Chapter 95: Riverboat

  The decision to travel to the extreme southern edge of the continent, specifically targeting an entirely submerged, legendary First Era forge located within the deepest, most crushing oceanic trench known to modern geography, was not one Lyra made lightly.

  "The logistics are an absolute nightmare, Zeno," Lyra admitted late that evening, pouring over the standard continent map spread across their small inn table. "We are currently in the Azure Valley. Sirena is located far off the southern coast, completely isolated by the deep ocean. We cannot walk there. And we certainly cannot bring Gravel the mule on a deep-sea, monster-infested oceanic voyage."

  Zeno, currently meticulously polishing his new, blue-steel-plated climbing boots with a soft cloth, paused completely. He looked up, a rare, genuine expression of deep, profound sadness crossing his face.

  "We have to leave Gravel behind?" Zeno asked softly, his lower lip jutting out slightly. "But he has been an incredibly good, very brave mule. He did not run away when the giant angry chair exploded or when the bad purple gas came."

  "I know, sledgehammer," Lyra sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. "But a stubborn mountain mule won't survive on a violently pitching oceanic trade galley, let alone an expedition into an underwater trench. He would be terrified and sea-sick. We have to sell him here in Riverbend to a good, peaceful merchant."

  Zeno nodded slowly, his broad shoulders slumping as he accepted the harsh, unavoidable reality of their nomadic lifestyle. "I will make absolutely sure the person who buys him understands exactly how special he is."

  The following morning, they visited the massive livestock exchange in the lower tiers of Riverbend. Zeno spent an entire, exhausting hour aggressively interviewing potential buyers, entirely terrifying several legitimate farmers with his intense, highly detailed interrogations regarding their specific oat-feeding schedules, stable temperatures, and overall emotional treatment of pack animals.

  He finally settled on a gentle, older Elvarian apple farmer who seemed to possess the requisite patience and deep pockets to handle Gravel’s legendary stubbornness and premium diet. Zeno entirely refused to let Lyra haggle over the price, simply handing the heavy lead rope over with a heavy heart.

  Zeno didn't just pat the mule's neck. He stepped forward, entirely ignoring the bustling market, and wrapped his massive, heavily muscled arms completely around Gravel's thick neck. He gently pressed his forehead directly against the mule's stubborn grey forehead.

  "You are the absolute strongest, bravest mule in the entire Nine Kingdoms, Gravel," Zeno whispered, his voice thick and slightly choked with genuine emotion. "You climbed the freezing ice and survived the burning fire. Do not let any of the other silly farm animals tell you that you are just a slow donkey. I will miss you very much... and I will miss your very long, fuzzy ears."

  Zeno pulled back, wiping his amber eyes quickly. He then turned to the older Elvarian farmer, suddenly pointing a massive, dark-wrapped, highly threatening finger directly at the man's chest.

  "If you do not give him premium, extra-sweet oats every single morning," Zeno warned with absolute, terrifying, childlike sincerity, "I will definitely know. And I will walk all the way back here just to punch your entire apple farm into the lake. Do we understand each other?"

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The farmer gulped heavily, nodding rapidly. "Premium oats. Every morning. Absolutely, sir."

  With their primary mode of heavy transportation officially liquidated, their travel strategy shifted dramatically. They couldn't rely on massive, slow-moving merchant caravans anymore. They needed pure, unadulterated speed to cross the remaining massive stretch of the continent.

  Lyra immediately utilized their considerable new wealth from the fighting pits to secure premium passage on a specialized, high-velocity River-Skiff heading directly south down the massive central waterway of the Azure Valley.

  The River-Skiff was a masterpiece of aerodynamic, aquatic engineering. It was incredibly narrow, flawlessly carved from incredibly lightweight, highly buoyant Elvarian reed-wood, completely lacking standard, slow-moving sails. Instead, the sleek vessel was entirely propelled by a team of highly specialized, heavily muscled rowers utilizing pure, concentrated water Tena to actively push the water beneath the hull, propelling the boat exactly like a skipped stone across the surface.

  "This is incredibly fast!" Zeno cheered, standing firmly on the narrow, polished wooden prow of the fast-moving skiff, the warm, fragrant wind violently whipping through his jet-black hair.

  The transition from walking the slow, grueling dirt roads to effortlessly flying across the water was entirely exhilarating. For the next week, the journey was an absolute, flawless blur of rushing green banks, incredibly dense, sweeping weeping willows, and completely serene, highly engineered agricultural perfection.

  Lyra spent the voyage entirely focused on integrating her new weapon into her fighting style. She didn't abandon her dual-wielding rhythm; she evolved it. She stood near the stern, her standard Elvarian dagger in her left hand, and the dark, heavy Void-Iron stiletto in her right.

  She moved like a blur, entirely utilizing her Flowing Step. Slash, feint, thrust. "It isn't changing the dance, Zeno," Lyra explained breathlessly, wiping sweat from her brow as he watched her practice. "It's adding a lethal, armor-piercing finale to it. I use the lightweight Elvarian dagger to force the armored enemy to react, to completely open their guard with a blindingly fast feint. And then..."

  She lunged forward, thrusting the dark Void-Iron stiletto directly into the empty air with terrifying, high-velocity precision.

  "...I use the heavy needle to punch completely through their iron breastplate and pierce the heart. Speed for the perfect deception, and pure, concentrated mass for the absolute kill."

  Zeno clapped his heavy hands together, completely understanding the lethal combination. "It is a very smart dance, Lyra! You will poke a lot of holes in the sneaky people now."

  As they traveled further south, the highly engineered, manicured perfection of the Azure Valley began to noticeably, steadily unravel. The perfectly straight, mathematical rows of apple trees gave way entirely to dense, untamed, chaotic southern marshlands. The river widened significantly, its crystal-clear waters turning murky and thick with dense, floating green algae and hanging swamp moss.

  The air grew incredibly humid and heavily oppressive, smelling no longer of sweet pine, but entirely of rich, deep mud, decaying vegetation, and the sharp, distinctive, heavy tang of saltwater in the distance.

  They were officially approaching the Southern Delta—the final, massive, untamed geographical barrier separating the continent from the vast, completely uncharted expanse of the Southern Ocean.

  "We disembark at the port city of Murkwater," the River-Skiff captain announced, pointing a calloused hand toward a massive, sprawling settlement slowly emerging from the dense, heavy yellow fog ahead. "It's the absolute end of the line for river travel. You'll have to find a deep-sea galley to take you to the archipelago."

  Zeno picked up his heavy backpack, completely filled with their remaining supplies and his iron cauldron. He cracked his spiked knuckles.

  "Is Murkwater a nice, safe city?" Zeno asked politely.

  "It's an absolute slaughterhouse," the captain laughed harshly, steering the fast-moving skiff toward the docks. "Keep your hands entirely on your silver, and your weapons drawn, Vanguard."