At the city gates, the morning mist had yet to fully disperse.
Nuoyaji stood beside a dark gray military carriage, clutching a newly unrolled supply list and scanning it again from top to bottom.
Dry rations, waterskins, medical kits, spare boots, illumination crystals, a few rolls of blank parchment, a small pouch of imperial gold coins-Yimulei had always been meticulous. Every item on the list was clearly recorded, right down to the serial number of each gold coin.
Nuoyaji folded the list and tucked it into his clothes, then looked up at the guards and mercenaries loading the carriage. Two guards and three mercenaries, all handpicked by Yimulei from the viscount's guard force and the mercenary squad outside the city. They were capable, quiet, and had spent several years in Luoweida, so they were reasonably familiar with the surrounding terrain.
Not enough.
But he had no one else he could take.
The westbound party was small: one carriage, five men, plus himself. The carriage was an old one dug out of the viscount's storeroom,
its compartment packed with food and supplies, along with a few things selected from the viscount's stockpile that Nuoyaji thought might come in handy on the road.
A new refined-steel longsword replaced his chipped iron sword. There were also several bottles of decent-quality healing potions, a waterproof cloak that could be folded up and worn as a blanket, and a magic-powered detection compass that could automatically record its surroundings at night.
He had not taken much from Heross's stockpile. Not out of politeness, but because he knew that no matter how much was in there, he could not squander it at will.
Heross trusted him now, but that trust had an expiration date. Once he felt Nuoyaji was taking advantage of him, it would expire early. Everything Nuoyaji had taken was essential for the journey. Not one item was merely a nice extra.
Yimulei stood beside the carriage, his hands tucked into his sleeves, the graying hair at his temples stirring faintly in the morning breeze.
The dark circles beneath his eyes were deeper than yesterday, but he was still in good spirits. He stood with his back perfectly straight, like an old tree that had been eaten by insects but had yet to fall.
"Be careful on the road," Yimulei said. He was sparing with words, wasting none on idle talk.
Nuoyaji nodded. "I'm leaving things in the city to you."
There was far too much to handle in the city. Someone had to watch over the mine, maintain the grain route, patrol the streets, process the paperwork...
But he still nodded, very lightly, as though afraid that nodding too hard would shake the exhaustion off his chin.
Nuoyaji swung into the saddle. The horse was not his, but the finest one in the viscount's stables: a chestnut with four sturdy legs and a thick mane, its hot breath condensing into white clouds in the morning mist.
He was not very good at riding. He had known how in his previous life, but this seventeen-year-old body did not yet. All he could do was barely hold the reins, grip the horse's flanks with his legs, and pray it was not too clever.
The coachman flicked his whip. Its tip cracked crisply in the air, and the wheels rolled over the muddy ground, leaving two deep ruts.
The party passed through the city gates and headed west along the imperial highway. The morning mist slowly closed behind them, swallowing the outline of Luoweida City bit by bit.
The guards at the gates raised their spears in farewell, then remained at their posts, gazing blankly into the distance, their thoughts unknown.
Yimulei stood at the gates, watching the party disappear into the morning mist. He remained there for a long time.
Then he turned and walked toward the viscount's residence.
So much trouble. Yimulei sighed. The empire, the duke, the consortium, the miners, the merchants' guild-each has its own demands, its own bottom line, and each is testing my patience.
He was caught in the middle, like a piece of cloth being tugged by two oxen, pulled this way and that, never knowing when he might be torn in half.
But he did not complain. Complaining was useless; it solved nothing. He only needed to do the work before him properly.
The mine cleanup could not stop, grain prices in the city had to remain stable, the viscount's accounts could contain no errors, and documents from above needed timely replies. One task at a time, and eventually they would all be done.
Yimulei returned to the viscount's residence, pushed open the office door, and sat down at the desk piled high with parchment and envelopes.
The oil lamp on the desk was still burning. He had forgotten to blow it out before leaving last night. He reached out and turned down the wick. The flame flickered, then dimmed, leaving only a small halo of dusky yellow light.
He began processing the first document of the day.
Outside the city, in the abandoned stone house.
Fuyila crouched on the threshold, cradling a piping-hot potato in both hands and taking small bites. She had just gotten it from the old man selling baked potatoes on the street corner-not "gotten," but "traded for."
She had traded a silver coin for a potato. The old man had rummaged around for change for ages without finding enough, then said, "Girl, take it and eat first. I'll give you the rest next time you pass by."
She had nodded, tucked the potato against her chest, and jogged all the way back. Now she crouched on the threshold, eating slowly.
Black Owl stood in the shadows of the stone house, his sealed visor facing away from the city. He was utterly motionless, like a black statue forgotten in a corner.
Through his avatar's senses, King Ghidorah watched the party receding from the distant city gates. The carriage's outline was hazy in the morning mist, like an ink painting soaked in water, its lines bleeding until the edges could no longer be made out.
Nuoyaji rode on horseback, his figure appearing and disappearing behind the carriage, like a seabird lifted by the waves only to be swallowed again.
This guy really is busy.
King Ghidorah made the remark inwardly. It was not mockery, merely a statement. A regressor had to change his fate, save the world-there was too much to do. It would have been strange if he were not busy.
He had just helped Luoweida resolve its food crisis, reopening the grain route, persuading the viscount, and steadying the miners in a day and a half. Before he could even catch his breath, he was already heading off on a long journey to some Western Mine.
The Western Mine.
King Ghidorah mulled over the place name.
Wasn't that where Voraksa had been dug up?
Those collapsed ruins, that bottomless pit, that enormous black dragon that had slept for tens of thousands of years-weren't they all to the west? Was this Western Mine where Nuoyaji was headed? A coincidence? Or was someone deliberately steering him that way?
King Ghidorah thought it over and decided the latter was unlikely. Nuoyaji had been sent to the Western Mine on the duke's orders.
And the duke was far away in the imperial heartland, thousands of li from here. He probably knew nothing about Voraksa-from the moment that fellow had been dug up to the moment he had been crippled, less than half an hour had passed.
Even if the duke truly possessed heaven-defying abilities, he could not possibly have received the news, made a judgment, and issued orders within half an hour, then had Viscount Heluos of Luoweida City send someone out today. The timing did not add up...
"Oh, right."
King Ghidorah made Black Owl stop and tilt his head to glance toward the city. Looking west from the city walls, one could see the mine in Luoweida City that was being cleared.
The mine entrance bustled with people. Miners lined up for tools, some carrying shovels, others pushing mine carts, while others erected new timber supports at the tunnel entrance.
Everything was proceeding in an orderly fashion, like a freshly oiled machine. Though it still caught here and there, it was running again.
That was Luoweida's mine...
Black Owl stepped out of the stone house's shadows without a sound, like a wisp of black smoke stirred by the wind.
Fuyila looked up, potato still in her mouth, her red eyes watching Black Owl's retreating back. She did not ask, "Where are you going?" She simply watched quietly as the black figure grew more distant, then lowered her head and went on nibbling her potato.