Chapter 6 – Stone Walls, Shady Smiles
The forest finally broke.
After days of walking—dodging branches, sleeping on roots, and sharing a grand total of three jokes that made Yura exhale slightly harder than usual—Cyrus saw something up ahead that didn't involve bark or moss.
"Is that—wait. Are those… buildings?" he said, squinting.
"An outpost," Yura confirmed. "Old trade route hub. Might still have people."
"I don't care if it's full of goblins at this point," Cyrus said. "If it has a roof and maybe a bowl of soup, I'm calling it home."
The trees gave way to a crumbling stone wall, maybe once part of a fortress, now mostly covered in ivy and regret. Beyond it stood a cluster of squat wooden structures and crooked stone paths that led nowhere fast. A couple of villagers were moving about—watchful, quiet, and visibly armed.
"This place looks charming," Cyrus muttered. "In the 'we-kill-outsiders-if-they-breathe-wrong' sort of way."
Yura didn't smile, but her posture shifted slightly. Not tense—ready.
"Stay close," she said.
"I would, but your idea of walking speed is mildly insulting to human knees."
They passed through the broken archway. The village—or what was left of it—was quiet. There was a single inn, or something that had once been one. A faded sign hung sideways, reading "The Crooked Mug." Charming.
Yura led the way in, and the scent of stale alcohol and old wood hit them like a well-aimed slap. A few figures turned their heads to look. Mostly locals. One man in the corner was cloaked, too clean to belong here.
Cyrus clocked him instantly.
"Shady guy. Back right. Trying too hard to look casual."
Yura gave the faintest nod.
They took a seat near the front, back to a wall. Cyrus leaned forward slightly.
"Are we gonna pretend we're normal travelers, or just let the air of mystery do all the talking?"
"Normal," Yura replied. "You'll scare fewer people that way."
He grinned. "You say that like I'm not already charming."
Yura raised a brow.
"Okay," Cyrus added, "I look charming. Let's leave it at that."
A gruff, bearded man approached—likely the innkeeper. His left eye was white and cloudy, and his sleeves were rolled up to show arms like logs.
"You're not from around here," he grunted.
Cyrus shrugged. "We're just passing through. Two beds if you've got 'em."
The man eyed them for a second longer than necessary, then nodded. "Silver a night."
Cyrus reached into the pouch he'd stolen off those previous bandits, counted a few coins, and slid them over.
Once the man left, Yura spoke again, her voice quieter.
"The cloaked man hasn't moved."
"Waiting for someone, maybe?" Cyrus muttered.
"Or watching us."
He didn't tense. Just smiled a little.
"Well, if he stabs me tonight, tell my fans I was planning to start an organization that would've changed the world."
Yura blinked. "You have fans?"
"Not yet. But imagine the rumors—'Mysterious traveler appears from nowhere, never loses a fight, wears a really dramatic robe.' Boom. Instant legend."
She paused. "What would it be called?"
Cyrus smirked. "Don't laugh."
"I won't."
"…The Second Oath."
Yura tilted her head. "Why?"
He looked toward the window. "It's something deep," he said with a small shrug. "And cool. Mostly cool."
Yura didn't respond, but she didn't mock him either.
Instead, she asked, "You think that guy in the cloak is from my clan?"
Cyrus glanced again. "If he is, he's not very stealthy."
Just then, the door opened again.
A hooded figure stepped in—different from the cloaked man. Smaller. Younger.
They walked straight to the counter without a word.
Cyrus tensed slightly. "Okay, now it feels like we're being surrounded."
"We'll leave soon," Yura said.
Cyrus nodded, eyes scanning the room. "Yeah. I don't like this place anyway. Feels like the kind of inn where someone poisons your drink and then charges you for it."
They ate quietly—some stale bread, watery stew—but Cyrus noticed how Yura barely touched hers. She was watching. Listening.
So was he.
And that's when he realized something strange:
A few of the locals were whispering while looking at him.
Not Yura. Him.
Cyrus leaned closer to her and whispered, "Hey. Weird thought—what if someone already mistook me for some strong guy?"
She blinked. "What?"
He smiled slightly. "I did sorta appear out of nowhere in a forest wearing a mask, saved someone who might be famous, and apparently have 'main character resting face.'"
Yura looked like she wanted to deny it.
But then she looked around too.
And paused.
"…They're definitely whispering about you."
Cyrus sat back and grinned. Not cocky. Not smug.
But thoughtful.
"Well then," he muttered, "let's see how far I can take this."