Chapter 39: The Journey

The trial of Ryan ultimately ended with a whimper, much to the shock of the entire family—assuming they possessed eyes to witness it.

In all fairness, the family members harbored no particular ill will toward Ryan. Though he was handsome and possessed a gorgeous elven noblewoman fawning over him, he had, after all, returned to the family after many years away. They were hardly well-acquainted, making it difficult to speak of any deep-seated animosity.

The orchestration was primarily the work of the old Marquis.

Nearly everyone of high rank and influence within the internal ranks of the family was either a confidant or a loyal partisan of the Marquis of Faher. The old Marquis merely needed to drop subtle hints during casual private conversations, and these individuals would naturally pass instructions down to their younger relatives, initiating aggressive and pressing interrogations against Ryan at the tribunal.

Yet these foot soldiers charging into the fray had no inkling that the old Marquis was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Now that the old Marquis had casually declared his "pardon" of Ryan on the spot, an awkward atmosphere enveloped everyone.

The juniors felt as though they had walked straight into the old Marquis's trap. After all, how could a fierce tiger devour its own cubs?

While the elders maintained placid expressions on the surface, resentment undoubtedly festered within their hearts toward the old Marquis. So we play the villains on this stage, you abruptly declare that "nothing ever happened," and treat us like clowns and jesters, is that it?

The one who lost the most face was undoubtedly the Marquis of Faher himself.

Of course, the old Marquis cared very little. With the carrot of royal favor dangling enticingly before him, he was smiling from ear to ear.

One must realize that for a military meritocracy nobility guarding the borders like the House of Faher, generations only had the opportunity to have an audience with the royal family when the title of Marquis changed hands!

Moreover, dammit, one had to wait in line, waiting for His Majesty to finish attending to weightier matters before granting an audience. Even then, the meeting consisted merely of exchanging a few polite pleasantries through a superficial formality.

How could anyone compare to Ryan, who was summoned directly by name for a face-to-face meeting with high-ranking figures?

"You must convey our feedback to Her Majesty the Queen," the old Marquis said near the gates of Sea Rock City, grasping Ryan's hands and earnestly instructing him. "Our House of Faher has guarded the southernmost reaches of the Bountiful Lands in the Riverbend Province for generations, maintaining vigilance over the wild elves in the mountains on behalf of the Empire. We shall never permit these elven remnants to violate the borders!"

"Very well, Father. You may stop now," Ryan calmly pried the old man's fingers apart. "There are elves watching right here."

Only then did the Marquis of Faher realize his oversight. Glancing at Elorina and Bethalier, he offered a sheepish laugh.

"My apologies, I harbor no ill intentions toward the races you represent. I was referring strictly to the wild elves of the mountains."

"Understood," Bethalier said with a smile. "Wild tribes are the common enemy of all nobility, regardless of race."

"It is truly a relief that you understand," the Marquis of Faher said with deep emotion. "Loyalty is the very soul of us nobles. It is of paramount importance, yet tragically impossible for a liege to witness with their own eyes..."

He turned and waved a hand, signaling the entourage of retainers to fall into line.

A traditional noble excursion required a retinue of guards, maids, and attendants. Guards were tasked with protecting the master, maids with tending to daily needs, and attendants with handling various manual and menial chores.

Since Ryan was the Lord of Salt Island, he evidently lacked such manpower, prompting the Marquis of Faher to generously provision him with a full complement.

Since the destination was the Imperial Capital for an audience with Her Majesty the Queen, they could not afford to tarnish the family's prestige!

Following the farewells, the procession swarmed around Ryan, Elorina, and Bethalier, departing Sea Rock City in a grand and imposing manner.

The Riverbend Province spanned a vast territory, and since the domain of the House of Faher lay on its southeastern border, the journey promised to be exceedingly long.

The party needed to travel due north, traversing the Bountiful Lands until they reached High Rock City, seat of the Malorn family.

Crossing the Long Water from High Rock City would bring them into the Riverlands. The region was characterized by a dense concentration of rivers forming a vein-like hydrological network that fractured the nobles' domains into isolated fragments, hence its name.

Passing through the Riverlands led directly to the Southern Territory, one of the Empire's four borderlands. This was a direct imperial domain rich in sweeping plains and dense populations, serving as the core hinterland of the Empire—a stark contrast to the hilly, river-veined topography of the Riverbend Province.

While traveling within the Riverbend Province, venturing far from urban centers posed the threat of bandits, savages, and even magical beasts capable of ambushing merchant caravans.

Once inside the Southern Territory, however, one could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Ryan made a rough mental calculation: the journey would take three days of hard riding or five of leisurely travel, meaning time was not overly pressing. If he had spare leisure and energy, he might even temporarily depart the Imperial Highway to check out a few special locations housing dungeons mentioned in the game...

Or perhaps not.

Adventurers played by their own rules, while nobles followed a noble itinerary. With so many guards, maids, and attendants in tow, encountering a single dungeon could result in the total annihilation of the party. Repairing corpses one by one, resurrecting them, and wiping their memories afterwards would prove terribly troublesome.

Riding his horse, Ryan let his thoughts drift lazily as Elorina and Bethalier flanked him on either side, their mounts keeping pace with his.

Family knights cantered ahead, behind, and on both flanks to guard the trio, while attendants and maids rode in open-topped horse-drawn wagons at the rear of the procession, forming a standard noble traveling formation.

Departing Sea Rock City and heading northwest for roughly half a day brought them to Eagle's Bastion, one of the three fortresses belonging to the House of Faher.

Situated at the southernmost tip of the Bountiful Lands, Eagle's Bastion served as the northernmost stronghold of the Faher family, tasked with protecting the overland trade route from the Bountiful Lands to Sea Rock City.

When necessary, it could also serve as a bulwark against southern invasions by northern armies.

A tradition within the House of Faher dictated that Eagle's Bastion be enfeoffed to the heir designated by the Marquis. The current lord of the bastion was Dororwell de Faher, the old Marquis's eldest son.

Upon receiving the report via courier knight, Dororwell neglected to come out personally to welcome them, merely instructing two knights to halt a convoy of farmers and dispatch bread, beans, salted fish, and wine to the traveling party.

It was a remarkably cold reception.

Ryan chose not to bicker over Dororwell's attitude; after all, the brothers were entirely unacquainted. He simply instructed the knights to accept the supplies and politely requested the two bastion knights to convey his gratitude.

Leaving Eagle's Bastion behind, they continued northward into the Bountiful Lands.

Vast expanses of plains and farmland emerged in the surroundings, golden waves of wheat rolling in the wind beneath the fierce summer sun. The Bountiful Lands of the Riverbend Province were renowned for producing "wet wheat"—a grain characterized by a delicate texture and slightly sticky consistency, cultivated entirely in flooded paddy fields.

Although devoid of armor, the knights suffered under the direct glare of the midday sun, their tunics soaked through with sweat.

The leader, a middle-aged family knight named Mather who appeared remarkably amiable, rode up to request Ryan's permission to seek a shaded spot for a temporary rest.

His reasoning was craftily phrased: while the knights could endure the high temperatures a while longer, the horses bore the combined weight of riders, equipment, and supplies. If the mounts suffered heatstroke and became unable to press forward, abandoning sick horses to shift supplies or finding replacement mounts from nearby lords would only cause further delays.

Ryan was hardly a heartless capitalist treating people as mere tools—though he did entertain a fleeting impulse to slaughter them all and resurrect them as tireless, absolutely loyal undead guards...

"Then let us rest," he benevolently approved Mather's request.

Consequently, the knights steered their horses toward a small grove near the Imperial Highway, sitting directly upon the grass beneath the shade to drink and dine.

Attendants and maids disembarked from the wagons as well, gathering firewood, fetching water, striking sparks, and setting up iron cauldrons to simmer bean stew laced with salted fish.

Under a maid's attentive ministration, Ryan produced a loaf of prepared white bread, tearing it into small pieces to dip into the thick broth of the pot. Though the stew contained only salted fish and beans, the taste proved surprisingly tolerable.

"Lad me a bowl of beans," he instructed a maid.

"Allow me," Bethalier dismissed the maid, stepping forward personally to ladle the soup and present the bowl to Ryan with assiduous care.

Ryan shot Elorina a look that clearly communicated "take notes," before slowly enjoying the meal.

Before he had consumed more than a few bites of beans, the sound of hoofbeats suddenly echoed from a distance.

Moments later, several galloping cavalrymen abruptly surged into the field of vision.

The family knights instantly went on high alert, drawing their weapons without hesitation and mounting their steeds in preparation for battle.

Ryan narrowed his eyes, studying the insignia embroidered upon the cavalrymen's tunics.

A demonic steed bearing bat-like wings.

These cavalrymen... belonged to the Empire's 8th "Nightmare" Border Legion stationed in the Riverbend Province.