On the way back.
Two carriages rolled slowly through the night-cloaked wasteland.
The wheels crunching over gravel and dry grass made a monotonous, rhythmic sound, like some hypnotic cadence.
Everyone was exhausted.
From entering the valley at dawn, to battling countless ogres, to the underground collapse that scattered the party, to waiting for their companions to return—there had scarcely been a moment of rest all day.
Even while waiting outside the valley, no one knew whether ogres might climb up from below, much less whether those two would make it back alive.
Yet at this moment, no one felt sleepy.
A dragon was roosting in the place they had just left.
Although Edlin had said that metallic dragons did not usually attack humans unprovoked, for those who had just witnessed the ogres' savagery firsthand, the word "usually" offered very little comfort.
Especially not to the poor dwarf curled up in the corner of the other carriage.
Perhaps because He Xi had contributed the most in this battle, and had gone deep underground alone to rescue Ulag, his teammates tacitly left most of the first carriage's interior to him.
Grot and Kazmir squeezed onto the driver's bench, Feyn drove the second carriage, and Edlin rode her warhorse alongside the convoy.
The three militiamen had already hurried back to town ahead of them to deliver the news.
He Xi lay on his back in the carriage, the back of his head resting against something soft and warm, while a cool, tranquil fragrance lingered beneath his nose.
He tilted his head slightly. At the edge of his vision was the delicate line of a chin, along with several strands of silvery-white hair hanging beside his forehead. Zoya sat beside the carriage wall with her legs together, He Xi's head pillowed on her lap.