Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 121: Solhaven (3)

The baker's fire was just starting when Lindarion passed by.

The smell of yeast and smoke curled around the frost-packed street. Men were dragging carts out from under canvas tarps. A woman with a bent back swept the stoop of the butcher's stall.

He kept to the edge of the road, coat pulled close. He avoided the center of the square this time. No sign of the knight. No sign of the mage.

It was good.

His body still hurt. Muscles tight. Side aching where the fabric stuck to healing skin.

But his steps were cleaner now.

He walked past a kiln shed just off the main lane. The door stood open, smoke drifting from a wide-bricked mouth inside. Rows of low pots lined the outside wall.

A man sat on a stool beside the entry.

Thick coat. Greying stubble. Arms like stone.

He looked up when Lindarion passed.

Didn't speak.

But didn't look away either.

Lindarion slowed slightly.

The man jerked his chin toward the inside of the kiln room.

"Heat's better in there," he said.

Lindarion gave him a glance.

"I'm not looking to stay."

"Didn't say you were."

Another beat passed.

Then Lindarion turned. Stepped into the open kiln space. Smoke hung low near the ceiling. Warmth rolled from the brick mouth. It wasn't comfortable, but it was real heat.

The man followed him inside. Sat back down on the stool.

"Not from here," he said.

Lindarion didn't respond.

The man leaned back, picked up a worn blade he'd been grinding. Something between a cleaver and a trowel. The edge caught the firelight dully.

"I've been seeing more like you lately."

Lindarion raised an eyebrow. "Elves?"

The man shook his head. "Strangers."

He scraped the blade slowly across the whetstone. Short strokes.

"First it was just hunters passing through. Then caravans started moving earlier than usual. Two weeks ago, a trade baron got held up on the north road and decided to stay here 'for safety.'"

He looked at Lindarion now. Eyes steady.

"Now two cloaked officials and a kid bleeding through his coat show up the same week."

Lindarion stayed quiet. Let the silence stretch.

The man didn't fill it. Just kept sharpening.

"Not asking questions," the man said finally. "I don't care what you're running from. Solhaven doesn't care either."

He paused.

"But if you plan to keep walking south, you should know a few things."

Lindarion's gaze didn't shift. "Like what."

"Roads out past the forest bend are half-blocked. Avalanche hit near the split by Black Hollow. No one cleared it."

"And east?"

The man shook his head.

"Worse. Bandits, or deserters. They're not just picking off caravans anymore. They're waiting near rivers. Letting towns starve first, then moving in."

"West?"

"Back to the mountains. You'll freeze before you make it halfway to Eldenholm."

Lindarion thought about that.

Then asked, "And what about north?"

The man looked up at him.

"North leads to the border. Caldris patrols every third day. Unless you want to get arrested or conscripted, you don't go north."

He put the blade down.

Then, with no change in tone he said.

"Two men arrived last night from the capital. One's a knight. The other's a battlemage. They've asked nothing yet, but they're watching."

Lindarion didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

The man stood and walked back to the bench near the kiln.

"Just thought you should know," he said. "Solhaven doesn't like surprises."

Lindarion turned and stepped back into the street.

The light was brighter now. The clouds had thinned, but the air stayed cold.

His breath left in short white trails.

'If I go south, I hit blocked roads. East, I walk into an ambush. West is suicide.'

He kept walking.

'So that leaves north.'

He didn't smile.

But he felt something settle in his chest.

Not certainty.

Just plain direction.

—

Lindarion folded the last of his supplies into the pack. The motion was slow, careful. His fingers worked through habit, not energy.

The room still smelled like pine smoke and cheap soap. It had served its purpose.

He pulled on his coat, adjusted the strap of the bedroll, and sat for a moment at the edge of the bed.

Breath steady.

Chest tight from the cold in his lungs.

But everything felt… cleaner.

The pain in his side had dulled overnight. Still there, but blunted.

His fingers flexed more easily.

And beneath it all, that quiet presence in the back of his mind stirred again.

[Greater Core Recovery: 9%]

The number wasn't impressive.

But the difference was real.

'Nice.'

Mana flowed more evenly now. Thin streams across his limbs. Enough to tighten reflexes. Enough to keep him sharp.

He hadn't drawn on his affinities since the collapse. Not fully.

That would wait.

But the core was healing.

'Good,' he thought. 'I'll need it soon.'

He rose and checked the room again. No signs left. No waste. No names.

He left the key on the table and stepped into the hallway.

The inn was quiet. Just the soft clatter of dishes downstairs, someone sweeping ash from the hearth. No voices he recognized. No soldiers. No mage.

He moved without rush. He didn't run. That would draw attention. He walked like someone who had a purpose.

By the time he stepped outside, the sky had begun to clear.

No sun, but brightness.

Snow glittered in patches across the square. The well had frozen over again.

He kept to the side streets.

Avoided the forge, the market row, the front of the inn.

He passed a group of men unloading a cart of timber. None of them looked up.

He followed the edge of a half-frozen creek, then cut behind the tanner's workshop. The path sloped gently north, marked only by shallow bootprints and thin ruts left by sleds.

The further he walked, the quieter it got.

He didn't speak.

Didn't think beyond the next few steps.

The edge of town came into view. No walls on this side. Just a stone post and a stretch of snow-thick brush where the road vanished between hills.

A horse stood tied to a rail near the tree line.

Not his.

No one near it.

He didn't stop.

Didn't look back.

The air shifted slightly behind him.

Then a voice.

"You leaving already?"

He turned his head.

The kiln-man stood a few paces back. Arms crossed. No weapons.

Lindarion nodded once. "Quietly."

The man tilted his head. "Right. Quiet doesn't last long in Solhaven."

Lindarion didn't answer. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

The man didn't follow.

"Whatever's chasing you," he said, "I hope it walks slower than you do."

Lindarion almost smiled. Almost.

He turned away.

Kept walking.

The brush gave way to fir trees and hard-packed trail. The snow wasn't as deep here — crushed under patrols and sleds.

It would widen eventually. Lead north. Toward the Caldris border. Toward something unknown.

He adjusted the weight of the pack across his shoulder.

The wind was still sharp, but the sky ahead was pale and dry.

[Greater Core Recovery: 11%]

Every step felt a little more certain now.

No plans yet.

No destination.

But he was on the move again.

—

The road north wound tight through a narrow line of trees.

Snow had thinned, packed hard from old boots and cold wheels. The frost bit less, but the silence was worse. No birds. No voices. Just the quiet drag of breath and the steady sound of his own steps.

Lindarion walked slowly.

His ribs pulled with each motion, sharp under the coat. Not as bad as yesterday. Still not right.

The pack on his back shifted. Heavy in a familiar way.

[Greater Core Recovery: 14%]

The system pulsed quietly. He felt it now in the way his limbs moved. Less stiff. Less wasted effort.

It wouldn't save him.

But it helped.

A noise ahead.

One step. Then another.

Not clumsy. Not fast.

Just deliberate.

He stopped.

The man from Solhaven stepped out from behind a line of trees.

Same cloak. Same face. Not surprised to see him.

Lindarion didn't move. His hand hovered near the edge of his coat. Not reaching, just ready.

The man lifted a hand in greeting.

"Wasn't sure you'd head north."

Lindarion's voice stayed even. "Didn't think I'd see you again."

The man smiled slightly. "I told you we would talk again. I waited."

They stood across the trail. Wind shifted through the trees, light and dry.

Lindarion didn't blink. "You're the mage."

"Ardan Verrick," he said. "Advisor from the court."

Lindarion stayed quiet.

"I'm not here to arrest you, or anything of the sort," Ardan added.

'Not like I did anything wrong..'

"Then why follow?"

Ardan reached into his coat. Pulled a cloth bundle free. Tossed it underhand. It landed in the snow between them.

Bread. Cloth. Dried meat. Nothing else.

"I figured you hadn't eaten right in days, and you're alone," he said. "And I also figured you wouldn't ask for help."

Lindarion crouched. Picked it up. Turned it over once. Then tucked it into his pack.

"You figured right."

Ardan didn't move.

"Where are you headed?"

"North."

"Same."

A pause.

Then Ardan tilted his head slightly. "We could walk together. Safer in pairs."

Lindarion didn't answer at first.

He watched the older man. Looked at the boots. The gloves. The shape of someone who had been doing this for a long time.

He wasn't armed like a soldier. But he didn't need to be.

Lindarion could feel it.

Strength. Controlled. Familiar.

He looked away.

'He's not lying. Well, at least not yet.'

Then nodded once.

"Alright."

Ardan stepped to the edge of the trail. Fell in beside him.

No talk. No questions.

Just the sound of boots on cold dirt.

They walked into the trees without speaking.

[Greater Core Recovery: 15%]