Chapter 4: First Steps onto the Border

The sky wasn’t light yet.

Hilda stood quietly by his bedside, watching him.

When Rex opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of red pupils glowing faintly in the dim room before dawn.

“…How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long.”

Hilda paused.

“About two hours.”

Rex sat up, rubbing the space between his eyebrows.

He hadn’t actually wanted to leave this early.

He’d studied the map late into the night last night, planning to sleep in and set off leisurely.

But now…

He glanced out the window.

The horizon held only the faintest hint of dawn.

“My Lord, you don’t like waking early?”

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you sleep longer?”

“Because you’ve already been standing there for two hours, haven’t you?”

Hilda blinked, seeming not to fully grasp the logical connection between those two things. But she didn’t press, just silently handed over his folded coat.

Rex took it, put it on, and suddenly sighed.

“Let’s go. It’s fine to leave early.”

There was no carriage, not even a wild horse to be found.

The two of them simply walked, relying on their own two legs.

The northern border morning was bitterly cold, their breath forming puffs of white mist before their faces.

Rex walked in front, Hilda following a step behind him, her footsteps so light they were almost soundless.

“My Lord.”

Hilda spoke up after they had walked for a while.

“Hm?”

“What do you want to do in that city?”

Rex thought for a moment.

“First, buy a good horse.”

He unconsciously touched the bridge of his nose.

“At our current speed, it’ll probably be dark by the time we get there.”

To be honest, this current predicament was of his own making.

When that coachman had thrown down the luggage and run, he hadn’t stopped him.

First, he couldn’t be bothered.

Second…

He really hadn’t expected the northern border to be this desolate.

So desolate that not a single animal could be seen.

He should have kept the carriage back then.

But that coachman had been truly fast, cracking his whip and disappearing in a flash.

Hilda glanced at him, seeming to read the expression on his face.

“I could fly you there, My Lord.”

“That would be too conspicuous.”

Rex shook his head.

“And if your magic power is exposed, it’ll bring unnecessary trouble.”

Hilda didn’t speak again, but Rex noticed her steps became a bit lighter.

They walked in silence for another stretch.

As they crested a small hill, Rex suddenly asked, “By the way, while you were here, did you ever go to other human territories?”

“No.”

“Not even once?”

“No.”

Hilda’s voice was soft.

“I was always in the Ancient Castle, waiting for you.”

When she said this, her expression didn’t change.

But Rex could hear it wasn’t a complaint, just a statement of fact.

Then she paused, her voice growing even softer.

“This is the first time you’re taking me to a human town.”

Rex’s steps faltered slightly.

He turned to look at her.

The light of dawn, just breaking through the clouds, fell on Hilda’s profile.

Her expression was still that same cool, detached one, but her eyes…

There was something in them.

Like a fish hiding beneath the surface of a lake, occasionally turning over, sending out tiny ripples.

“I am looking forward to it,” she said.

Rex was taken aback.

He suddenly realized this was the first time Hilda had spoken in this tone.

It wasn’t the deference of “My Lord,” nor the obedience of “I’ll listen to you.”

It was…

Like someone who had waited a long time, finally waiting for something.

“…Let’s go.”

Rex withdrew his gaze and continued walking.

“I’ll treat you to something good when we get there.”

“Okay.”

Along the way, Rex intermittently explained some common sense of human society to Hilda.

“Be careful about money. In the human world, this stuff can be exchanged for a lot of things. Those gold coins you took out before, that old hunter was honest. If you meet someone dishonest, they’ll get bad ideas.”

“I can handle them.”

“I know you can.”

Rex said patiently.

“But it’s best to avoid trouble if you can. Not out of fear, but because it’s unnecessary.”

Hilda nodded seriously.

“And,” Rex thought for a moment, “when we get to town, if someone tries to talk to you, just ignore them if you don’t want to engage.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a woman, and…”

Rex glanced at her, leaving the second half unsaid.

Hilda seemed to understand something.

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was a smile.

“Also, when buying things, don’t just pull out gold coins.”

“You already said that.”

“I was afraid you’d forget.”

“…Oh.”

Looking at her expression that seemed to say “my memory is fine,” Rex had a feeling she’d probably still pull out gold coins at some point.

The two of them walked until the sun was nearly setting before they finally saw the outline of a town.

The town was much larger than Rex had anticipated.

Looking down from the hill, houses were densely packed together, surrounded by a low earthen wall on the outermost edge.

Smoke rose from chimneys, and faint sounds of barking dogs and horse hooves could be heard.

“Let’s go.”

Rex quickened his pace.

On the way down the mountain, they finally saw people.

Mostly merchant caravans driving wagons piled high with goods, wheels carving deep ruts in the muddy road.

There were also travelers on foot, carrying large and small packs, heads down as they hurried along.

They didn’t even face much scrutiny entering the town.

Two guards at the entrance leaned against the base of the wall, cradling spears, dozing off without even lifting their eyelids.

The inside of the town was much livelier than it looked from outside.

Stalls lined both sides of the street, hawkers’ cries rising and falling.

The air was a mix of horse dung, roasting meat, and various strange smells.

Hilda wrinkled her nose slightly but said nothing.

Rex’s gaze swept over the buildings lining the street.

The most prominent was a two-story stone building with a wooden sign hanging by the door, painted with a mug.

An inn.

And it looked like the best one here.

“Let’s find a place to stay first.”

Rex led Hilda in that direction.

He hadn’t gone more than a few steps before he sensed something was off.

People on the road started looking their way.

Not at him, but at Hilda.

Hilda walked half a step behind Rex, her silver hair glowing warmly in the evening sun, her red eyes calmly looking ahead, ignoring those gazes.

A beautiful woman—this town wasn’t unfamiliar with them.

Caravans came and went, and occasionally, noble families passed through.

But this woman…

The same thought flashed through everyone’s mind: ‘Is she human?’

Her face was exquisitely carved as if by a god’s own hand, her skin so pale it was almost translucent, silver hair cascading to her waist, each step seeming to tread on clouds.

Rex didn’t turn around, just slowed his pace slightly, signaling for Hilda to stay closer.

The inn’s ground floor was a tavern—a few long tables, a bar counter, several oil lamps hanging on the walls.

The air smelled of ale and cheap smoked meat.

A few merchants sat in a corner, already flushed from drinking.

The moment they saw Hilda enter, they forgot to swallow their ale.

Rex walked to the bar and tapped the counter.

“Two rooms, with dinner.”

The innkeeper was a man in his forties, wearing a greasy apron, his face fleshy with several chins.

He looked Rex up and down, his gaze lingering on his clothes, which, though simple, clearly weren’t cheap.

“Only one left.”

The innkeeper said.

“With dinner, twenty copper coins.”

Rex looked at him. In a border town like this, the normal price generally wouldn’t exceed five coppers.

The innkeeper didn’t avoid his gaze.

Seeing Rex’s thoughts, he added, completely unapologetic, “This place only has my inn. If you don’t stay, sleep on the street.”

Rex didn’t argue with him.

“Deal. I might stay a few days. I’ll settle up when I leave.”

The innkeeper nodded, took a key from the wall, and tossed it onto the counter.

“Last room at the end of the second floor. Food will be brought up later. Don’t complain; this place doesn’t have anything decent to eat.”

Rex picked up the key and led Hilda upstairs.

The room was small—one bed, one table, one chair.

The wooden furniture was the cheapest kind, unfinished, rough to the touch.

The window didn’t close properly, letting in a cold draft through the gaps.

But the bedsheet was clean.

Rex checked; at least it had been washed.

He lay directly on the bed.

“My Lord, you don’t like this place.”

Hilda stood by the bed, looking down at him.

“It’s fine.”

Rex put his hands behind his head.

“At least it’s better than the wilderness.”

What he didn’t say was that this place was indeed worse than he’d expected.

But there was no choice; now wasn’t the time to be picky.

About a quarter of an hour later, someone knocked.

Rex got up and opened the door.

A servant stood there with a tray, set the food down, and left without even daring to look properly into the room.

Or rather, without daring to look at Hilda.

On the tray were two bowls of soup and two pieces of bread.

The soup was so thin you could see your reflection, floating with a few unidentifiable vegetable leaves and a faint, elusive hint of meat.

The bread was rye, hard as stone, the surface charred black.

Rex sat down, broke the bread, soaked it in the soup, waited for it to soften a bit, then ate it spoonful by spoonful.

It didn’t taste good, but it was at least edible, and the bread was genuinely made from grain.

Halfway through his meal, he looked up to see Hilda standing beside him, her soup and bread untouched.

“You’re not eating?”

Hilda shook her head.

“I only eat food you make.”

Rex paused mid-chew.

“Then what did you eat in the Ancient Castle?”

“I didn’t eat.”

“You never ate?”

“Dragon Kind physiology is different from humans.”

Hilda’s tone was matter-of-fact.

“One meal can sustain us for a long time.”

Rex thought for a moment.

“Then back in Dragon Valley, why did you eat so eagerly?”

Hilda was silent for a beat.

“Because the meat you roasted was delicious.”

“……”

Rex held the soup bowl, suddenly at a loss for words.

It wasn’t that she didn’t need to eat.

She just didn’t want to eat food made by others.

Or, more accurately…

She only ate food he made.

Rex put down the bowl and glanced at her.

“Suit yourself then.”

He then lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.

The room fell quiet, only the sound of wind outside the window and faint noise from downstairs.

After a few minutes, the mattress sank slightly.

Rex opened his eyes.

Hilda had lain down beside him, her silver hair spread across the pillow, her red eyes still startlingly bright in the dim room.

“My Lord.”

“Hm?”

“Someone is eavesdropping outside the door.”

Her voice was very soft, her lips barely moving.

But Rex heard her clearly.

He didn’t get up, didn’t turn to look at the door.

He just tilted his head slightly, his peripheral vision sweeping over the door crack.

Beneath the door crack was an extremely faint shadow.

Motionless, but definitely there.

It had been there since they entered the room.

Rex withdrew his gaze and reached out to touch Hilda’s face.

Her skin was cool, like fine silk.

“Don’t mind it.”

His voice was also soft.

“Tomorrow, I’ll make them regret it.”

Hilda didn’t ask further, just tilted her head slightly, pressing her cheek into his palm.

“Rest well.”

Rex withdrew his hand and closed his eyes again.

The shadow under the door crack lingered for about the time it takes a stick of incense to burn, but ultimately, disappointed at not hearing the sounds it wanted, it left.

The room grew quiet again.

Outside, there were insect chirps, the wind, and the occasional snort of horses from distant caravans.

Hilda lay beside him, her breathing steady and light, as if already asleep.

But Rex knew she was only pretending.

Hilda’s fingers were lightly gripping his sleeve cuff.

Rex didn’t pull away.

That night, nothing happened.

Nothing at all.