Her Graceful War Song novel Chapter 1101

The sound of a donkey's bell rang out along the main road, clinking in the night. The man had a blade of grass in his mouth, humming a tune.

He loved traveling at night.

There was something about the darkness that felt mysterious, as if anything could happen in the blackness. It was a thrill that couldn't be matched.

It would be perfect to run into a few strange creatures—maybe sit down with them for a drink. His flask was filled with Everett's wine. To steal some, he couldn't even ride his horse. He had to borrow one from the Lunar Guild.

But how could the Lunar Guild have a horse? The guildmaster had hesitated for a long time, then reluctantly led out a donkey. She warned him repeatedly to walk with it instead of riding, saying that the old donkey couldn't carry his weight and might collapse from the strain. It could carry his things, though.

It was ridiculous. If he was going to walk down the mountain, he might as well carry his things himself and not bother with the donkey.

But he had to admit, sometimes you couldn't underestimate the elderly. The donkey might be old, but it was faster than a person when it ran, and it had great stamina. All the way from Meadow Ridge to Riverstone, it seemed it hadn't even gotten winded.

Another two hours or so, and he figured they would be in Riverstone.

Isaac Prince hummed his tune louder. The capital was bustling with life, full of fine wines and plenty of good company. Plus, his little guild junior would also be there—wasn't that the peak of life?

He lifted his stick and moved the carrot hanging in front of the donkey back a little. Now the donkey could eat, chomping away happily.

Isaac wasn't planning to stay at an inn. He found a scenic spot outside Riverstone and cracked open the wine, hoping to encounter a strange creature or two to share a drink with. What could be better than that?

"This mountain's high, the river's wide, the donkey munches on its carrot. The night's so dark, the wind so soft, mosquitoes buzzing along with the song…"

He spread out his mat and laid it on the ground, giving himself two quick slaps to kill four mosquitoes.

He tied the donkey up, lit some herbs to ward off the bugs, and pulled out a wine bottle. Lying down on the mat, he propped his legs up and uncorked the bottle, gulping down a generous swig.

The rose wine—last year's batch—was crisp and fragrant, a taste that truly intoxicated him.

He was so drunk that he almost thought he could hear the sound of hooves, the steady rhythm of many horses.

He squinted, looking down the small hill. His eyes were strangely gifted, and he could see in the dark—not perfectly, but if there was a cart with a lamp, nothing was hard to make out.