The week on the road passed more slowly than any of them wanted,but exactly the way it was supposed to. The route might've looked "safe" on the Guild's maps, yet in reality it demanded patience, a steady pace, and constant attention to small things: the state of the wheels, the supplies, the creeping fatigue in people and animals that grew harder to ignore at the end of each day.
On the morning of the seventh day, they reached a broad crossroads where the main trade road split in two. On the horizon, beyond a line of low hills, the walls of Vethan were already clear in the morning light,pale stone, towers and domes rising above them, the kind of skyline that told you the city was older, richer, and far more important than most places they'd passed.
The caravan slowed, then finally stopped on a packed dirt square by the road,one of those spots where travelers traded news or simply parted ways. Rethan slid down from the wagon, feeling every day of the journey in his bones. Compared to a dungeon, though, it was the kind of pain you could live with.
Otto walked up first, adjusting his cloak.
"This is where we split," he said matter-of-factly. "But it's not the end."
He studied Rethan closely.
"In a little under a month, we're returning to the city. If everything goes according to plan, we'll meet where we usually do,in Vethan. And we'll have more to discuss than reports."
Rethan nodded.
"I'll be there," he said simply. "And it better be after quieter decisions, not before another disaster."
Otto's smile was crooked, like he didn't disagree.
Klein came over a moment later, leaning on his cane. He looked toward the city in the distance for a brief stretch of silence.
"Be careful," he said calmly. "Vethan likes people who think they've seen everything. Places like this don't tolerate arrogance."
"I'll try not to forget," Rethan replied. "And please keep an eye on Edgar. Or at least pretend you aren't."
Klein's mouth twitched.
"He'll do better than he thinks," he said. "You do the same."
After brief goodbyes, Rethan swung his bag over his shoulder and headed toward Vethan, taking the branch of the road that ran downhill toward the city. Behind him, the caravan wagons rolled on along the main route, wheels creaking softly until they faded into the distance,leaving only dust and the echo of conversations whose consequences still lay ahead.
Rethan walked for another hour at an even pace. After a week cramped on a wagon, moving on foot felt like relief,even if his arm complained with every longer step and the weight of the bag dragged more than he wanted to admit. The road dipped, and then the walls of Vethan rose up before him: tall, pale, reinforced with stone that spoke of money and history in equal measure.
The gate was crowded, as always in a city sitting at the crossroads of routes. Caravans, pilgrims, adventurers, and ordinary merchants waited their turn while guards checked documents without hurry but with precision. Vethan didn't let anyone in for free,or without questions.
When it was his turn, one of the watchmen lifted a hand.
"Papers," he said curtly.
Rethan reached into his pocket and handed over his adventurer's card,worn, scratched, but still legible. The guard glanced at it and nodded.
"Entry fee," a second guard added, pointing to a lockbox beside the gate.
Rethan took out a few coins and dropped them in without comment. He knew arguing in places like this never led anywhere good.
"You may enter," the first guard said, returning the card. "The city of Vethan is under the protection of House Valcoren. Follow their laws and order if you don't want trouble."
The second guard's gaze lingered on Rethan's bandaged arm, his eyes narrowing.
"If you're headed to the temple," he added, "be warned,it's full. After the recent events and traffic on the roads, they've got their hands full. You'll probably have to wait before anyone has time to deal with you."
Rethan nodded, accepting it without surprise.
"As long as I can get on the list," he said. "The rest can wait."
The guards stepped aside. He passed beneath the arch and into the city, immediately hit by the familiar hum of voices, smells, and movement,Vethan's particular kind of controlled chaos.
He didn't rush now that he was inside. Vethan wasn't the kind of place you could navigate sensibly at a run, and after a week on the road,after the dungeon,his body demanded a slower tempo even if his mind wanted everything handled immediately.
The first thing that stood out was how much wealthier the city was than the one he'd left behind,not in loud, gaudy displays, but in details. The cobblestones were laid more evenly. Houses had sturdier foundations. Even the wooden beams were cared for and reinforced with metal, as if someone long ago decided it was better to invest once than patch the same damage every few years.
The streets were wider and more ordered, the flow of people like a well-oiled mechanism. Merchants called to customers without screaming over each other. Artisans worked in open-front shops. Smiths had designated areas where the hammering didn't carry through the entire city. Guards patrolled regularly,not dramatically, but often enough that no one doubted the order here wasn't accidental.
Rethan cut through a smaller market selling mostly food,dried meat, bread of varying quality, cheeses brought in from nearby villages, and fruit that would've been rarer and pricier back home. Here it sat in crates like it was nothing at all. He stopped, bought a simple flatbread, a chunk of cheese, and something the vendor called a local specialty,though Rethan knew that usually meant "sausage with good spices."
He paused now and then not because he had to, but because watching the city was part of traveling through it: children darting between stalls, students carrying books under their arms, adventurers in every condition,from freshly armed to barely upright,all moving more or less toward the same destination, the city's center, where the rhythm thickened.
The closer he got, the more the buildings changed. Houses grew taller. The stone grew paler. Crests of houses and guilds appeared more often,carved into walls or hung on metal signs,not to boast, but to make it clear who controlled which piece of the city, and whose path you really shouldn't cross.
Then the street opened wide, and Rethan stepped onto a vast plaza that wasn't a market or a gathering ground. It felt like the calm heart of Vethan,and at its center stood the temple, so massive he couldn't take it in all at once.
It was monumental without being oppressive, built from pale stone that reflected light softly, almost warmly. Tall columns rose smooth and unadorned. The broad stairs leading up to the entrance were clean,nearly sterile,as if someone made sure dust and city grime never had time to settle.
There were no shouted prices here, no haggling. People spoke more quietly. Even adventurers straightened without thinking as they crossed onto the plaza. The place imposed a kind of order,not by force, but by sheer presence.
Rethan stopped at the foot of the stairs, finishing the last bite of his flatbread as he looked up. Relief settled in,he'd made it. Right alongside it came the heavier truth: it would still take time before he walked out of here fully functional. Places like this were always crowded.
The movement in front of the temple never slowed. Hundreds flowed up and down the steps: ordinary citizens with minor ailments, elders supported by family, adventurers with fresh wounds and old ones that had healed wrong, and those who came only for a blessing,or confirmation that what hurt could still be fixed.
Rethan lingered to the side of the plaza for a moment, watching. The temple was one of the few places where status genuinely mattered less,at least until you started talking about time and the power required for healing. Then, following the pattern he remembered from earlier visits, he headed for the side entrance where registration was handled. It was separate from the main nave, but still in plain view of those passing by.
There were four queues running parallel, each for a different kind of case,and every one of them was long. People stood in silence or spoke under their breath. No one wanted to shove or draw attention here. Rethan joined the line filled mostly with adventurers and visibly injured travelers, knowing it meant waiting,but also a more thorough evaluation.
An hour crawled by: a slow step forward every few minutes, the soft rustle of priests' robes passing nearby, the quiet flipping of pages in heavy ledgers. Eventually he reached the front, facing a small desk where a woman in pale robes sat. The cut was simple, but the fabric lay perfectly, like it was made for her. Her long blond hair was tied low, leaving her face clear,focused and serious.
She looked up from her book and immediately fixed on his bandaged arm, as if she didn't need to search for a reason he was here.
"Please tell me," she began calmly, "when the injuries occurred, under what circumstances, and whether they were connected to magic."
Rethan answered without hesitation. The boss fight in a dungeon. Fire. Physical overload. A full week already passed. The wounds had been wrapped and managed, but not treated with magic. The longer he spoke, the more her brow furrowed. She wrote in a thick ledger with a strange pen that glided over the parchment without ink, leaving marks only where she intended.
"May I see your arm?" she asked at last.
Rethan nodded and carefully unwound the bandages, exposing burned skin,places where scars had already hardened, uneven and wrong. The woman stood, came around the desk, and gently took his arm. She touched a few points with her eyes closed, as if checking something no ordinary gaze could see.
She let out a quiet breath.
"That must hurt," she said, still not opening her eyes.
"I can handle it," Rethan replied,truthfully, though not completely.
She opened her eyes and looked at him with a mix of sympathy and professional firmness.
"If you'd come on the first day, a standard priestess would have been enough," she explained. "But now the damage is deeper, and fire magic has had time to settle into the tissue. If you want to regain full use of your arm, the temple's saint will need to treat you."
Rethan frowned, feeling the weight of that land slowly.
"There's no other way?" he asked. "Not even partially?"
The woman shook her head.
"We can ease the pain," she said, "but complete healing,the kind that lets you return to combat without risking permanent damage,requires her intervention."
She closed the ledger and met his eyes.
"If you choose to wait, I'll put your name on the list."
Rethan nodded. He knew better than to make promises in a place like this, and he knew the time he lost now might save him far more later.