He glanced at Garrick, who had pulled a tattered cloak over one of the fallen merchants. The older man's face was drawn, his side still bleeding beneath his armor. But he moved with steady purpose—setting aside sentiment, doing what needed to be done.
Inigo looked away.
He knew what came next.
They had to bury the dead.
"Start with the guards and the merchants," Garrick said with a low voice. "They deserve that much. Leave the bandits."
Inigo nodded mutely and got to work.
The soil was softer near the creek. With a borrowed shovel from one of the wagons, he began digging. Each movement felt mechanical. The blade cutting into the earth. The weight of it in his hands. The sound of it landing on the growing pile of dirt.
They made simple graves. Shallow ones, but enough.
He laid the bodies in gently. Wrapped in blankets or cloaks, when possible. Marked with stones when not.
By the time they finished burying the last of the caravan guards, the sun had begun its descent.
Inigo stood over the fresh mound, wiping sweat and grime from his forehead. His uniform—still active—was smudged with dirt and blood. His arms trembled from the labor, not from fear, but from the weight of it all.
Garrick leaned against a broken wagon, breathing heavily.
Inigo nodded, staring at the rows of freshly turned earth.
But he couldn't ignore the other bodies.
The bandits.
There were more of them. Lying where they fell. Weapons still clutched in death. Some had pouches and belts sagging with coin—loot taken from gods knew where.
He walked over to the nearest one, knelt, and opened the pouch.
Copper coins. A few silvers. A small ruby tucked inside a folded scrap of linen.
Spoils of war, he told himself.
He moved to the next one. Then another.
He took it all.
Garrick watched him, eyes narrowing but not in disapproval. Just tired understanding.
Inigo just kept working. One bandit had a bag stuffed with what had to be thirty silver coins. Another had golden rings. A third carried a short dagger that was finely made—probably looted from a noble long ago.
By the time he was done, he had filled a leather satchel with:
[+187 Copper Coins]
[+94 Silver Coins]
[+6 Gold Coins]
[+1 Ruby Gemstone]
The light was fading fast.
Garrick finally straightened, rubbing his side with a pained grunt. "We should rest for a few hours, but we can't linger long."
Inigo looked up. "Are we close to the capital?"
"Half a day's march," Garrick replied. "Elandra's gates are just beyond the ridge."
Inigo exhaled slowly. Relief mixed with fatigue. "Will you… still come with me?"
The older man gave a short nod. "That was the deal, wasn't it? I don't go back until I see you inside those gates. After that… we'll see."
They found a dry patch under a tree and laid out what was left of their supplies. Inigo ate silently, chewing on dry jerky while Garrick sipped from his canteen. The quiet between them wasn't awkward anymore. It was respectful. The kind that only came after sharing blood and hardship.
"What are you going to tell the village?" Inigo asked, facing Garrick. "They have families there right?"
"They do."
"I sincerely apologize," Inigo said somberly. "I know you are going to tell me that this is not my fault, but I could still feel that I am partially responsible for this."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. This is life, we can't control everything that happens in our life. When we arrive, we are going to tell the officials the story about what happened here, and after that, I am going to return to the village."
Hearing that, Inigo's eyes widened. "We are separating?"
Garrick simply nodded. "I just gave you a ride to the capital because you want to go there. So eventually we will part ways."
Inigo should've expected that—but somehow, it still hit him harder than he thought it would.
Garrick had been his first anchor in this new world. Gruff and blunt, yes, but also dependable. Inigo hadn't realized just how much he'd leaned on that quiet reliability until now, until the thought of walking through the capital gates alone sank in.
"I see…" Inigo muttered.
They sat there for a while longer in silence, the only sounds being the rustle of wind through leaves and the distant hoot of an owl marking the arrival of dusk. Inigo stared up at the canopy, the faintest sliver of moon beginning to emerge through the tree branches above.
"I won't forget what you did," he said, breaking the silence.
"You are welcome."
They lay down soon after, keeping their weapons within reach. Inigo closed his eyes, though sleep didn't come easy.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed him.
And by morning, they were already walking again.
The forest opened into a wide, hilly stretch. And at the crest of the next ridge, bathed in gold by the early sun, rose the outer walls of a sprawling city—tall, ancient, and proud.
Elandra.
Inigo stopped for a moment, taking it all in.
It had towering walls surrounded by a moat. Typical layout for an isekai fantasy.
Inigo almost laughed at the thought.
Massive stone fortifications rose high above the treeline, weathered by time but still imposing, with banners fluttering at regular intervals along the battlements. The city looked as though it had been pulled straight from a game or anime—right down to the arched drawbridge leading over dark waters and the armored guards standing in formation at the main gate.
But what struck Inigo most was not the grandeur.
It was the life.
Even from this distance, he could see lines of merchants, travelers, and villagers queuing up outside the gates. A mix of wooden carts, livestock, and colorful tents with city guards checking documentation and wagons before allowing entry.
Inigo adjusted the strap on his satchel and took a deep breath. "So this is it. Elandra."
"That's the place," Garrick said.