Chapter 48: Valebridge Town
By noon, they hit the main road and started seeing other carts and wagons moving along the same direction. The noise of rolling wheels, clopping hooves, and merchants shouting at their drivers made the once-quiet forest road feel almost lively.
Not long after, the town came into view — a sturdy settlement surrounded by towering stone walls. A single main gate faced the highway, flanked by a small hut that appeared to serve as the guard post. A handful of armored knights were stationed there, checking carts one by one before letting them through.
Seeing the line of wagons stretching far ahead, Oliver frowned. "Why is there such a long line?"
"Oh, that?" Rolf said, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. "They’re being checked. Quite a number of merchants come here for business, but some try to sneak in contraband for extra profit. Worse, there are always a few bandits who attempt to disguise themselves as travelers. So, to prevent trouble, the guards check every cart before letting anyone in. They also verify everyone’s identity."
Oliver and Isolde exchanged a glance at that.
"What do you mean by ’verify identity’?" Oliver asked. "Like... is there some kind of passport or something?"
"Passport?" Rolf blinked, clearly confused. "What’s that?"
"It’s like... uh, a document issued by your country that proves who you are," Oliver explained, realizing too late how strange it might sound to them.
"Hmm... never heard of such a thing." Rolf scratched his beard thoughtfully. "But yes, it’s somewhat like that. Though here, it’s not your nation that issues such proof."
He went on, "There are different organizations. For merchants like me, we carry a license issued by the Merchant Association. Adventurers have cards from the Adventurers’ Guild. Mages carry their identification from the Mage Tower. And so on."
"I see..." Oliver muttered, feeling a small pit of worry forming in his stomach. "But what happens if someone doesn’t have any of those cards? Are they banned from entering?"
Rolf chuckled at that. "Ha! It’s not that strict. If someone doesn’t have identity papers, they can still get in — but they need a guarantor. The guarantor takes responsibility for their behavior inside the city. If the person commits a crime and runs away, the guarantor will be punished."
Oliver grimaced. "That... sounds rough. Who would agree to something like that?"
"Exactly why most won’t," Rolf said with a shrug.
Mia, who had been quietly listening, suddenly tilted her head in realization. "Wait... the way you’re asking all this... you two don’t have any identity cards, do you?"
Oliver and Isolde shook their heads in unison.
Rolf slapped his thigh. "Ah! So that’s why you were worried."
He grinned warmly. "Don’t worry about that. You saved my daughter and my people. I’ll be your guarantor."
Oliver blinked. "But didn’t you just say no one wants to be someone else’s guarantor? Why would you take that risk?"
Rolf puffed his chest proudly. "Because you saved our lives! This is the least I can do to repay you. And besides—" he glanced at Oliver and Isolde with a serious expression, then smiled again "—I can tell you’re not the type to cause trouble."
Oliver’s shoulders relaxed a little, genuine gratitude in his voice. "Then... we can’t thank you enough."
Mia giggled softly from her seat. "See? Father’s not always a grumpy merchant."
"Hey!" Rolf shot her a look, but he was smiling too.
The caravan rolled forward slowly with the rest of the line, inching closer to the city gates.
The caravan rolled forward with the rest of the line, inching closer to the city gates. As they approached, Oliver could make out the guards more clearly. There were six of them at the checkpoint — two sitting at a wooden table with a ledger, two checking cargo, and two standing watch with spears at the ready.
When it was finally their turn, Rolf hopped down from the wagon and greeted the guards with a friendly wave.
"Ah, Rolf!" one of the guards — a stocky man with a scar across his cheek — called out with a grin. "Back again so soon? Sold out your stock already?"
"Ha! Of course," Rolf boasted, puffing his chest a little. "You know how popular Valemont cotton is. We were just unlucky with a Tuskhorn attack this time, but thanks to these two—" he gestured proudly to Oliver and Isolde "—we made it back with everyone alive."
The guard’s grin faltered slightly as his eyes shifted toward Oliver and Isolde, scrutinizing them. "New faces, huh? Do they have papers?"
Rolf shook his head, still smiling. "No, but they’re with me. I’ll vouch for them."
The guard raised a brow. "You sure about that, Rolf? You know the rules. If they cause trouble—"
"Then it’s on me," Rolf said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
There was a brief pause as the guard looked between Rolf, Oliver, and Isolde — then nodded. "Fine. I’ll note it down."
Oliver felt a flicker of tension leave his shoulders as the guard scribbled something in the ledger. The other guards did a quick sweep of the caravan, checking for smuggled goods or suspicious packages.
When they were done, the lead guard waved them through. "All clear. You’re good to go. Welcome back to Valebridge."
With that, the wagons started moving again, passing under the heavy wooden gate and into the city.
The moment they were through, Oliver felt the change in atmosphere. The smell of dust and animal musk from the road was replaced by the scent of baked bread, cooked meat, and faint traces of forge smoke. People bustled along the cobblestone streets — merchants calling out their wares, children darting between carts, and adventurers in mismatched armor laughing boisterously as they passed.
After traveling a short distance inside the city, Rolf pulled the caravan to a stop at an open plaza. "This is where we part ways," he said, hopping down again. He reached into his coat and handed Oliver a small bronze token engraved with a stylized cotton flower.
"This is our company token," Rolf explained. "Show it at any shop under the Silverloom Merchant Company, and you’ll get the best prices we can offer."
Oliver accepted it gratefully. "Thanks. That’ll definitely come in handy."
As they were about to leave, Oliver hesitated and turned back. "One more thing — how do we get our own identity cards? We can’t rely on finding generous merchants every time we want to enter a city."
Rolf chuckled. "Fair point. Easiest way? Go to the Adventurers’ Association and sign up. You two are strong enough that it won’t be a problem. They issue identification on the spot once you pass the registration test."
"Where do we find it?" Oliver asked.
"Head straight down this road until you reach the fountain plaza," Rolf said, pointing down the busy main street. "Take a left there — you can’t miss it. Big stone building, lots of noisy adventurers hanging around outside."
"Got it." Oliver nodded. "Thanks again, Rolf."
"Don’t mention it." The merchant gave him a broad smile, then looked to Isolde. "And... thank you, truly, for saving my daughter. If you’re ever in this town again, look for me. Silverloom will always welcome you."
Mia waved at them from the wagon. "Take care, you two!"
Oliver waved back with a faint smile before turning to Isolde. "Adventurers’ Association, then?"
"Why not?" Isolde shrugged casually, already starting down the road. "Sounds like fun."
And so, leaving the caravan behind, the two of them set off toward the heart of Valebridge, ready to begin their next step.
The road leading into town opened into a wide plaza lined with shops, lanterns glowing softly as dusk settled. The market was still lively, merchants hawking their wares, children darting between stalls, and the smell of spices, grilled meat, and fresh bread wafting through the air.
Oliver couldn’t help but slow his pace. "Wow... so this is what a proper town feels like."
Isolde arched an eyebrow, amused. "You look like some country bumpkin."
"I basically am," Oliver muttered. "First it was the palace, then the dungeon, then the forest. This is the first time I’m seeing normal life here."
They strolled past stalls selling fabrics, jewelry, and food. Oliver stopped at a skewer stand and bought two meat skewers without hesitation, passing one to Isolde.
She sniffed it skeptically but took a bite anyway. "Hmm. Not bad."
"See?" Oliver grinned. "You’ve been eating nothing but roasted meat. Though it was not bad. You need to try street food too."
Isolde only rolled her eyes but didn’t stop eating.
By the time they were done sightseeing, the sky had turned a deep purple and the lamps were lit all over the town. They were tired, full of dust, and ready to rest — which led them to the cozy-looking inn at the edge of the main street.
The sign outside read The Velvet Hearth.
Inside, the inn was warmly lit by firelight and smelled faintly of wood polish and roasted meat.