novelones Chapter 264: THE TRAVEL PASS
Chapter 264: THE TRAVEL PASS
Morning crept over Whitebridge with sunlight that felt remarkably warmer than usual. Whether it was because the square’s well was flowing once more, because the terror of the beast Vol had ended at the tip of Naya’s arrow, or simply because Roland could finally sleep soundly without guessing what insane test the Pastor would throw at them next.
In the dining room of The Sunny Rest, the caravan gathered for their final breakfast in the village. Madam Lena served platters piled high with thick slices of rye bread, soft-boiled eggs, and steaming pots of herbal tea—portions far more generous than the inn’s standard fare, though Roland hadn’t asked for it.
Adul sat hunched at the corner of the table. His thin hands trembled slightly around his teacup. The shaking was no longer born of panic, but rather the lingering adrenaline from last night’s skirmish that hadn’t completely flushed from his bloodstream.
"Holding up okay, Hero?" Roland asked softly, pausing his knife over a slice of bread.
"I-I... I only stood there guarding Miss Sera last night. That’s all. It was nothing," Adul mumbled bashfully, nearly burying his face in his cup.
"Sometimes, just standing your ground and not running when your legs want to give out... is more than enough," Naya remarked coldly, not even bothering to look up from her breakfast.
Adul didn’t reply. But slowly, the rigid tension that had locked his shoulders since last night began to ease, melting into relief.
Creeeak...
The inn’s main door was suddenly pushed open. Pastor Elias stepped inside.
His oversized white cassock still looked as pristine as snow—without a single speck of field dirt or road dust. Yet, there was a subtle shift in his presence this morning. Perhaps it was the slower, less intimidating tempo of his footsteps. Or perhaps it was the rare fact that a high pastor had humbled himself to visit a common inn, rather than demanding they come to his shrine.
Several villagers having their breakfast immediately bowed their heads in deep reverence. Elias ignored them. His pale blue eyes locked directly onto Rianor’s table.
"I received the reports regarding the wheat field last night," Elias stated without preamble, towering at the edge of their table.
Roland slowly set his teacup down. "We were merely responding to a threat, Pastor."
"Responding without being asked. Acting without being ordered." Elias paused for a heartbeat, letting his words hang in the air. "And that is the very essence of the third test."
From within the folds of his white robes, the Pastor withdrew a scroll. It was a sheet of high-quality white parchment, rolled meticulously, and sealed with a dollop of bright red wax. Stamped firmly into the wax was the emblem of the seven-rayed rising sun.
"This is your Travel Pass."
Roland stood up and accepted the scroll with both hands—a gesture of profound courtesy he had picked up from observing the locals of Luminara. "We are deeply grateful, Pastor."
"That pass will only protect you up to the city limits of Sanctum. The moment you set foot inside, you are required to report and request a new permit from the local Head Pastor." Elias’s blue eyes bored sharply into Roland’s. "And tread carefully, Merchant. Not all servants of the Goddess share my perspective."
"We will keep your warning in mind."
Elias turned on his heel. His white cassock flared gracefully with the motion. He walked toward the exit in silence, then abruptly stopped at the threshold. He didn’t look back as he spoke:
"I know you are no ordinary spice merchants. And I have no interest in discovering who you truly are. But one thing is certain... this village is a much better place since your arrival." A soft exhale followed. "To me, that is enough."
Pastor Elias stepped out. The heavy wooden door creaked shut behind him.
Roland stared at the red-sealed parchment scroll in his hands, letting out a massive sigh of relief. "Hah... we actually managed to get it."
"More accurately, you got it," Rianor corrected flatly, spreading butter on his bread. "I merely sat in silence from beginning to end."
"Let it be known, Brother, that your silence was your greatest contribution to saving our lives."
Hearing that, the corner of Rianor’s mouth almost twitched into a smile. Almost.
Sera intercepted them right before the party boarded the carriage.
The village girl jogged over, carrying a thick cloth bundle—stuffed with warm wheat loaves, durable hard cheese, and slices of smoked meat wrapped in leaves. "Please, take this for the road. The city of Sanctum is very far. You’ll definitely need the extra rations."
Roland accepted the heavy bundle with a genuine smile. "You’ve troubled yourself far too much for us, Sera."
Sera blushed—offering the exact same shy smile she had worn when she first handed them water in front of Hilda’s shack. "It is you who saved us. Granny Hilda’s roof. The village well. And that blasted monster..." The girl looked down, wringing the hem of her apron. "I... this entire village... will never forget your kindness."
"And we won’t forget the warmth of this village."
Sera gave a quick nod, then hurriedly turned around and walked away before her tear-filled eyes could spill over.
Hilda was the next to approach. The widow’s back was still hunched, her fingers still trembling. But her steps seemed far steadier and more upright than yesterday—whether because the burden of a leaking roof had been lifted, or simply because her soul felt whole again knowing there were still people who cared for her.
"I... I am just a poor woman with nothing to offer in return," Hilda whispered in her distinct, raspy voice. "But I promise to chant prayers for your safety. Every dusk. Until you make it home safe."
"We don’t even know if we’ll make it home safely ourselves, Ma’am," Roland answered honestly, stripping away his mask.
"That is alright. I will pray for you all the same."
Roland gently took the widow’s wrinkled hands and clasped them—with utmost care, as if holding a cracked porcelain vase. "Thank you so much, Madam Hilda."
From the direction of the square, the frail old man who read the holy tome approached. The white-covered Lux Aeterna was still clutched tightly in his left hand. The elder wasted no time on pleasantries. He simply raised his right hand to the sky and chanted a brief blessing in a gravelly voice: "May the Goddess illuminate your rugged path. May Her Light burn away the darkness that stalks you."
Roland didn’t reply with words. He simply bowed his head deeply, a universal gesture of profound respect. It was more than enough.
At the outer edge of the village, not far from the base of the white marble bridge that gave the town its name... Theron was waiting.
His posture was as rigid as ever—standing tall like a wooden piling driven too deep into the earth. His expression was flat as a board—the trademark look of an intelligence operative on duty. But this time, he wasn’t hiding in the shadows of an alleyway. He stood openly in the middle of the carriage path. Waiting.
Roland raised his hand, halting the caravan as they walked toward the carriage. "Still here, I see."
"I... I want to speak." Theron’s voice sounded incredibly raspy and heavy, like a rusted door hinge forced open after being locked for years. "This is... truly difficult for me."
"I understand."
Theron swallowed hard, giving a stiff nod. "I used to be a border guard. Early retirement. Settled here. Then my wife... passed." The man fell silent for a long time, searching for vocabulary hidden in the dark corners of his mind. "After that, there was nothing left. I... I even forgot how to speak. To people. Like a normal human being."
"But you are doing it right now."
"It is... very difficult."
"You’ve said that twice now."
Theron stared straight into Roland’s eyes. And for the first time, those icy eyes projected something else. Not absolute warmth, but a spark of desperate effort to be warm. And to Roland, that effort was far more valuable.
"At first, I watched you relentlessly, because my instincts screamed that you were a threat to this village," Theron took a slow breath. "But it turns out I was wrong. You... are not bad men."
Roland returned a light smile. "You aren’t a bad man either, Theron. You just need a little time to adapt and show it."
Theron didn’t return the smile. However, the corner of his lips twitched slightly—almost imperceptibly, as if his facial muscles were trying to remember how to smile for the first time.
"Tread carefully when you set foot in Sanctum," Theron warned in a low tone. "In the capital... people with your demeanor will draw suspicion far more easily. Too many eyes. Too many ears thirsty for information. And the Head Pastor there... he is nothing like Elias."
"What is he like, then?"
"Elias is hard and rigid, but he is fair," Theron left a chilling pause. "While the Pastor of Sanctum... he blindly believes that all forms of sin must be cleansed. And his cleansing methods... are agonizing."
Roland recorded the crucial warning in his mind. "Thank you for the intel, Theron."
The stiff man nodded—one broken nod, as usual. Then he stepped back, clearing an open path for the caravan to pass.
Their carriage was ready in the courtyard of The Sunny Rest.
The roof looked brand new—fresh pine planks had replaced the panels corroded by wyvern acid. The wheel frames had been reinforced with additional pegs. The draft horses looked vastly re-energized after receiving extra rations and two full days of rest.
Orva checked the tension of the reins one last time. Naya securely tied Sera’s bundle of provisions beside the driver’s bench. Adul was sitting pretty in the corner of the cabin with his communication box resting on his lap—today he merely held it, no longer clutching it possessively as if his life depended on it. A significant mental milestone.
Dom stepped to the side of the carriage. "All ready, My Lord."
Roland hopped into the cabin. Rianor had already taken his seat, engrossed in scratching his quill against his notebook—whether he was summarizing the social hierarchy of Whitebridge, dissecting the anatomical weaknesses of the beast Vol, or simply calculating the travel time to Sanctum, no one knew.
Hup! The carriage began to move forward.
Whitebridge Village slowly shrank in the rearview window. Its white marble bridge. The square with the old well. The grand shrine with its bell tower. The smiling signboard of The Sunny Rest.
Sera stood in front of the inn, waving reluctantly. Granny Hilda sat on her porch bench, her hands still trembling but a peaceful smile gracing her wrinkled lips. And far at the village limits, Theron’s posture remained as stiff as a statue—but the man raised one hand. A rigid, awkward wave. Likely the first wave he had offered in the last decade of his life.
Roland waved back to all of them before the village was obscured by the dense canopy of trees.
"Crazy... we actually managed to hold this Travel Pass," Roland muttered, tapping the parchment scroll against his thigh.
"You managed to hold it," Rianor corrected without lifting his gaze from his book. "I merely sat and watched."
"You used that exact line two hours ago, Brother."
"And its truth value hasn’t changed to this very second."
Roland let out a resigned snort and leaned his head against the newly installed wooden wall of the carriage. "Sanctum. A colossal city. Multi-layered checkpoints. And a tyrannical Pastor who enjoys ’cleansing’ sins." He stared at the cabin ceiling. "Hah... why does my gut scream that the peace in this village was just the appetizer?"
"Because for once, your instincts are spot on."
"Can’t you contribute just one comforting sentence?"
"Absolutely not," Rianor replied resolutely.
Roland massaged the bridge of his nose and let out an exhausted sigh. "At least you’re consistently honest."
Rianor calmly turned the page of his notebook. "It is my only loyal skill."
Ahead of them, the white stone road stretched straight, cutting south. The golden grasslands swayed gracefully, blown by the bright morning wind. The rows of magical light orbs atop their posts still glowed dimly, as if refusing to extinguish even though the sunlight had taken over the duty of illuminating the world.
Whitebridge had been completely left behind.
And Sanctum, the true eye of the storm, patiently waited for them at the edge of the horizon.