I am just an NPC ,but I rewrite the story-Chapter 39 - []

The Thorn-Wood lived up to its name in the most literal, painful way possible.

It wasn’t just that the bushes had thorns. It was that the trees seemed to resent our presence. The branches didn’t just hang; they reached. Every time the wagon rattled past a particularly gnarled oak, I swear I saw the bark twitch, trying to snag the canvas cover.

"I hate nature," Tybalt muttered from the driver’s seat. He ducked as a branch whipped at his head. "Why is the lettuce so angry here?"

"It’s not lettuce, Ty," I said, consulting the map I’d drawn in the dirt the night before, now transferred to a scrap of parchment Cian had salvaged. "It’s Razor-Vine. It’s carnivorous. Usually, it eats deer, but I think it’s considering a baker for lunch."

We had been traveling for two days since the campsite. The adrenaline of the escape had worn off, replaced by the deep, aching fatigue of sleeping on wood planks and eating cold rations. The wagon was holding together, barely. One of the wheels had developed a rhythmic squeak-thud that was slowly driving Red insane.

"Can we stop?" Red called from the back, where she was sharpening her daggers for the hundredth time. "My ears are bleeding. If I don’t stab something soon, I’m going to stab the wheel."

"We can’t stop," Lysandra said. She was sitting near the tailgate, watching the road behind us. She still hadn’t taken off her armor, though she had wrapped a ragged grey cloak over it to hide the Royal crest. "The Covenant patrols haven’t given up. I saw a flare to the East an hour ago. They’re sweeping the perimeter."

"They won’t come in here," Kaelen said. He was walking alongside the wagon again, pacing the horses. His black cloak blended perfectly with the shadows of the dense forest. "The Thorn-Wood eats patrols. That’s why we picked it."

"It might eat us, too," Cian pointed out. He was sitting cross-legged on a flour barrel, holding a small, glowing stone—a heat-stone he’d managed to enchant with the dregs of his mana. "The ambient mana in this forest is... predatory. It feels like static electricity on your skin."

I looked at the forest. It was dark, even at noon. The canopy was so thick it strangled the sunlight, turning the world into a perpetual twilight of greens and greys.

"We need to reach the river crossing by nightfall," I said. "Once we cross the White-Rush, we’re in the coastal jurisdiction. The Covenant has no authority there."

"And the bridge?" Red asked. "Is there a troll under it? Please tell me there’s a troll. I can kill a troll. I can’t kill a wheel squeak."

"No troll," I said. "But the bridge is old. We might have to reinforce it for the wagon."

CRACK.

The sound wasn’t a branch breaking. It was the sound of a whip cracking.

Suddenly, the brush to our left exploded.

A vine, thick as a man’s thigh and covered in three-inch thorns, lashed out. It didn’t aim for us. It aimed for the wheel—the squeaky one.

SNAP.

The vine wrapped around the axle and yanked.

"Whoa!" Tybalt screamed as the wagon lurched violently to the left, nearly tipping over. The horses screamed, rearing up as the sudden stop jerked their harnesses.

"Ambush!" Lysandra shouted, drawing her rapier in a blur of silver.

"It’s the plants!" I yelled, grabbing the side of the bench to keep from being thrown off. "They react to sound! The squeak attracted them!"

More vines shot out from the canopy, slithering down like green anacondas. One wrapped around the canopy support beam and crushed it. Another lashed out at Kaelen.

Kaelen didn’t flinch. He drew his sword—the heavy, bandaged claymore.

Shing.

He severed the vine attacking him with a single, lazy swing. The plant writhed on the ground, spewing green sap that hissed like acid.

"Protect the horses!" I ordered. "If we lose the team, we’re walking!"

"On it!" Red vaulted out of the back of the wagon. She landed on a thick root, balancing effortlessly.

She was a whirlwind. Her daggers flashed, slicing through the smaller tendrils reaching for the horses’ legs. "Finally! Something to cut!"

"Cian! Fire!" I shouted. "Plants hate fire!"

"I can’t risk a forest fire!" Cian yelled back, clutching his heat-stone. "We’re sitting on dry wood!"

"Precision shots!" I countered. "Burn the roots!"

Cian adjusted his glasses. He pointed a finger at the base of the massive Razor-Vine cluster attacking the wagon.

"Ignis Dart!"

A small, concentrated bolt of fire shot from his finger. It hit the central root node.

FWOOSH.

The plant shrieked—a high-pitched, tea-kettle sound that made my teeth ache. It recoiled, the burning root causing the rest of the vines to spasm and retract.

"It’s letting go!" Tybalt yelled, fighting the reins. "Go, go, go!"

"Wait!" Lysandra shouted.

She was standing on top of the wagon now. A massive vine, thicker than the others, had dropped from the canopy directly above us. It was poised to crush the driver’s bench—and me and Tybalt along with it.

Lysandra lunged. She didn’t slash. She thrust upward, channeling her Holy Mana.

"Piercing Light!"

Her rapier acted like a lightning rod. A beam of white light shot upward, impaling the massive vine. The holy energy disrupted the plant’s animus. It went limp instantly, falling harmlessly to the side of the wagon with a heavy, wet thud.

"Drive!" Lysandra commanded, landing back on the wagon bed with a clatter of plate armor.

Tybalt snapped the reins. The horses, terrified and eager to leave, bolted.

We tore down the path, mud flying, wheels bouncing. We didn’t stop until the forest thinned out and the oppressive darkness gave way to the lighter green of the river valley.

Tybalt pulled the horses to a trot, his chest heaving.

"I hate plants," Tybalt wheezed. "I’m never eating salad again. It’s bread and meat from now on. Exclusively."

"Good reflex on the axle," Kaelen said, jogging up to the wagon. He wasn’t even out of breath. He wiped green sap off his blade. "If that wheel had snapped, we would have been swarm-food."

"Lysandra," I said, turning to look into the back. "Nice shot. You saved my neck."

Lysandra was wiping her blade with a rag, looking critical of a small scratch on her gauntlet. "It was a tactical necessity. If the driver dies, the vehicle stops."

"You can say ’you’re welcome’," Ria teased, climbing back in. She was grinning, invigorated by the violence. "That was fun. Did you see the way it screamed? Plants shouldn’t scream. It’s unnatural."

"We’re almost there," I said, pointing ahead.

Through the trees, we could see the glimmer of water. The White-Rush River. It was wide, fast, and white-capped with foam. And spanning it was an old stone bridge, covered in moss but looking sturdy enough.

"Cross the bridge, and we’re in neutral territory," I said.

We rolled across the bridge. The sound of the rushing water drowned out the squeaky wheel. As we hit the far bank, the tension in the group visibly broke.

We pulled off the road into a small grove of birch trees to rest and repair the wagon before the final leg to Silver-Port.

"We need to grease that wheel," I said, hopping down. "Tybalt, do we have any butter left?"

"Butter?" Tybalt looked offended. "I’m not using good butter on an axle! That’s sacrilege!"

"It’s either butter or animal fat," Red said. "And unless you want to hunt a boar right now..."

"Fine," Tybalt sighed, digging into his supply crate. "But it hurts my soul."

While Tybalt greased the wheel (muttering apologies to the dairy gods), Kaelen and Lysandra stood guard near the road.

I watched them. They stood ten feet apart. Close enough to support each other, far enough to maintain their ’professional’ distance.

"They’re awkward," Ria said, appearing next to me. She was chewing on a piece of grass.

"They have history," I said. "Four years of being enemies. It doesn’t wash off in a week."

"They fight well together, though," Ria noted. "Back there with the vines? They didn’t even have to talk. She covered his blind spot; he cleared the path. Muscle memory."

"That’s what we need," I said. "If we’re going to clear the Hollow Spire, we need that kind of sync from everyone."

"Speaking of the Spire," Ria said, her voice dropping. "You’ve been quiet about the boss. You said you know the mechanics. What is it?"

I looked at the river. In the game, the Hollow Spire was a puzzle raid. The final boss wasn’t a dragon or a demon.

"It’s a Mirror," I said quietly.

"A mirror?"

"The Spire reflects your worst attributes. It makes you fight yourself. Not like the doppelgangers in the Temple—those were just stats. The Spire... it digs into your insecurities. It uses your memories against you."

Ria stopped chewing the grass. She looked at her hands. "That sounds... unpleasant."

"It is. That’s why we need to trust each other. If the Spire shows Kaelen a version of himself that killed the world... we need to be there to pull him out."

"And what will it show you, Ren?" Ria asked, looking at me sideways. "You don’t talk about your past. Before the farm."

I froze. My past? My past was an office job and a Steam library.

"It’ll probably show me a pile of paperwork," I joked. "Terrifying."

Ria didn’t look convinced, but she let it slide. "We’re moving out in ten."

We reached the outskirts of Silver-Port just as the sun was setting over the ocean.

The city was breathtaking. It was built into the cliffs overlooking a massive natural harbor. The buildings were white stone with terracotta roofs, cascading down the cliffside like a waterfall of masonry. Ships of every size—from tiny fishing skiffs to massive merchant galleons—crowded the docks.

But what caught my eye wasn’t the city. It was the gate.

The main gate was blocked. A massive line of wagons, carts, and travelers stretched down the road, waiting to get in.

"Traffic," Kaelen groaned. "I hate traffic."

"It’s not just traffic," Cian said, standing up in the wagon to get a better view. "Look at the guards. They’re checking papers. Thoroughly."

"The Covenant?" Lysandra asked, reaching for her hood.

"No," I said, squinting. "Those are Silver-Port Customs agents. They’re looking for contraband. Smugglers."

"We have a wagon full of stolen gold, unauthorized weapons, and three wanted fugitives," Red listed off. "Is that considered contraband?"

"Technically," I said. "Yes."

"We can’t wait in line," Tybalt said. "If a Covenant patrol comes up behind us while we’re stuck here, we’re trapped."

"We need a back door," I said.

I looked at the terrain. The city walls ran along the cliff edge. To the south, the wall ended where the cliff dropped sheer into the ocean.

"There," I pointed. "The smuggler’s path. It’s a goat trail that leads up the cliff face to the lower slums."

"A goat trail?" Tybalt looked at the wagon. "With a wagon?"

"We leave the wagon," I said. "We pack what we can carry. We walk in."

"My flour!" Tybalt cried. "My oven!"

"We’ll buy you a new oven," Red said, patting his shoulder. "A golden oven. With diamonds."

We pulled the wagon off the road, hiding it behind a cluster of rocks. We unhitched the horses.

"We can’t leave them tied up," Kaelen said, stroking the nose of his Night-Mare. "They’ll starve."

"They’re mana-beasts," Cian reminded him. "They don’t eat grass. They eat magic."

Kaelen leaned his forehead against the horse’s snout. A flare of grey mana passed between them.

"Go," Kaelen whispered. "Find a ley line. Roam free."

The horse snorted, nudged him once, and then turned. The other horses followed. They galloped off toward the mountains, their manes flaring into blue fire as they ran.

"Bye, ponies," Ria waved.

We shouldered our packs. I checked my inventory—rusty knife, ID card, map.

"Okay," I said. "Let’s climb a cliff."

The climb was brutal. The path was barely two feet wide, crumbling into the sea below. Ideally, we would have roped up, but we needed to move fast.

Kaelen carried the heaviest pack (mostly the gold). Lysandra helped Cian, whose stamina was still low. Ria scrambled up the rocks like a spider.

We reached the top—a crumbling section of the city wall that had been patched with wood.

"This is it," I whispered. "The Lower Quarter."

Ria picked the lock on the wooden gate in seconds.

We slipped inside.

The noise hit us first. Even at night, Silver-Port was loud. Music, shouting, seagulls, the crash of waves. The air smelled of salt, spices, and unwashed bodies.

We were in a narrow alleyway between two tall tenements. Laundry hung above us like flags.

"We made it," Tybalt breathed, leaning against a wall. "We’re in."

"Phase one complete," I said. "Now, Phase two. We need lodging, and we need to find the Guild Association."

"Lodging first," Lysandra said, pulling her cloak tight. "I need a bath. A real bath. With hot water. If I have to scrape any more mud off my armor, I am going to scream."

"The Salty Siren," I said, remembering the inn from the previous timeline. "It’s cheap, it’s anonymous, and the beds don’t have bugs. Mostly."

We navigated the winding streets of the Lower Quarter. We kept our heads down, avoiding eye contact with the drunk sailors and street hawkers.

We found The Salty Siren near the docks. It was a lopsided building with a sign depicting a mermaid holding a tankard of ale.

I walked up to the counter. The innkeeper was a large woman with tattoos up her arms.

"Two rooms," I said, placing five silver coins on the counter. "And hot water."

The woman eyed us. She looked at Kaelen’s size, Lysandra’s posture, and Red’s daggers.

"No fighting in the rooms," she grunted, sweeping the coins into a drawer. "And if you break the