The river had carried them far, but not far enough.

  By the time the stolen rafts finally ran aground on a muddy embankment, the sky above had already begun to bleed with morning light. Trees rose on all sides, dense and crooked. The air smelled of damp moss and smoke.

  The players dragged themselves ashore—soaked, shivering, and exhilarated.

  Karl stepped onto dry land and looked back at the dark river.

  Aurelia was behind them.

  But nowhere felt like ahead.

  ---

  “So... where now?” someone asked, wringing water from their shirt.

  Everyone turned to Karl.

  He blinked.

  “What?”

  “You’re the quest-giver,” another player said. “The NPC. Where’s the next objective?”

  Karl opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  He didn’t have a plan.

  He had no contacts. No safe houses. No allies in this region. He wasn’t a general, or a tactician. He wasn’t even sure if he could lead a hiking trip, much less a revolution.

  But fifteen pairs of eyes were looking at him.

  Waiting.

  Trusting.

  He inhaled slowly.

  “There’s a city,” he said. “To the north. Near the border. It’s called Ravenhall.”

  The soldier among them nodded. “The one Tanir came from?”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Karl nodded. “It’s a fortress city. Old border post. If anyone’s still neutral—or willing to help—it’s there.”

  The pervert grinned. “Sounds like a mid-tier zone. Good loot, maybe a dungeon.”

  The researcher nodded. “City of that size could have hidden factions.”

  The student stretched. “Let’s get moving, then.”

  Just like that, the decision was made.

  ---

  The journey began with mud and silence.

  They moved in small groups, always keeping low, always looking back. The empire would send riders soon. Maybe even Ravens. Their only advantage was time—and a narrow stretch of wilderness.

  By noon, the terrain began to slope gently upward. Thickets of pine and ash replaced the lowland brush. The ground dried beneath their boots.

  Karl called a halt near a grove of thin trees.

  “We need supplies,” he said. “Rations. Bedrolls. Tools.”

  The players looked around.

  No stores. No traders. No UI inventory tabs.

  Just him.

  ---

  Within an hour, the line had formed.

  Using the stolen gold and silver from the black market, players began to “purchase” items through Karl. The Star Key interface gave him access to a limited pool—basic tents, cured meats, flint packs, winter cloaks, and even rudimentary field kits.

  Each transaction came with a subtle notification.

  > [10 Silver Received — 1 Supply Pack Dispensed]

  > [20 Silver Received — 3-Day Ration Pack Dispensed]

  Karl kept his expression neutral.

  But behind the shimmering interface, a private tab was tracking his margin.

  > [Personal Discretion Fund: +3 Gold, 7 Silver]

  He wasn’t cheating them.

  He was... charging a handling fee.

  And in his mind, a quiet voice whispered: *This money might save your life later.*

  ---

  By dusk, the camp had taken shape.

  Tents in a loose semicircle. A firepit dug into the soil. Sentries posted—players who had assigned themselves “night rotation” duties.

  Someone had made soup from wild roots and salted pork. Another had whittled a stick into a crude spear.

  Karl stood beside a birch tree, watching the embers crackle.

  They weren’t just players anymore.

  They were becoming a unit.

  ---

  In the quiet that followed dinner, the old soldier approached Karl.

  “You did well today.”

  Karl raised an eyebrow. “All I did was name a city.”

  “You gave direction.”

  The soldier glanced at the fire.

  “They’ll follow you.”

  Karl didn’t respond.

  He didn’t want to lead them.

  But he knew they would die without someone making decisions.

  Maybe that was enough—for now.

  ---

  Far to the east, a spyglass glinted in the morning light.

  A mounted scout lowered the lens.

  Below him, a ragged trail of smoke wound upward from the woods.

  He turned to the other riders.

  “Possible camp,” he said.

  “Civilians?”

  The scout narrowed his eyes.

  “No flags. No banners. But numbers match the alert.”

  The officer nodded.

  “Ride back. Tell the captain we’ve found them.”

  ---

  The riders turned.

  And behind them, the Empire’s banner swayed in the wind.

  Their blades were sharp.

  And they were coming.