The stagecoach driver, a man whose sparse armor creaked with every raised foot in the mud, approached Jorel.
"I'm deeply sorry for keeping you waiting, sir!" He bowed, one hand sweeping out to the side.
"Dorl sent you, I presume?" Jorel relaxed his hand from his sword's hilt.
"Yes, sir," the man affirmed with a nod.
"He also said I should deliver a message to you." He bowed slightly once more.
"He says that he apologizes for not coming back, that something urgent came up…" The stagecoach driver spoke sternly, his gaze never quite meeting Jorel's eyes.
Hmm… probably with Isan… Even better that he didn't come! I hope the blood loss affects Isan!
Without wasting another moment, Jorel moved past the driver and opened the carriage door. The handles felt precarious, as if they could detach at any moment, but he turned them downwards with little effort and stepped inside.
Despite its subpar appearance---a corroded roof, seats patched with mismatched cloth, and a tiny spec of cobweb in the corner---the interior seemed to have been recently cleaned. There was even enough room for Jorel to store his gear, if he had them.
But this is better than that stupid horse and how defiant it was.
I really just want to go back home---to leave Slov.
Jorel swallowed, then settled onto the seat. The stagecoach driver closed the door behind him. The chairs felt loose, their insides sparse.
"Hyaaahh!" The stagecoach drivers outside shouted, and the familiar flicking of reins echoed. The carriage lumbered through the mud at a snail's pace, but it was enough for Jorel to still glimpse the town through the stained window.
----a complete eyesore!
He scoffed.
The hushed whispers and fearful glances of the peasants outside penetrated the hollowed wood. Jorel's body swayed with the bumps on the road, feeling the thick mud vibrations against his backside.
His eyelids slowly began to droop, carrying with them a feeling of a curse being lifted by angels into the clouds.
Father… Zara…
...
Clank! Clank!
Days had passed since Jorel's departure from Slov. The carriage still held firm, the horses pushing forward through a dense forest.
*Clop!* *Clop!* *Clop!*
The horses' hooves planted into the dirt as the sun above shone on their manes.
"…How much longer till we reach the Jonke region?" the stagecoach driver on the left asked, his face etched with exhaustion.
"I'd say…" The stagecoach driver on the right reached for a map.
"All together, it's been seven days since we left Slov." His finger pointed to a symbol of Slov on the map.
"After a while, we stopped at Kosh for a break." The left stagecoach driver pointed at the map.
"Yeah, and then after moving on, we stopped at Yona to restock for supplies." The right stagecoach driver's finger landed on the symbol of Yona.
"So since we left Yona two days ago…" He put a hand to his chin.
"We should be just like three days away from entering the Jonke region if we continue along this path." He smiled, pointing straight ahead on the road.
"Three days?!" The left stagecoach driver coughed, beating his chest to calm himself.
"That's still too much time!" He frowned, gripping the reins tighter.
"I can't even spend just another day with you-know-who." He whispered, his thumb pointing behind him at the carriage.
"Hmmm… I know… me neither," the right stagecoach driver mumbled, closing his eyes briefly.
"There's gotta be some way to reduce that time----a shortcut?" The left driver stretched his neck, trying to get a closer glimpse at the map.
"Wow… Careful, man," the right driver warned, moving the map slightly farther away.
"Urghhnn!" The left driver grunted, slanting further to the right and snatching the paper forcefully, almost slipping off his horse.
"Haha," he laughed, steadying himself.
"You gotta be more careful!" the right driver scolded the left, frowning.
"What if you fell?" He stretched his fingers, shrugging slightly.
"But I didn't," the left driver retorted, nodding and looking at the right.
"Now let's see here…" He flapped the map open, staring intently at its contents.
On the map, a red mark signified their current location, and a red line traced their path from Slov in the Idan region downwards to the south which was their destination.
"Hmm… It seems there is a shortcut!" The left driver grinned, gripping the map harder.
"What? Are you sure?" The right driver's eyebrows rose as he leaned towards the left.
"Here, see, if we take this path, it's definitely shorter." He showed the right driver, tracing the route with his finger.
"I see… But how sure are you that it's safe?" The right driver just looked at the left.
"It is! Because if it wasn't, we would've been attacked by bandits or beasts way before now." He nudged his head down, revealing a glint of teeth.
"And if it's not, we ditch the kid and run. Because Charitas knows that I'm not dying because of a kid."
"..." The right stagecoach driver bowed his head, looking at the reins in his hands.
---The end of chapter 19---