White Horse City

The caravan had begun preparing to depart early. By the time Vivian woke up and climbed out of bed, Soren had already packed everything and was holding a warm clay pot in his hands.

"Brother."

Vivian timidly walked over, pinching the corner of her clothes with her little hand. "I was wrong."

"I won't secretly drink alcohol again."

This little girl had been unbelievably bold. How old was she, yet she had dared to sneak drinks behind his back? Soren had originally intended to sternly lecture her, but when he saw her pitiful expression, he could not bring himself to be too harsh. With a dark face, he said, "Don't let it happen again!"

"If I catch you one more time."

"I'll whip your butt hard with a board."

The little girl quietly breathed a sigh of relief. When Soren was not looking, she even mischievously stuck out her tongue before obediently following him downstairs. Yesterday, she had merely been curious about why so many people enjoyed drinking. She had only wanted to taste it, but after a few sips, she had become dizzy and gotten drunk all at once.

Fortunately, Brother had not scolded her.

Vivian reached out and touched her little butt. She had been groggily smacked once yesterday, and it still hurt a little this morning. It seemed Brother had really been angry!

From now on.

She absolutely could not drink again.

The little girl silently warned herself before following Soren into the hall.

Soren did not drink.

Sometimes, he could even be said to abstain completely.

Alcohol was a Rogue's deadliest weapon. It lowered a Rogue's wisdom, willpower, and agility, making them lose their vigilance while also clouding their mind. Perhaps some Warriors could slightly improve their combat ability after drinking, but once Rogues drank, all their original advantages vanished completely. Soren had once seen a Half-Step Legendary colleague chopped into bloody pieces by two newcomers at profession level six, simply because the man had gotten himself completely drunk.

Every profession that relied on skill had to keep a clear mind at all times!

When he needed to relax and ease his stress, Soren used Halfling tobacco. There had once been a period when he always carried a fragrant wooden Pipe with him.

The distillation method invented by Wizards had been widespread for a long time.

Alchemy's potion purification techniques had long since been applied to alcohol. Some strong liquors were more than even Legendary Professionals could handle.

Soren opened the clay pot.

It had simmered over low heat for the entire night, and a rich aroma spilled out when he opened it, making even the others turn to look. Smiling, Soren poured himself a large bowl, served some to Vivian first, and then brought some over to the caravan guards. The caravan had provided their food these past few days, so it was only right to let them have a taste. Soren had the inn prepare fried eggs and brought over two large bowls of thick porridge. The road ahead would still be hard, so Vivian needed to eat more. The mysterious female caravan owner also came downstairs at that moment. Smelling the aroma, she naturally sat opposite Soren and served herself some. Her casual manner left Soren unable to refuse.

"Shouldn't you take off your veil when you eat?"

Soren lowered his head and ate, seemingly asking casually, "Isn't that inconvenient?"

The female caravan owner elegantly picked up a spoon and gently blew on it. Her veil lifted slightly as well, revealing a somewhat sharp, delicate chin. She replied calmly, "I'm used to it."

"It tastes good."

"I didn't expect you to have this kind of talent."

She actually ate very little.

After only a few tastes, she set down her spoon. Her gaze swept over Soren before falling on the little girl beside him, who was eating with her head lowered.

Slurp! Slurp!

The little girl was eating happily.

She was not particularly picky about food. As long as it tasted a little better, she considered it delicious.

For some reason.

This mysterious woman was talking more than before. She was actually trying to make conversation with Soren while they ate, giving him the feeling that she was either up to no good or plotting something.

"Food shouldn't be wasted."

Soren quickly finished his meal. He looked up at the female caravan owner across from him, naturally reached out to take her bowl, then poured the food she had tasted but not finished into his own bowl. This was an extremely rude and frivolous act, one that could even be called flirting, especially toward a woman of high status.

A trace of embarrassment and anger appeared in the female caravan owner's eyes!

Her full chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly before she gradually became much calmer.

Something was wrong.

Soren continued eating silently, behaving like a stingy and frugal man. He even deliberately stole a glance at her ample chest, as though putting on a poor disguise. Yet inwardly, his vigilance toward the female caravan owner before him rose sharply. She still regarded him with a trace of superiority and had remained neither warm nor cold toward him throughout the journey. It was impossible for her to suddenly become much friendlier now. From her reaction just now, this behavior had clearly angered her, yet she had endured it. Wizards were an extremely rational bunch, so she must be after something. That something probably was not him, which meant the only possibility was Vivian.

Had she also discovered the little girl's astonishing talent?!

Obviously.

Soren's judgment was correct.

Because after the caravan set out, this mysterious female owner actually began casually asking about their past.

This kind of probing technique was not worth mentioning to a Rogue.

Soren easily saw through her intentions, but he could not determine whether her motives were benevolent or malicious.

The best possibility.

Was simply that she had noticed Vivian's astonishing talent and intended to take her as a Witch apprentice. That was why she had deliberately drawn close to them now, wanting to learn about their past.

But it was also possible that she had some other purpose, and that possibility was not low at all!

Soren found it difficult to trust a strange woman.

Especially a Witch.

Should they leave?

That was what Soren thought after the caravan departed.

Northern Witches were not exactly Lawful Good. If he rejected her when she finally spoke up, she might very well become angry from embarrassment.

You could not judge Wizards by ordinary standards.

There were quite a few people among them who were like mad scientists. Most of the time, Wizards did not like reasoning things out.

At least not before you had the strength to reason with them.

They did not like reason!

Spellcasters always carried a trace of lofty superiority in their hearts, and it was even more so for Witches of high status.

After all, they were women.

But White Horse City was already very close. Once they arrived there, the two sides would naturally part ways. The caravan needed to circle from the south back to the North, while Soren needed to detour to Falling Leaf City, then head to Dream Forest and enter the Elven Realm. Leaving rashly now might backfire and instead make it seem like they had something to hide.

The journey remained peaceful.

Within the range of human activity, there were naturally far fewer Monsters.

The caravan even encountered a group of bearded Dwarves on the road. North of here lay the Iron Ridge Mountains, once the territory of Ogres. Later, a Dwarf clan migrated there and eventually established a city. Iron Ridge Dwarves traded with nearby races, mainly humans and Half-Elves. They exchanged quality weapons for strong liquor and grain. Dwarves were creatures who did not particularly enjoy farming. They would rather face hard stone than dig for food in muddy fields.

Among all races.

Only humans seemed willing to farm, and only they enjoyed careful cultivation.

Orcs farming?

Don't make me laugh. They merely scattered seeds into the ground and then waited to see how lucky they were that year.

Rather than spend that effort carefully cultivating crops, they might as well hunt down a couple of Beasts.

At least they could eat meat.

As for Elves, did anyone think those creatures, whose pursuit of beauty bordered on sickness, would be willing to cultivate muddy fields?

Even if muddy fields meant fertile land.

Travel could sometimes be boring.

Especially when nothing special happened, but things did not always happen. At such times, all you needed to do was keep moving toward your destination.

Nothing happening was also a good thing.

Because unexpected events in the wilderness always meant trouble, and they could also bring death.

So.

When the caravan finally reached the outskirts of White Horse City, both the merchants and guards could not help but breathe sighs of relief, because they had reached the final destination of one leg of their journey. The caravan would stay in White Horse City for nearly a month. During that time, the merchants would split up and act independently, selling off all kinds of goods in their possession before purchasing anything near White Horse City that they thought could earn them money. Some merchants would even organize small groups to visit the Half-Elf villages here. Their goods had an obvious Elven style and could occasionally be passed off to nouveau riche buyers at high prices.

Counterfeits were everywhere.

Once these merchants finished their business, they would gather again and return to the North by another route. They would pass along the coast, where the Northerner Merchants would sell off some of their goods and carry new local seafood products all the way back to the North.

This stretch of the journey should have ended just like that.

Soren took his share of the Gold Dalers from selling the Bulette and left, while the others continued their money-making journey—if Soren had not heard some bad news.