Chapter 102: The King’s Highway
Ethan strolled alongside the rear of the third supply caravan. His Medjay linen disguise was pulled tight across his jaw, his eyes scanning the path for threats.
He took out a tiny clay tablet he has shaped after recording a route to the river Yabboq. His thumb traced the linear caravan routes that cut through the Valley.
| [Megiddo Gate] ➔ ➔ ➔ [Gilboa Track] ➔ ➔ ➔ [Jordan Ford] ➔ ➔ ➔ [King's Highway, Gilead Ascent] │ ▼ [Yabboq Gorge]
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The road wound southeast, hugging the lower limestone folds of the Gilboa ridge line. From his vantage point, Ethan could look out across the vast, shimmering expanse of the Jezreel Valley.
Far to the northwest, the horizon was actively bleeding light. With his high perception stats, Ethan could see the dust clouds raised by moving army.
The game forums were currently filled with guild declarations, market speculations on iron ore futures, and high-level players bragging about their fast-track promotions at the central garrison outposts.
As the convoy pressed further southeast over the next forty-eight hours, the scenery began to show the unmistakable, rotting teeth of the Late Bronze Age Collapse.
The settlements they passed along the Gilboa tracks were quiet. Fields of barley stood baked dry by the drought, their stalks rattling in the hot desert wind like dried bones.
On the third morning, the wagons descended into the deep, sweltering furnace of the Jordan River Valley.
The ancient river—which should have been a wide, roaring barrier separating the imperial domains from the nomadic frontiers—was nothing but a sluggish, brown canal of thick, muddy silt. The convoy simply splashed straight into the knee-deep water, their hooves sinking into the soft riverbed mud.
As the caravan wheels churned through the brown muddy waters, Ethan watched as the water level barely reach the axles. There were no border guards, no state tax collectors, and no faction outposts left along the ford.
The moment the trailing wagon’s wheels cleared the eastern mud, the terrain changed instantly. The road ceased to be a defined track and degenerated into a steep, brutal caravan path that twisted upward into the jagged, white limestone cliffs of the Transjordan highlands.
The air grew intensely dry, scraping against the throat with every breath. The wheels groaned under the sudden friction of the loose mountain gravel, their durability indicators clicking down as they fought the steep incline.
About three hours in, Ethan caught sight of the mountain range split in half. A colossal, deep limestone canyon opened up like a jagged, terrifying wound cutting straight through the heart of the Gilead interior. The canyon walls rose hundreds of feet in absolute vertical drops, their white stone faces completely bleached by centuries of un-throttled sun exposure.
At the base of the gorge lay the winding, serpentine bed of the River Yabboq.
It was completely empty. The severe regional drought had turned the ancient, rolling river into a stark, blinding highway of cracked, white mud plates and smooth, grey river stones that stretched miles into the eastern interior, looping tightly around a massive, natural rocky bottleneck far in the distance.
Ethan hurried forward to speak to the NPC Caravan Master.
"This is where we part," Ethan said, his voice steady.
The Level 52 Caravan Merchant stared at Ethan, his eyes tracking the dark, silent depths of the river gorge.
"There is nothing down in that rift but dry dust, Medjay," Zida the Caravan Master mused, his hand tightening around the ox-reins as if he could feel the cold weight of the canyon's silence pressing against his throat. "Would you not reconsider to continue to guard us along the King's Highway? I'll offer you the same amount as the rest of the other guards."
Ethan shook his head. He had joined the Hittite caravan as an auxiliary guard, albeit at a lower fee for only joining a portion of the way. Zida had trouble finding sufficient caravan protection in the current war climate. Ethan found a way to earn money and easy navigation at the same time. Win-win.
Zida tossed Ethan a small leather pouch and his gaze lingered one last time on him.
"Aššul leštū. Peace be with you." Zida murmured, before turning to command the convoy onward.
Ethan turned his back on the convoy before the dust of the wagons could even settle. Slipping through a narrow, broken sheep track along the edge of the limestone precipice, Ethan began his steady, silent descent down to the starting point of his quest.