Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 122: Traders

The trail narrowed into a shallow ridge. Trees crowded tight along the sides. The snow thinned out, broken in patches by old roots and black earth.

They walked without speaking for a while.

Ardan kept a steady pace. Measured. Efficient. The kind of walk that didn't burn energy, didn't wear down joints. Lindarion matched it without trouble.

His ribs ached on the uphill. He didn't show it.

[Greater Core Recovery: 17%]

He felt it more in the way his boots didn't drag anymore. His balance came back without thought.

Midday light filtered through the trees, flat and silver.

He spoke first.

"What were you before the court?"

Ardan looked over at him. Not surprised by the question.

"Military. Not high-ranking. Mostly attached to forward units."

"Fighter?"

"Support. Mana reinforcement. Supply coordination."

Lindarion thought about that.

'Practical. Not a battlefield showpiece.'

"You ever command?"

"No," Ardan said. "Didn't want it."

He stepped over a low branch without breaking stride.

"I've seen what happens to the ones who chase command. They either rot behind a desk or lose their people in the first real fight."

Lindarion nodded slightly. "And the ones who don't?"

"They usually live."

The answer was simple. Flat. Honest.

They walked a little further.

Lindarion adjusted the strap of his pack. The bundle Ardan had given him earlier sat snug near the top. He hadn't touched it yet.

"You still serve the court though."

"Only when I'm useful. They don't drag me into parades."

"And now?"

"I'm returning from a patrol review. Border post near the Ironside pass. Nothing urgent."

Lindarion glanced at him.

"You came south just to check border logistics?"

Ardan gave a quiet grunt.

"And now I'm walking back north with a boy who won't explain why he's wearing bloodstained clothes and traveling without escort."

Lindarion didn't answer.

They let the silence settle again.

A crow called in the far trees. One note. Then silence.

Ardan spoke again.

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who doesn't answer any."

Lindarion looked straight ahead.

"I don't ask unless I need to know."

Ardan smiled without turning.

"I respect that."

They passed an old tree bent half across the trail. The bark split from lightning, long ago.

They didn't stop.

—

The stream ahead was shallow and half-frozen where it cut across the trail. Ice rimmed the edges like dull glass, and a few flat stones broke the surface.

Lindarion stepped across without slowing. One foot to the next. No splash. No wasted motion.

Ardan followed, slower. Not clumsy. Just watching.

"You move like someone trained for something," he said.

Lindarion didn't look at him.

"Do I?"

"Not like the others your age."

Lindarion adjusted the pack strap across his shoulder.

"Maybe I'm not like the others."

"That much is clear."

They walked in silence for a while.

The wind picked up across the ridge. Dry, cold. The kind that didn't bite, just numbed.

[Greater Core Recovery: 18%]

Lindarion felt it in his lungs. The breath came easier now. The tightness in his calves had faded. The pain in his ribs had shifted into something more manageable, not gone completely, but dulled at the edges.

They passed an old trail marker. The wood had split and leaned at an angle, its paint long since weathered off.

Ardan stepped around it and looked ahead.

"Your name's known, you realize," he said.

"I figured."

"You said it easily back in Solhaven. Like you wanted someone to hear it."

Lindarion kept walking.

"Did I?"

Ardan gave a faint sound. Not a laugh, not a scoff. Just a sound of agreement.

"I suppose you didn't care if I did."

"I still don't."

They moved together past a tight bend where the trees pressed in. Lindarion noticed the slight change in sound, how the wind dropped, how the snow here was untouched.

He liked walking with someone who didn't fill the space with noise.

Ardan didn't ask what happened.

He didn't ask why Lindarion had been bleeding when he walked into Solhaven.

He didn't ask where the escort was. Or the formal seal. Or the quiet weight of command that usually followed someone with that name.

He just walked beside him.

Lindarion didn't offer anything.

He didn't owe it.

Not yet.

They came to the edge of the ridge where the trees thinned again. The light had started to shift — not darker, just flatter. Afternoon pulling toward the edge of day.

Ardan broke the silence again.

"I won't say anything to the wrong ears."

Lindarion looked ahead.

"I know."

"You don't trust me."

"Not yet."

Ardan nodded once.

"Good."

—

The trees opened up before the hill.

It wasn't much of a clearing. Just a break in the slope where the wind flattened snow and left dry patches near the roots. Someone had packed down the center. Not recently, but not long ago either.

Tracks moved in and out, shallow and purposeful. Cartwheels. Boots.

Lindarion spotted the edge of a canvas tarp before they crested the rise.

Ardan slowed beside him. Not wary. Just watchful.

A thin column of smoke climbed through the trees.

The traders came into view one at a time. Three men, two women. A single wagon hitched to a dull-eyed mule. No guards. No banners. The kind of group that moved slow and steady between forgotten towns, selling whatever didn't break in winter.

One of the men saw them first. Older. Missing two fingers. He raised a hand.

"Peace," he said, voice rough with cold.

Ardan gave a small nod. Lindarion said nothing.

They approached slowly.

The camp was simple. Bedrolls. One fire. Bundles wrapped in oilcloth strapped to the wagon's sides. The canvas tarp sagged under frost.

"Didn't expect company out here," the older man said. "The road's thin this way."

Ardan shrugged. "That's why we're on it."

The man smiled faintly. "Fair."

He looked over Lindarion once. Not too long. Just enough to notice the boots, the coat, the scars at the edge of the scarf. And his appearance.

"You military?"

"No," Lindarion said.

The trader didn't press.

Another man, younger, stirred a pot near the fire. Something thick. Root stew, maybe. It smelled better than it looked.

"You came from Solhaven?" he asked.

"Yesterday," Ardan answered.

"Quiet?"

"Mostly."

The trader stirred again.

"More quiet than it should be," he muttered.

Lindarion watched the exchange in silence.

The older man squatted near the fire and rubbed his hands together.

"You two heading to the pass?"

"Eventually," Ardan said.

"Bad trail," the man said. "Heard some wreckage up ahead near Hollow Bridge. The wagon snapped an axle and blocked the way."

Lindarion asked, "Anyone hurt?"

"Not dead, but stuck."

'Stuck?'

The man tossed a twig into the fire and watched it hiss.

"We passed them two nights ago. Poor bastards were trying to dig themselves out with the broken planks."

Ardan's jaw tightened slightly.

"Roads are getting worse."

"No patrols," the younger man said. "Not from Caldris. Not from anywhere. Everyone's tightening their belts, watching their borders."

He looked at Lindarion now.

"You don't talk much."

"Not really, I listen better though," Lindarion said.

The man chuckled.

"Useful skill."

The wind pushed through the trees again. The canvas flapped lightly.

The woman near the cart stepped over and pulled her coat tighter.

"We've got boiled water if you want to refill."

Ardan nodded once. "We'll trade."

"No need," the older man said. "You're not bandits. That's good enough these days."

Lindarion moved to refill one of the flasks from his pack.

The heat burned his fingers through the gloves. He didn't flinch.

One of the traders watched him move. Not suspicious. Just curious.

"You two heading far?"

Lindarion straightened.

"Far enough."

No one asked more.

The fire crackled. Somewhere behind the camp, the mule snorted once and went still.

The moment held.

Just a group of cold strangers sharing heat.

Nothing more.

—

The stew had thickened. It clung to the sides of the pot, grey and slow, bubbling only when the fire cracked hard enough to shift the iron.

They sat close, but not familiar. Each person in their own pocket of warmth.

Lindarion stayed near the edge of the firelight. Legs drawn in, coat closed tight. The pack rested by his boots.

Across from him, the old trader held his tin cup with both hands. His fingers were red at the joints. Scarred from the cold that hadn't healed clean.

He didn't look at Lindarion when he spoke.

"Don't see many elves out here."

Lindarion said nothing.

The fire snapped once. A spark jumped and died in the dirt.

The old man went on.

"Not judging. Just rare. Especially in winter. Especially alone."

Ardan didn't speak. He sipped slowly from his cup. Watching.

The trader finally looked up.

"You come from Eldorath?"

Lindarion gave a short nod.

The man nodded back like it confirmed something.

"Long way off. You left recently?"

"Not really."

A beat passed.

Then the question came.

"So why head north? Thought your kind stuck to the warmer roads."

Lindarion met his eyes.

"Things change."

The old man chuckled once. Not mocking. Just tired.

"That they do."

He leaned forward and set the tin cup near the fire to catch more heat.

"No one chases calm roads anymore anyway. People used to avoid the high passes. Now they're running to them."

Lindarion tilted his head.

"What's in the passes?"

The younger trader looked up from the stew.

"Less mouths. Less eyes."

"More snow," the woman added.

The old man smiled faintly. "True. But snow doesn't sell your name to the wrong buyer."

They all fell quiet again. freeweɓnovel.cøm

The mule shuffled near the cart. One of the wheels creaked.

Ardan stirred.

"We move at first light."

The old man nodded.

"Smart."

He didn't ask more.

Lindarion stood and walked a few steps beyond the firelight. The trees whispered lightly under the wind. He could feel the frost starting to settle again.

[Greater Core Recovery: 20%]

His breathing felt cleaner. His limbs were steady. It wouldn't hold if a real fight came. But it was something.

He glanced back at the fire. Faces quiet. Hands working in the dark.

'They don't seem to know who I am. Good.'

He didn't sit.

Didn't speak.

Just stood still at the edge.

Watching the cold return.