KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess-Chapter 203: [] Let Me Handle This

The dirt road to Dustfall stretched before them like a tarnished ribbon, guiding Naomi Phillips and her companions toward the aptly named settlement. As they approached, she observed the town through calculated eyes—a perpetual shroud of gray-brown dust hung in the air, coating every surface with a ghostly pallor. Buildings that might once have boasted vibrant colors now wore the same dreary uniform, as though the town itself had surrendered to the elements.

Naomi’s gaze methodically cataloged the defenses. Five watchtowers strategically positioned. Multiple guard patrols crisscrossing the perimeter. Three distinct uniforms marking territory—blue for Empire forces, white for Winter Court representatives, and black for some local power player she couldn’t immediately identify. The distribution suggested no single faction held dominance, creating an unstable equilibrium that practically screamed profit opportunity—and danger.

"Charming little hellhole," she muttered, adjusting her expensive cloak to better conceal her features.

Xavier guided his mount alongside hers, purple eyes scanning the approach. "What’s your assessment?"

"A powder keg waiting for a spark," Naomi replied, nodding toward the main gate where three separate guards scrutinized incoming travelers. "Empire loyalists in blue, Winter Court in white, and those black uniforms belong to someone with local muscle. Probably a warlord carving out territory."

"Three heads on one troubled beast," Xavier observed with a half-smile.

"And we’re willingly stepping between its teeth," Naomi said, glancing back at their companions. "Ashley should hang back. Those golden fractures of hers might as well be a flashing ’rob me’ sign in a place like this."

Behind them, Ashley tugged her hood lower, though the golden light of her Guardian Covenant still pulsed visibly beneath her jawline like luminous honey beneath glass. "I can wait with the horses," she conceded, the practicality of the situation overriding her protective instincts.

"Information comes first," Xavier said decisively. "Taverns are where secrets flow freely."

"I’m familiar with establishments of questionable repute," Naomi straightened in her saddle, a confident smirk playing across her glossy lips. "Let me handle this. Nessa knew exactly how to work places like this."

Margaret urged her horse forward, turquoise eyes bright beneath her blue bangs. "We’ll need lodging regardless. I’d rather not camp in open country with that Inquisitor still hunting for Nolan."

Calypso said nothing, but her eyes scanned the town with undisguised disdain. Even bundled in travel clothes with her distinctive hair hidden, she radiated a presence that made Naomi nervous. People would notice her, regardless of disguise.

"Calypso, try to look less..." Naomi gestured vaguely.

"Less what?" Calypso raised an eyebrow.

"Less like you’re contemplating which parts of town to smite first," Naomi said. "You’re supposed to be a merchant’s daughter, remember? Not a goddess judging mortals."

"I’ll manage," Calypso said stiffly.

They reached the gate where a bored-looking guard in blue held up a hand.

"State your business in Dustfall."

"Passing through to Silverglass," Xavier answered smoothly. "We need rooms for the night and supplies."

The guard’s eyes lingered on each of them in turn, pausing longest on Calypso despite her hood. "Five silver for the gate toll."

"Highway robbery," Naomi muttered.

Xavier handed over the coins without argument. The guard pocketed them and stepped aside, but a second man in black blocked their path.

"Weapons check," the black-uniformed guard said. "Lord Karson’s orders."

"Lord Karson?" Xavier asked.

"You’ll learn quick enough," the man replied, running his eyes over their visible weapons. "Keep your blades sheathed within the walls or answer to the Black Guard."

He stepped aside, but not before giving Calypso another lingering look that made Naomi’s skin crawl. Something about the way these men noticed her set off warning bells.

They passed through the gate into a street crowded with tired-looking merchants and suspicious locals. The buildings hunched together as if for warmth, their windows small and shuttered against both cold and prying eyes.

"The Last Drop," Naomi pointed to a tavern near the center of town. "That’s where we’ll find what we need."

"How can you tell?" Margaret asked.

"Three different guard factions drinking together but at separate tables. Perfect place for information to change hands." Naomi slid from her saddle. "Ashley, find somewhere discreet for the horses. We’ll secure rooms and listen for gossip."

Ashley nodded, taking the reins from each of them. "I’ll stay out of sight until you send word."

As Ashley led the horses away, Naomi turned to the others. "Let me do the talking. And Xavier? Try not to look like you’re counting exits and weaknesses."

"I wasn’t," Xavier protested.

"Your eyes never stop moving," Naomi said. "It makes you look like a predator assessing prey."

Xavier’s mouth quirked. "Occupational hazard."

"Just stare at your drink like a tired traveler. Can you manage that?"

"I’ll do my best to look thoroughly unremarkable," Xavier promised, though the gleam in his eyes suggested he found her bossiness amusing.

Naomi straightened her shoulders and led the way into The Last Drop. The tavern’s interior matched its exterior—grimy, worn, and packed with people who had no better options. Conversations hushed momentarily as they entered, then resumed at a lower volume.

Perfect.

Naomi scanned the room, taking inventory. Three blue-uniformed Empire men by the window. Two Winter Court supporters—not officials, but sympathizers—near the hearth. Black Guards at the bar. Local merchants huddled over tables in the center, and in the darkest corner, a group of people who didn’t quite belong to any faction.

Information brokers.

She guided her companions to a table not far from that corner, positioning herself where she could hear their conversation while appearing focused on her own group.

A serving girl approached, her expression cautious. "What’ll it be?"

"Rooms for the night," Naomi said. "And whatever you’re serving that won’t poison us."

The girl almost smiled. "Four rooms?"

"Three will do," Naomi said, ignoring the quick glance between Xavier and Calypso. "And whatever passes for your best ale."

When the girl left, Margaret leaned forward. "Should we ask directly about Nolan?"

"Gods, no," Naomi hissed. "Nothing makes people clam up faster than obvious questions."

"Then how—"

"Listen," Naomi said. "People love to talk, especially when they think no one important is listening."