18.2. The forest trek trial

Heron reached for the pouch Richard had given him, examining the tools inside. There was a small trowel with strange markings etched into its surface, several cloth wrappings, and what appeared to be a vial of clear liquid. Everything he needed to harvest the flowers - if he could reach them without getting killed.

As he watched the monsters' patrol patterns, a memory surfaced. Philip had taught him. "Predators are creatures of habit," he had said. "They stick to their territories, follow the same paths. Learn their patterns, and you'll find your opportunity."

The largest creature,a hulking mass of shadows with what looked like antlers made of darkness, seemed to circle the clearing every fifteen minutes. Two smaller ones prowled the perimeter but never strayed from their assigned routes. Between their passes, there was a gap. Heron counted the time. It was about two minutes when the clearing was completely unguarded.

"That's still a lot less time than I would need," Heron muttered. He would need to time it perfectly: climb down silently, sprint to the nearest flower, dig it up carefully enough not to damage it, and get back to safety before the monsters returned. And he would need to do this three times.

The question was: should he risk multiple attempts at this site, or try to find an easier location tomorrow? There are still other areas to explore, but venturing there would leave him with very little time to return to Jamtara before his deadline.

After careful consideration, Heron decided. He has the knowledge of the gap. He would still wait, hoping the monster would tire out and then take his chance.

He checked his gear one last time, ensuring everything was secured and wouldn't make noise. The marked trowel went into his belt for easy access, the wrappings and vial ready in his shirt pocket. He left his sword strapped to his back. If he had to fight,there is a high chance he'd die.

Taking a deep breath, Heron prepared himself. But just as the pressure was at an all-time high, a thought occurred to him. Do I need to harvest flowers at night?

During the day, the site was more or less empty with minimal movements, which would make this far ‌easier to achieve. There is no way they didn't account for that. Or is that ‌part of the test as well, to see if I am brave enough to risk doing the job at night? The only thing Almir said was that I will know the flowers since they glow at night.

He weighed his options carefully. On one hand, collecting the flowers at night would prove his courage. But ‌what good was impressing them if he ended up dead? A dead adventurer couldn't join any party.

This isn't about bravery, he thought to himself. It's about survival. And surviving means making smart choices.

With his decision made, Heron settled in for a long night of observation. He watched the monsters' patterns, noting when they were most active and, more importantly, when they seemed to retreat. As dawn approached, creatures withdrew deeper into the forest, seeking shelter from the coming light.

Heron waited until the sun was fully up before making his move. Working quickly but carefully, he harvested the first flower, extracting the entire root system intact. The marked trowel seemed to hum faintly as it cut through the soil, and he wrapped the specimen carefully in the cloth provided.

By midday, he had collected all three flowers. Each had been harvested with precision, its roots and stem undamaged. The vial of clear liquid, which turned out to be some kind of preservative, helped keep them fresh. As he made his way back toward Jamtara, Heron felt a surge of confidence. He had completed the task without risking unnecessary confrontation.

The city gates came into view in the late afternoon. A line of people waited to enter as guards conducted thorough inspections of everyone seeking entry. Heron joined the queue, carefully cradling his precious specimens.

When his turn came, a guard with a thick mustache looked him up and down. "Purpose of entry?"

"I'm returning from a task as a candidate for joining a party," Heron explained, holding out the wrapped flowers. "I was sent to gather Crossus."

The guard's demeanor changed instantly. His hand shot to his sword hilt as he barked, "Did you say Crossus?"

Other guards turned at his sharp tone, hands moving to their weapons.

"Yes," Heron replied, confusion creeping into his voice. "I was told to gather three specimens."

"Trying to smuggle narcotics into the city, are you?" The guard's voice carried across the gate area, drawing stares from the waiting crowd. "Crossus is a known ingredient in black market drugs. Possession alone is a serious offense."

"No, wait!" Heron protested as two guards moved to flank him. "This is a misunderstanding. I was sent on a test by Richard—"

"No idea who this Richard is," the mustached guard sneered, snatching the wrapped flowers from Heron's hands. "But it is illegal to carry without a licence."

"But I can prove it! Just send someone to the guild hall."

"You're banned from entering Jamtara, now get lost!" the guard cut him off. "Consider yourself lucky we're not throwing you in prison. Now get out of here before we change our minds."

Heron stood frozen, watching as the guard handed his carefully harvested specimens to another soldier for disposal. Everything he'd worked for, all his careful planning, was destroyed in moments by a misunderstanding he couldn't explain.

Numbly, he turned and walked away from the gates. His legs carried him to a fallen log just off the main road, out of sight of the guards but still within view of the city walls. There, finally alone, he let his composure crack.

The sobs came quietly at first, then with increasing force as the full weight of his failure crashed over him. He had been so careful, so strategic in his approach. But none of that mattered now. He was banned from the city, his chance at joining Richard’s party destroyed before he could even complete the trial.

"Rough day?"

Heron's head snapped up to find Richard standing before him, his red uniform catching the late afternoon rays. The party leader's expression was unreadable as he studied the young man's tear-stained face.

"I failed," Heron said, his voice raw. "The guards thought the Crossus was for making drugs. They confiscated everything and banned me from the city. I'm sorry. I tried to explain, but they wouldn't listen."

Richard's expression hardened. "Is that it then? You're giving up?"

Heron looked up, confusion mixing with his despair. "But I—"

"The trial isn't over," Richard cut him off sharply. "You still have until sunrise to bring three intact Crossus specimens. That was the agreement."

"You mean I can try again?"

"I'll be waiting here, outside the gates, at six tomorrow morning," Richard said firmly. "Bring me three intact specimens, and we'll talk about your trial. Fail, and you can go back to whatever life you left behind."

With that, Richard turned and walked away. The sun was already beginning its descent toward the horizon. If Heron wanted to try again, he'd need to hurry.

Heron watched Richard's retreating form until it disappeared through the city gates.

There is still time. I need to hurry back to that field.