The room was far too quiet.
Aithur and Liana stood stiffly at the entrance of the chief's modest living room, their eyes fixed on the four cultivators seated on the far side. The low flickering oil lamp hanging above barely lit the space, casting long shadows across the cracked wooden floor. The cultivators were dressed in muted robes of blue and gray, the insignia of the Azure Sword Sect stitched across their chests, and each one held their swords tightly, as if a battle might break out over tea and bread.
"Please, have a seat," the chief finally broke the silence, gesturing to the low stools and woven mats opposite the guests.
The cultivators shifted on the couch, their bodies still too rigid to be called relaxed. Their eyes flickered to Aithur and Liana with vague caution.
Arthur, however, didn't budge. He instinctively stepped in front of Liana, hand out to stop her. "We'll talk from here," he said curtly, his eyes not leaving the cultivators.
The chief exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly. He was well aware of Aithur's dislike—no, outright distrust—of cultivators. He'd seen that look in Aithur's eyes before. It wasn't just about some personal grudge. It was history, pain, and principle all tangled together.
Still, the tight grip the cultivators had on their swords didn't help matters.
"Well then," the chief began, rubbing his temple as if trying to massage the tension out of the room. "Let's not waste time."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. That never meant anything good.
"I wanted to ask," the chief continued, "when were you planning to head to Giga?"
Arthur blinked. "Giga? Not until next week. I just got back from fishing, Chief. My legs still feel like river moss."
The chief hummed, looking over to the cultivators, who exchanged unreadable glances. Their stoicism would've made a stone jealous, but even Aithur could tell they were debating something behind those expressionless faces.
Liana crossed her arms. "Why do you ask?"
"They're heading to Giga," the chief said simply, jerking his chin toward the group. "They need a guide."
Arthur's head tilted. "Wait a moment. You're telling me… they need a guide?" He pointed at the cultivators. "With the whole floaty, sword-flying, lightning-hopping package?"
One of the cultivators finally stood. He was the tallest, with a streak of silver in his otherwise dark hair and a scar over one brow. His presence was calm but commanding.
"I am Hian, the leader of this group," he said, bowing his head slightly. "You are not wrong. Under normal circumstances, we would fly."
Arthur leaned closer, arms crossed, unimpressed. "Then fly."
Hian did not react to the snark. "The Giga River region is not ordinary. Monsters have gathered near its banks—creatures drawn to qi and energy. They do not attack villagers or travelers on foot… but they do attack cultivators. Especially ones who fly."
Liana frowned. "Monsters that only target cultivators?"
"We do not know why," Hian said. "But we've lost three disciples already trying to cross by air. A civilian guide allows us to blend our presence. To cross without provoking the beasts."
Arthur's brow twitched. "Maybe the monsters just really don't like cultivators." He muttered it under his breath.
Every cultivator in the room turned to look at him.
Liana's eyes widened. "They heard that?" she whispered.
"They always hear it," Arthur whispered back.
With a tight smile, Liana elbowed him in the ribs, hard. "Do you want to get stabbed in the living room?"
"I'm just saying," Aithur hissed, rubbing his side. "They should consider public relations training."
The chief cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back. "Arthur," he said, trying to keep the conversation from spiraling. "They'll need to leave by dawn. Can you take them?"
Liana's face turned stern. "Wait, what? He just got back from two weeks out on the river! And now you're sending him out again?"
"Liana—" the chief started.
"No," she interrupted. "He's not a mule you can send up and down the countryside whenever it suits your needs!"
"It's fine," Arthur said suddenly.
She turned to him, stunned. "What?"
"I'll go," he repeated.
"You just said your legs felt like river moss!"
"Yeah, well," he said, scratching his cheek. "I'm already used to being miserable, so what's five more days?"
Liana opened her mouth to protest, but Aithur leaned in and whispered quickly, "Grey's not around, right? That's why they asked me. If they stay here any longer, people are going to get nervous. You know how folks are. Cultivators bring trouble."
She looked at him, worry flickering behind her eyes.
"I'm not doing this for them," he added, jerking his chin toward the couch warriors. "I'm doing it for you. And for the village."
She stayed quiet for a moment, then sighed heavily. "Fine. But if you die, I'm stealing your pillow."
"It's my pillow!"
"Not anymore."
"See? This is why I can't die. You're a tyrant."
The chief, looking relieved, nodded and motioned to the cultivators. "You'll leave at sunrise. Be ready."
Hian stepped forward, giving Aithur a nod that Aithur did not return. "Thank you for your cooperation."
"Yeah, yeah," Arthur muttered. "Just don't touch anything. Or breathe too loud."
Liana rolled her eyes and pulled Aithur by the collar. "We're going."
As they walked back through the village, the sun dipped behind the trees, casting everything in golden hues. Their little home wasn't far—just a turn past the market road, behind a half-finished fence and beside the shared communal farms. The fields were quiet now, chickens tucked into coops, scarecrows leaning crookedly from wind and age.
Arthur kicked a pebble toward their porch. "So. Five days with people I dislike. And monsters. What's next, you going to tell me the stew's dinner again?"
"Nope," Liana said sweetly.
"…Really?"
"We're having leftovers."
Arthur stopped. "I'd rather fight the monsters know as that fish stew."
She smacked him in the back of the head. "Go pack, hero."
"You've got a long way to go"