Chapter 192 Styx High Swamps

“That doesn’t sound too bad then,” Emilio replied, leaning on the back of the carriage as he took in the fresh wind.

“Well, err...” Melisande added.

“What?” Emilio glanced back.

Melisande looked up at him, “It says that Illya road is often nicknamed the ‘Rest Before Death’ by adventurers since one of the areas it leads to is the ‘Styx High Swamps’. Apparently there’s over a thousand deaths per year in that area...It’s land is difficult to traverse and there’re lethal beasts that inhabit it.”

“That’s just one of the areas though, right? Nothing to worry about,” Emilios said with a wry smile.

Though such hope between the two youths was casually diminished as the man guiding the horses up front chimed in:

“That’s exactly where we’re headed,” Roan said, taking a bite out of a loaf of bread.

“Wait, what–? That’s not the normal route, isn’t it?” Emilio asked, moving up to the front of the carriage.

Roan scratched his beard with a casual expression, “It’s the fastest route and we’ve wasted enough time. Did you forget the information that needs to be passed to the Foundation? It could prevent another tragedy like Larundog.”

Those serious words shut Emilio down as he went quiet, glancing back to see Melisande hugging her knees when reminiscing the terrible memories of the event.

“...You’re right, but it’s still dangerous, isn’t it?” He asked.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Roan assured him, “Don’t forget–I’m here. As long as I’m with you, don’t worry your little heads–not even a dragon will touch a hair on your heads, kiddos.”

Though they were somewhat belittling, such words were reassuring coming from the renowned “Red Hair” adventurer.

As he peered ahead, in the far distance he could see the ominous region they were set to pass through; the mountains were shrouded in gloomy clouds as if inlaid with curses.

“Well, you better stick true to that...” Emilio accepted.

“Find some reassurance in the fact that after the swamp, the Guild Foundation is only half a day past it,” Roan told him.

It was eye-opening hearing that; after so long, after such an arduous trail, it was finally in reach for him–the path of an adventurer, unshackled and free to explore the world of Arcadius.

–

For the time being, as there was nothing else to do besides chat with Melisande, who talked about the wonderful assortment of dresses she found in Indasia, lamenting not buying them all, he opened the journal again.

It was completely different from studying magic; the stark difference in philosophy between the weaving of spells and the creation of mystical trinkets required him to look at things in an entirely new, foreign light.

“Gah!” Emilio let out in frustration, leaning his head against the carriage interior.

“Don’t force yourself, jeez,” Melisande told him.

“That’s a journal with teachings from tool crafters?” Roan asked for clarification, pointing to the raggedy, light-brown journal.

For some reason, Roan was surprisingly taken aback by what the book seemed to be, looking as though he just stumbled on stifling news as he had a cheekful of apple while talking.

“It is, yeah,” Emilio nodded.

The red-haired, high-ranked adventurer sighed, ruffling his own tufts, “You don’t even realize how valuable that book you’re holding is, do you?”

“Valuable? This scrappy thing?” He clarified.

“You bet. Tinkerers are a tight-lipped bunch–they treat the knowledge they’ve gathered like a precious bloodline. If the know-how to create magic trinkets became public knowledge, there’d be no end to the wrong hands it could fall into,” Roan told him, “–That’s why a journal like that is worth its weight in thrones. You’d better keep a good handle on that.”

“I was planning on it,” Emilio assured him.

Amidst the night by the riverbank on the peaceful roads of Illya, even an ‘inside voice’ so to speak felt as though they were yelling, which made Emilio somewhat nervous as he didn’t want to unexpectedly find a slime jumping on his head.

...Father once told me about a slime melting half the hair from his head. I’d never live that down, Emilio thought.

Only a half night’s amount of rest was taken before Roan had them set out in the middle of the pitch-black darkness, opting to get ahead of whatever storm was looming over the region.

“Are you sure it’s safe to travel when it’s this dark?” Emilio asked quietly.

The reason for his soft speaking voice at that moment was the fact that Melisande was still soundly sleeping just a few feet away from him in the bumpy, but surprisingly comfortable carriage.

“Don’t worry–I’ve got eyes like a bat,” Roan proudly answered, guiding the reins that steered the horses.

Emilio’s expression turned, “...That’s definitely not uplifting.”

“What’s that response for? Bats are known for operating at night, right? They’ve got good vision in the dark, then–just like I do,” Roan spoke.

It was unnerving to ride through the carriage under the veil of night; it was completely black outside of the carriage, with only the horse’s hooves and the carriage wheels supplying any sound amidst the silence.

Still, he did manage to fall asleep, mostly through tiring his brain in trying to study Jeane’s journal.

–

He didn’t awake naturally to a serene morning, instead finding an putrid smell invading his nose. The stench caused him to sit up, coughing out as he looked around, confused from what was causing the smell.

“Urgh...what is that?” He mumbled, covering his nose with his sleeve.

Still, Melisande was sound asleep as she was the type to sleep until woken up. As he moved towards the back of the carriage, he peeled back the curtain to look outside of it, finding the smell to infiltrate harsher through the rolling carriage.

“Uegh!”

The scenery that met his eyes was decrepit; it was a valley tucked between mountains clad in dark-purple grass with a fog veiling the area.

A putrid swamp inhabited the land with crooked, drooping trees overlooking the mushy path of clumpy soil that the horses towed the carriage over. It was a jarring shift from the tranquil, verdant valleys of Illya, now in the dark, trash-smelling swamps where frogs croaked and bugs buzzed.

“This is...?” Emilio put it together.

Roan seemed to notice he had awoken, “Welcome to the Styx High Swamps–the worst smelling place in Vasmoria.”