NOVEL NEXT Chapter 51: Possible Tyrant
Rowan and Wade urged their horses forward, hooves clattering against the packed dirt road as the noise at the gates swelled.
The closer they drew, the clearer the scene became.
A caravan sat in ruins before the gates, its wagons half-burnt, wood splintered and blackened, and wheels shattered like brittle bones.
Merchant banners hung in tatters, edges curling from fire.
A few oxen lay dead, stiffened in the dirt, while others were being untethered by shaken survivors.
The guards had formed a rough cordon around the caravan, shouting orders as they tried to maintain order.
One guard poured water over a charred beam still smoldering. Another crouched to check the wounds of a bloodied driver.
The survivors of the caravan sat in shock, their clothes torn and faces streaked with ash.
"They came out of nowhere!" one of the merchants cried, his hands flailing as he spoke. "A horde! Dozens, no— hundreds of them! They poured out of the forest like a tide of claws and teeth!"
His words rippled through the gathered crowd. Some gasped, others scoffed.
"Horde? Don't be ridiculous," a man from the crowd spat. "You probably got hit by bandits and are trying to make it sound worse."
"Yeah!" another called. "If there was a monster horde, we'd have known! You're exaggerating to cover your own incompetence."
The merchants bristled, their fear twisting into anger. "Do you think we'd burn our own wagons? Do you think we'd kill our own animals? Look at us! Look at what's left!"
"Bandits can set fires too," a woman muttered darkly from the back of the crowd.
Wade tugged his reins, slowing his horse beside Rowan. His brows knit in confusion. "Why don't they want to believe them? I mean, it looks real enough. Something tore those wagons apart."
Rowan's expression hardened as his gaze swept over the destruction. "Because a monster horde doesn't just happen. Not naturally. If one has formed, it means a new Tyrant has appeared."
Wade frowned. "A Tyrant?"
"Like the Dreadmire." Rowan nodded grimly. "Every so often, a monster strong enough to dominate others rises."
"It pulls them together into a pack, then into a horde. The smaller monsters can't resist the call. They follow it, obey it. And sooner or later, that horde marches."
"And when it marches," Rowan continued, voice low, "it doesn't start with cities."
"It tears through towns and villages first. Clears out the land. Starves us of supplies. By the time it reaches Hiving…" He shook his head. "By then, it's war."
Wade's chest tightened. His eyes flicked to the merchants shouting themselves hoarse to be believed.
Suddenly, their desperation made perfect sense.
"What happens," Wade asked quietly, "if they confirm there's a Tyrant out there?"
Rowan glanced at him, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Then every adventurer gets conscripted. The guilds empty their halls, call in every contract. Doesn't matter if you're fresh out of awakening or a seasoned captain. If you can fight, you're sent."
Wade's eyes widened. "All of them?"
"All of them," Rowan confirmed. "The guilds pay well for it too. Danger pay, they call it."
"They know plenty of adventurers will die. That means fewer mouths to share the reward with, and those who survive get richer than they've ever hoped to be."
"And of course, they'll speed up recruitment, to drum their numbers back up." He glanced at Wade with a chuckle. "That means if we survive, we might end up being captains of our newbie parties."
Wade leaned back in his saddle, the thought settling heavily on him.
Risk and profit, death and gold, it was the same trade he'd seen everywhere since arriving in this world, just at a larger scale.
"Cheer up," Rowan said dryly, nudging his horse forward. "If there really is a new Tyrant, you'll get to see just how far this little merchant class of yours can take you."
Wade forced a smile but said nothing. His thoughts churned too fast for words.
They moved past the commotion, weaving their horses through the crowd until they reached the front of the gate.
Guards waved them down, checking badges and asking their business.
Rowan handled the exchange easily, presenting his badge and explaining they were returning into the city. Wade followed suit.
After a few tense moments, the guards waved them through.
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By the time Wade reached his apartment, the moon was high above Hiving, silver light filtering through the streets as lanterns flickered in the windows.
He shut the door behind him with a quiet sigh, tossing his boots into the corner before leaning against the wall.
It had been a long day.
He and Rowan had collected their payment from the guild hall earlier that afternoon.
After splitting it cleanly, Wade walked away with 75 coins added to his inventory.
They'd celebrated with a few mugs of cheap ale at a tavern near the guild before parting ways, Rowan in good spirits, and Wade still thinking about the caravan at the gates.
Now, though, the quiet of his apartment wrapped around him.
He lit the lantern on his table, its glow spilling across the room, then crossed to the kitchen.
His eyes immediately found the jug sitting where he had left it.
The airlock bubbled faintly, each soft pop of escaping gas bringing a grin to his face.
"Still working," Wade murmured, stepping closer. He studied the liquid through the glassy sides of the jug. The honey and emberleaf had settled nicely, the faint haze beginning to clear.
Satisfied, he fetched the second jug he'd bought earlier that day.
Setting it beside the first, he carefully popped the airlock free, letting out a faint hiss of trapped gas.
Then he set the siphon tube, drawing the golden liquid into the clean jug. It ran smooth, carrying the sweet smell of fermenting honey.
By the time the first jug was nearly empty, Wade capped the new one with the airlock, giving it a final check before nodding to himself.
"Perfect."
He slid the jug into the cupboard under the counter, tucked away in the dark where it could age undisturbed.
Ten days, maybe less, maybe more, then it would be ready to taste. Ready to sell.
His stomach rumbled faintly, but before he could think of food, a rap echoed against his door.
Knock. Knock.
Wade froze, hand still resting on the cupboard handle. It was late. Too late for a neighbor or for James.
Another set of knocks followed, firmer this time.
Wade straightened slowly, his mind already running through possibilities. His sword was by the couch, within easy reach.
"Who the hell is that?" he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he moved towards the door.