forehead in exasperation.
She suddenly questioned whether Lady Viola had made the right decision by sending these two along with her.
In any case, Arthur had protected her well on the journey so far.
She only hoped the rest of the trip home would go smoothly.
The ship cut through the gray river water, resolutely heading for the towering range shrouded in eternal shadow and winter chill, leaving the bustling White Tower City-state far behind.
Our figures and the ship disappeared together into the mist.