The fox adjusted the child in her arms, supporting her gently so the little girl could continue holding Little White without discomfort.
The lizard remained still within the child's grasp.
No protest.
No resistance.
Golden eyes calm and observant.
The fox reached upward and retrieved the formation disk from where it hovered near the ceiling.
Its glow dimmed instantly as it slipped back into her storage pouch, the faint hum dissolving into silence.
Next, she stepped toward the door.
The soundproof talisman still clung to the wood—a small seal of condensed spiritual energy.
She touched it lightly.
A brief flash of light.
The talisman crumbled into fine ash and scattered soundlessly.
No residue.
No lingering trace of its existence.
"Let's go," she said.
Her tone was calm.
Purposeful.
She opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
Morning light filtered through narrow windows, illuminating worn wooden walls and the quiet corridor of the inn. The air carried a faint scent of breakfast drifting up from below—warm bread, herbs, and simmering broth.
Most doors remained closed.
Travelers still resting.
The fox moved forward at a measured pace.
Behind her, the two corpse puppets followed.
Silent.
Cloaked.
Their steps perfectly synchronized—precise and mechanical, yet subtle enough to avoid drawing attention.
Anyone who glanced at them would assume they were retainers.
Bodyguards.
Nothing more.
The wooden floor creaked softly beneath their steps.
"We need information," she murmured quietly.
"Where we are. Who governs this city. Which region we landed in."
Only then could they formulate a strategy.
Pursuit by the golden core cultivator remained a possibility.
Demonic influences lingered in the village they had fled.
Unknown forces moved in the background.
Knowledge was survival.
The child shifted slightly in her arms, red eyes studying the corridor with curious fascination.
Little White remained still.
Observing.
The fox descended the stairs and stepped into the inn's common area.
A handful of early guests sat at wooden tables, drinking tea or eating simple morning meals.
The innkeeper glanced up briefly at their approach, then returned to his ledger without concern.
No alarm.
No suspicion.
Just another traveler departing after a night's stay.
The fox continued toward the exit.
In her human form, her tails were concealed entirely—no sign of her true nature visible.
Only composed posture.
Measured movements.
Controlled presence.
The puppets followed closely behind.
Quiet.
Obedient.
And beyond the doorway—
The city awaited.
They stepped into the morning streets.
The settlement was already alive with early activity—vendors arranging stalls, merchants calling out prices, travelers moving with satchels and bundles in hand.
Stone roads stretched in neat lines between buildings of timber and brick.
Clean.
Structured.
Organized.
Nothing like the ruined village they had escaped.
This was a proper city.
Large.
Governed.
The fox adjusted the child slightly and sent a voice transmission.
"Listen for information," she instructed. "I will do the same."
Little White twitched one ear in acknowledgment.
He would observe.
Listen.
Process.
The fox moved through the crowd at a steady, unhurried pace.
Not too slow.
Not too fast.
Her cloaked puppets followed like silent shadows.
To any passerby, they appeared to be personal guards accompanying a quiet traveler and her child.
Her senses extended outward.
She listened.
Fragments of conversation drifted through the air.
Merchants negotiating.
Travelers complaining about delays.
Locals discussing prices.
"…trade from the northern route is slow…"
"…bandits near the river again…"
"…grain prices rising since the harvest…"
Nothing definitive.
No clear mention of the city's name.
No indication of ruling authority.
Little White filtered sound through a different lens.
Footsteps.
Heartbeats.
Breathing patterns.
The layered hum of urban life.
He eliminated excess noise.
Searched for anomalies.
Nothing hostile.
No immediate threat.
The environment felt stable.
Governed.
Organized.
But by whom?
The fox sent another quiet transmission.
"What have you heard?"
Little White processed and responded.
"Human activity. Merchants. Trade routes. No regional identifiers."
Sparse.
Insufficient.
"Same," she replied internally.
They required specifics.
Her attention sharpened as a nearby group of merchants conversed beside a produce stall.
"…city guard increased patrols…"
"…something about demonic remnants in the outskirts…"
The fox's eyes narrowed subtly.
Demonic remnants.
That was not insignificant.
Not confirmation of pursuit—
But relevant.
Either rumors of the destroyed village had traveled quickly—
Or demonic disturbances were not isolated incidents.
She committed the information to memory.
Little White did the same.
Two streams of observation merging.
Fragments.
Patterns.
Incomplete—
But gradually forming a foundation.
"We will gather more," she transmitted calmly.
Little White remained silent.
Listening.
The child hummed softly in her arms.
The two puppets followed without deviation.
And the city continued to unfold around them, revealing its secrets in fragments.
Then—
As they passed a nearby restaurant, the child stirred abruptly.
Her small nose twitched.
Warm, savory aromas drifted through the open doorway—roasted meat, broth thick with herbs, freshly baked bread.
Her stomach growled softly.
A tiny sound.
But unmistakable.
The fox felt the subtle shift in her body.
Little White registered it as well.
The child's hunger.
The fox glanced down.
"It seems she's hungry," she said lightly.
Her tone practical, though faintly amused.
The child looked toward the restaurant with widening red eyes.
Food.
Not dried provisions.
Not medicinal herbs.
Real, cooked meals.
Little White remained motionless in her grip.
Hunger was not his concern—
But it was noted.
A need.
The fox slowed her steps and turned her gaze toward the establishment.
A modest building with a wooden sign hanging above the entrance.
Open windows allowed the scent of spices and simmering broth to spill into the street.
Inside, patrons sat at sturdy tables, engaged in casual conversation.
A perfect location.
She gave a small nod.
"We should eat."
Her eyes sharpened slightly.
"A restaurant is also ideal for gathering information."
Conversations flowed freely over meals.
Merchants discussed routes.
Travelers shared rumors.
Locals complained about officials.
Information moved more naturally in such places than in guarded streets.
She adjusted her hold on the child.
"We'll eat first."
Practical.
Efficient.
The cloaked puppets followed as she approached the entrance.
From within came the sounds of clinking dishes, low conversation, and the faint sizzle of cooking oil.
The child's stomach growled again.
She looked up expectantly.
Food.
The fox's lips curved faintly.
"Let's go."
And together—
They stepped inside.