Hours drifted by under the rhythmic sway and rumble of the cart. Aren found a strange sort of peace watching the Atherian landscape unfold. He spent some of the time attempting meditation, closing his eyes and trying to focus inward despite the constant jostling. Consistency, he reminded himself, drawing on decades of martial arts discipline. Mastery doesn't happen overnight. Every moment focused, every small attempt, builds the foundation.

  They passed through a few hamlets, brief clusters of stone and timber buildings where life seemed to move at a slower pace. Chickens scattered, dogs barked half-heartedly, and faces peered curiously from windows before turning back to their tasks. Around mid-afternoon, the road led them towards a more substantial settlement situated near a wide river crossing, spanned by a sturdy wooden bridge. Thick forest pressed close on the far side, and the air carried the sharp scent of resin and freshly cut wood. Stacks of rough-hewn lumber lay drying near several saw pits, confirming Aren’s guess: a logging outpost.

  Milo expertly guided the mule-steeds off the main track, pulling the cart to a halt near a communal well shaded by a large tree. "Water barrels need topping off," he announced, hopping down with practiced ease. "Finn, give me a hand!" The boy jumped down eagerly, grabbing a wooden bucket.

  Theron remained near the cart, his stance outwardly relaxed but his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

  "Could use some proper food," Milo suggested, gesturing towards a building with smoke curling from its chimney. "Looks like they've got a cookfire going. Might fetch us something hot, Sir Aren?"

  "Good idea," Aren agreed, stretching his legs as he climbed down. The ground felt blessedly solid after hours in the cart. Before he could reach for his own coin pouch, Theron stepped forward, pressing copper pieces into his hand.

  "The Duke entrusted me with the travel funds, Sir," Theron stated respectfully but firmly.

  Aren nodded his thanks and headed towards the source of the smoke, a simple wooden building with an open front serving as a temporary eatery. He purchased several hefty meat pies, golden-crusted and steaming, from a tired-looking woman wiping down a rough counter. He added a small cask of mead to the order, enough for everyone to share a cup.

  While Aren handled the food, the mule-steeds grazed contentedly on the tall roadside grass. Their wide, flat teeth sheared through the stalks with surprising efficiency, taking large mouthfuls. Impressive bit of natural engineering. Back on Earth, marketers would be slapping 'Rapid Refuel Technology' stickers on these boys.

  They gathered near the cart for their meal. The pies were hot and savory, filled with chunks of tender meat and vegetables in a thick gravy. The mead was rough but warming. Finn, energized by the food, resumed his questioning, his curiosity focused on the perceived glamour of Aren's new life.

  "What's it like, Sir Aren? Living in a castle? Having servants? Is it true nobles feast every night?"

  Aren managed a noncommittal smile, swirling the last of his mead in its wooden cup. "It has its moments," he offered vaguely, unwilling to disillusion the boy entirely, but also reluctant to paint a rosy picture of ducal politics. Honestly, kid, the structure is stifling. Too much attention, too many expectations. Give me a clear objective, a mission like Lycas offered, even a quest from the board at the adventurer's guild… that feels more real, more purposeful than navigating noble society.

  They resumed their journey. As the afternoon light began to soften, Theron signaled that they should find a place to camp for the night. He guided Milo off the main track, following a barely visible game trail that led into a stand of sheltering trees. After a few minutes, they emerged into a small, natural clearing encircled by dense bushes and several large boulders. It felt hidden and defensible, offering good lines of sight to the surrounding woods while remaining hidden from the road. Definitely his Observer senses at work. Finding a spot like this isn't just luck.

  Setting up camp was a smooth, efficient process born of shared purpose. Milo and Finn unharnessed the weary mule-steeds, tethering them where they could graze within the clearing, then checked the cart’s fastenings and started a small, carefully contained cooking fire. Aren helped gather dry fallen branches for fuel, finding a strange satisfaction in the simple, physical task.

  Dinner was strips of dried, salty meat fried with chunks of tough, orange root vegetables Milo pulled from a sack.

  As they finished eating, Milo poked the fire with a stick, sending sparks spiraling up into the darkening sky. "Tomorrow, we hit the Titanwood," Milo said, poking the fire. His face looked serious. "Giant forest. Older than anyone knows. Used to be full of twisted monsters. Stuff changed by wild Ether magic after the Cataclysms, way back." He shook his head. "Took our ancestors ages to clear 'em out, find the old artifacts that attracted the beasts. Most big predators are gone now... but the deep woods..." He lowered his voice. "Still got strange things in there. Best not to hang around and keep on the road."

  After the meal, Theron quietly outlined the night's security, "I will take the primary watch tonight. My senses allow me to rest lightly; I'll remain alert. You three get a full night's sleep. We'll need to be fresh for the Titanwood tomorrow."

  Sleep came easily in the quiet clearing. The fire burned low, the stars shone brilliantly clear overhead, and the only sounds were the soft breathing of his companions and the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle night breeze.

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  They broke camp at first light, the routine familiar now. A quick, cold breakfast, and soon they were back on the road.

  Theron resumed his position inside the cart, settling into that state of quiet alertness, eyes closed but senses engaged. The morning passed uneventfully, marked by another brief stop at a trading post where Milo bartered for some fresh water and dried fruit.

  By late afternoon, a distinct change began to creep into the environment. The familiar leafy trees started to give way to behemoths unlike anything Aren had ever witnessed. Ancient, colossal trees with trunks easily 6 meters (20 ft) thick soared towards the sky, their twisted branches interlocking far overhead to form a dense canopy that swallowed most of the direct sunlight. The forest floor plunged into a deep emerald twilight, illuminated by stray beams that pierced the leafy ceiling like spotlights. The undergrowth exploded with life – ferns with fronds taller than a man, mosses in electric blues and vivid purples clinging to every surface, and strange, oversized flowers blooming in shaded pockets, emitting a faint glow. The air grew thick, heavy with humidity and the rich, loamy scent of perpetual dampness and decay.

  Wow, Aren thought, awestruck, peering out from the back of the cart. It’s like stepping into a prehistoric jungle.

  Theron stirred, his eyes snapping open, instantly sharp and focused. He leaned forward, scanning the massive trees flanking the now-narrower road.

  "Titanwood," Milo announced from the driver's bench. "Keep sharp now. Haven't been serious troubles on this stretch in my lifetime, maybe only a dozen minor encounters folks talk about. And with a Tier Three Observer along," he cast a glance back at Theron, "we should be safer than most."

  They plunged deeper into the giant forest. The road, though clear enough for the cart, felt increasingly hemmed in by the towering trees and encroaching vegetation. The sounds changed too. Birdsong was replaced by clicks, whistles, and strange calls from unseen creatures. Insects buzzed loudly, some flitting past the cart opening were the size of Aren's thumb. It felt like entering another world entirely, separate from the rolling hills and open fields they had left behind. An almost palpable energy hung in the air, a feeling like static electricity just before a storm, overlaid with the intoxicating, complex perfumes of giant blossoms. You could almost want to build a treehouse here and move permanently.

  Hours passed within the green gloom. Everyone fell silent, awed by the scale of the forest. Milo occasionally pointed out a unique plant or a bird, sharing bits of local lore, his voice hushed as if not wanting to disturb the ancient quiet. The forest seemed endless, stretching on and on.

  Suddenly, Theron shot bolt upright in the cart, his body rigid. A faint, shimmering aura pulsed around his head – focused Ether enhancing his senses. "Something's approaching," he stated, his voice sharp, cutting through the quiet. "Coming fast. Milo, stop the cart! Now!"

  The command galvanized everyone. Milo hauled back hard on the reins, bringing the mule-steeds to an abrupt halt. Theron leaped smoothly from the cart, landing lightly on the mossy ground. He already had his bow in hand, nocking an arrow as his head swept left and right, trying to pinpoint the incoming threat through the dense undergrowth.

  Aren scrambled out after him, his own senses straining, trying to catch any sound or movement beyond the rustling leaves and chirping birds. He heard nothing but the frantic thumping of his own heart.

  "Inside! Everyone, get inside the cart now!" Theron ordered urgently, his eyes fixed on a particularly thick patch of giant ferns to their left. "Goblins! They're coming from the west!"

  "Right!" Milo scrambled towards the back of the cart. "Sir Aren, Finn, hurry! Get under the canvas, I'll secure it!"

  Finn, his face pale, obeyed instantly, diving into the cart's interior. Aren hesitated, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm good out here. I can help Theron."

  "Sir!" Theron snapped. "This is no time for bravery! My instructions were clear – protect you at all costs! Get in the cart! I can handle goblins; this isn't my first encounter!"

  Easy, soldier. A thrill, cold and sharp, cut through Aren’s apprehension. This is it. An uncontrolled situation, a real threat. Maybe this is the trigger I need, a way to test my Ether without relying on pure rage. Battle had always been the truest forge for skill. "Perhaps His Grace neglected to mention," Aren said, pitching his voice to be steady despite the adrenaline kicking in, "I achieved Tier One recently. I can handle myself." He conveniently omitted the part about his current inability to reliably access that power.

  Theron shot him a frustrated, almost desperate look but didn't have time to argue further. "Fine! Just stay behind me!" He drew the bowstring taut, aiming his arrow towards the rustling vegetation.

  The sounds became audible to Aren now – guttural snarls, snapping twigs, the heavy padding of clawed feet. The rustling intensified, and then the creatures burst from the undergrowth, spilling onto the narrow road ahead.

  Aren’s breath caught. These weren't the small, green, mischievous imps of folklore or games. Seven figures stood before them, radiating malice. Five were humanoid, barely shorter than Aren himself, with unnervingly long, lean limbs. Their skin was the color of charcoal, shifting to a deep, bruised blue. Bloodshot red eyes burned with feral intelligence from beneath heavy brows. They were armed with a mismatched collection of scavenged weapons – rusted swords, heavy axes, crude maces – clutched in clawed hands. Flanking them, straining against thick leather leashes held by two of the goblins, were two hound-like beasts. They shared the same unnatural coloration, black bodies fading to a sickly purple, with powerful, thin frames and saber-like fangs dripping saliva.

  They didn't charge immediately. Instead, the group paused, spreading out slightly, their red eyes fixing on Aren and Theron, assessing their prey with unnerving calculation.

  "Those are goblins?" Aren asked, the question escaping before he could stop it, his initial shock warring with a surge of battle readiness.

  "Sir Aren, you should have stayed in the cart," Theron bit out, his voice tight with worry. "These aren't common forest goblins. They're Dark Goblins. A particularly vicious and cunning strain. They aren't supposed to be here..."

  Vicious I can see. Cunning… that’s the problem. Aren took a deliberate step forward, cracking his knuckles, moving past Theron who remained ready with his bow. The guard’s focus was clearly divided between the goblins and ensuring Aren’s safety.

  "Cover me from the hounds," Aren said calmly, his eyes locked on the lead goblin, a larger specimen clutching a notched axe. "I have a soft spot for dogs. Even ugly ones."