God's Tree-Chapter 112: A Caravan Not Far Ahead

The tracks were fresh—wagon wheels imprinted into the dirt, horse hooves kicking up loose gravel. A caravan had passed here not long ago.

Kaelred, still gasping for air, perked up. "So… you're saying… we might not have to run the whole way to Volcrest?"

Argolaith rubbed his jaw. "If they're merchants, they might be heading in the same direction."

Kaelred visibly brightened. "Oh, thank the gods."

Malakar, however, remained cautious. "Or they are not merchants at all."

The weight of his words settled over them.

Argolaith frowned, scanning the horizon again. True merchants wouldn't have traveled this road unless they had guards. And if there were guards, there was the possibility of conflict.

Kaelred groaned. "Just once, I'd like to meet people who don't want to kill us."

Argolaith smirked. "Then we're in the wrong world."

They didn't slow.

The caravan wasn't far ahead—maybe half a day's run, if they kept pace.

Malakar adjusted his cloak. "If we catch up, we assess. If they are useful, we use them. If they are hostile, we cut them down."

Kaelred sighed. "Why do I feel like it's going to be the second option?"

Argolaith said nothing.

Instead, he focused on the path ahead.

The city of Volcrest was still far. The Forsaken Forest was still impossibly distant. And his second tree was waiting somewhere beyond it all.

But step by step, mile by mile, he was getting closer.

No matter what waited ahead—

He wasn't stopping.

The ancient road stretched before them, cracked and worn by time, cutting through the wild terrain like a scar of civilization long forgotten. The fresh wagon tracks leading forward were the only proof that people still dared to use it.

Argolaith kept his eyes fixed ahead, his body adapting to the steady, brutal rhythm of their non-stop sprint.

They had been running for nearly two days straight.

And now—

They had something to chase.

The sky had shifted from the deep black of night to the first hints of a gray morning. The horizon ahead still carried the last traces of darkness, but the air smelled new, fresh.

The scent of woodsmoke drifted faintly on the wind.

Argolaith picked up his pace.

Malakar remained unshaken, his undead body tireless, his movements effortless. Kaelred, however, was falling behind.

He wasn't slowing yet, but Argolaith could hear his breath—shallow, strained, desperate.

Kaelred groaned between steps. "How… far… now?"

Malakar barely glanced back. "Closer."

Kaelred let out a strained laugh. "That's not an answer!"

Argolaith smirked. "Then keep running until we find out."

Kaelred cursed violently.

After another hour of relentless running, they spotted it.

A dark cluster of wagons and riders moving through the valley ahead, rolling slowly along the broken stone road.

There were seven wagons, large and sturdy, their wooden frames covered in thick tarps that flapped in the morning wind. Horses trotted alongside them, and at least a dozen armed riders surrounded the caravan, their eyes scanning the wilderness.

Kaelred visibly perked up. "Oh, good. Horses. Maybe we won't have to run anymore."

Argolaith wasn't so sure.

The way the guards moved—their sharp awareness, the precision in their positioning—told him one thing.

These were not ordinary merchants.

Malakar spoke without looking at them. "If they are hostile, I will handle them."

Kaelred frowned. "Define 'handle.'"

Malakar smirked. "You already know the answer."

Kaelred sighed. "Yeah. That's what I was afraid of."

Argolaith adjusted his pace, signaling for them to slow. There was no point in charging in like raiders.

As they neared, one of the riders at the rear of the caravan spotted them.

A man in heavy leather armor reined in his horse, raising a hand to the others. The movement rippled through the caravan—the wagons halted, and the other guards reached for their weapons.

Argolaith slowed to a walk, keeping his hands visible but ready.

Kaelred exhaled. "Alright. Let's see if they're friendly."

The lead rider—a man with dark skin, braided hair, and a long scar across his jaw—spurred his horse forward. His cloak was deep crimson, a color that stood out against the rugged backdrop of the wilderness.

His eyes locked onto Argolaith immediately.

He didn't look surprised.

Just… curious.

"You're traveling fast," the man said, his voice deep and even. His gaze flicked over Malakar, then Kaelred. "And you're not ordinary travelers."

Argolaith met his stare. "Neither are you."

A slow smile spread across the rider's face. "True enough."

The rest of the caravan guards watched carefully, their hands still near their weapons.

Kaelred sighed. "Look, we're heading toward Volcrest. You wouldn't happen to be going the same way, would you?"

The man chuckled. "Depends. Why do you care?"

Argolaith crossed his arms. "Because we need to get there fast."

The rider studied him for a long moment, then dismounted. He approached slowly, boots crunching against the cracked stone road. He stopped a few feet away, tilting his head slightly.

"You look like someone who doesn't like wasting time," he said. "So I'll be direct."

He nodded toward the wagons.

"These are not merchant wagons. We're transporting something valuable. That means we attract trouble. If you travel with us, you inherit that trouble."

Kaelred groaned. "Of course."

Argolaith wasn't deterred. "We can handle trouble."

The rider smiled again. "Can you?"

The man stepped back, glancing at his fellow riders. "We weren't planning on stopping until nightfall. If you can keep up, you can ride with us."

Kaelred muttered something under his breath but didn't complain out loud.

Argolaith nodded. "We'll keep up."

The rider smirked. "Good. Then let's move."

He turned, mounting his horse in a smooth motion before signaling the caravan forward.

The wagons rumbled back to life.

Malakar said nothing, merely adjusting his cloak as he moved forward alongside them.

Kaelred sighed. "Alright. I'm too tired to argue. Let's just hope we don't regret this."

Argolaith smirked. "We won't."

But even as they walked beside the caravan, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

The wagons moved fast.

The moment the caravan was set into motion, the horses surged forward, their hooves pounding against the cracked stone road with unnatural force. Their eyes burned with a faint blue glow, their muscles rippling with enhanced power—they weren't ordinary animals.

These were spell-bound warhorses, bred and enchanted for speed and endurance.

The wagons they pulled were reinforced, their wheels reinforced with shock-absorbing runes, allowing them to glide smoothly over rough terrain even at insane speeds.

Kaelred barely had time to process what was happening before the wagons were already moving as fast as they had been running—faster even.

"Sixty-five miles per hour!" Kaelred yelled, staring in disbelief as the horses continued their relentless sprint. "Who the hell needs wagons that move this fast?!"

Argolaith smirked. "Apparently, they do."

Malakar simply matched their pace effortlessly, his violet flames flickering in his skeletal sockets. He had been running without strain before, and now, even at this ridiculous speed, he showed no sign of slowing.

Argolaith pushed forward, keeping his breath steady. His body had already adjusted to extreme endurance, and even though his muscles ached, he refused to fall behind.

Kaelred, however, was dying.

"I take back everything!" he wheezed. "This is not better than running! This is just running, but with the added insult of people sitting comfortably in wagons while we suffer next to them!"

Argolaith chuckled. "You could always ask for a ride."

Kaelred glared. "Not until my legs actually fall off."

One of the caravan guards—a man riding at the rear of the formation—had been watching them for the past few miles.

At first, he hadn't thought much of them. Sure, they were strange, but in these lands, strange people were common.

Then he realized something.

They were keeping up.

At full speed.

His brow furrowed as he turned to the dark-skinned leader at the front of the riders.

"Boss," he called.

The leader, still focused ahead, didn't look back. "What?"

The guard pointed toward Argolaith and the others. "They're keeping up."

Now the leader did glance back, eyes narrowing slightly.

It wasn't just that they were keeping pace.

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It was how they were doing it.

The horses were enhanced. Their bodies were fueled by magical stamina that allowed them to run at high speeds for days without rest.

The wagons were built for speed and stability.

Even with the best training, no human—no matter how strong—should have been able to match them.

And yet—

Argolaith was running with ease.

Malakar moved like a phantom, completely unaffected.

Kaelred was struggling, sure—but he was still here.

The leader's smirk faded slightly.

Interesting.

The leader turned forward again.

Without warning, he made a sharp hand gesture.

The horses accelerated.

Kaelred cursed loudly as the wagons surged forward, their speed jumping past what should have been possible. "Oh, come on!"

Argolaith grinned. "Trying to shake us?"

Malakar simply matched the new pace, his body a blur of motion. He barely seemed to move faster, yet the gap between him and the wagons never grew.

Argolaith pushed himself forward, feeling his heartbeat thunder in his ears. His body ached, but his endurance training kicked in. He wasn't done yet.

Kaelred gasped, somehow still holding on. "This is it! This is how I die!"

The guard watching them let out a low whistle. "They're still with us."

The leader's eyes flickered with curiosity. "Good."

The caravan continued at this impossible speed, the riders exchanging glances, murmuring among themselves.

The leader finally pulled his horse toward the side of one of the wagons, signaling for the others to hold their pace.

Argolaith saw him glance back.

The man's scarred jaw lifted slightly. "What exactly are you people?"

Argolaith smirked. "Travelers."

The leader raised a brow. "Travelers don't run as fast as spell-bound warhorses."

Kaelred, still panting, gasped out a response. "We're stupid. That's the only explanation."

The leader chuckled.

His eyes lingered on Argolaith for a moment longer, studying him—measuring him.

Then he looked ahead again.

"Well then," he said, his voice carrying over the wind. "Let's see if you can keep this up."