The night was as dark as ink, and the cold wind howled.
Before nightfall completely shrouded the land, the caravan reached the Gilded Horseshoe Inn in Riverside Village.
Just as its name suggested, the village sat beside the wide, gently flowing Twilight River, with the Gray Mist Forest on the opposite bank.
Thanks to the trade road connecting Rose Town and Trout Town, as well as convenient river transport, Riverside Village was far larger than the other villages along the way, and much busier and more prosperous.
The inn's three-story main building, made of wood and stone, along with its spacious stables and courtyard, which could accommodate several caravans, was the most direct reflection of that prosperity.
On the second floor of the inn, in a standard room set aside for adventurers.
Firewood crackled in the hearth, trying to drive away the chill seeping in through the cracks around the doors and windows.
Greck lay sprawled on the bed nearest the door. He hadn't even taken off his boots, and he didn't care that their muddy soles rested on the bed.
He tossed a few copper nails from hand to hand, but his gaze was unfocused. Clearly, money wasn't on his mind.
On the other bed, Logan lounged against the wall like a wary fox, deftly trimming his nails with a dagger. His ears twitched slightly, missing none of the sounds outside the door—or, naturally, inside the room.
"Hey, Logan," Greck broke the silence first. The coins landed in his palm with a dull clink. "Where'd you find this party, anyway? They look... tsk, tsk."
A long-awaited smile tugged at the corner of Logan's mouth. Without looking up, he deftly scraped the tip of his dagger beneath a fingernail. "The notice board at the Oak Tavern. I heard they only