Chapter 30

Anyway, tossing in a bit of coin to tag along with a caravan wasn’t just something commoners did. Even the gentry sometimes relied on it—this was one of the main ways to travel long distances in this era. Merchants welcomed it too. Extra passengers meant extra profit.

“Let’s see here…”

One of the merchants making his rounds stopped by me and glanced at Shia—her presence hidden under the Concealment Earring—while scribbling notes.

“One grown man and one child. What about meals?”

“We’ll handle those ourselves.”

“Wagon? You could walk, sure, but the little one should ride. Small as she is, for an extra 200 sels she can sit six hours a day in the wagon.”

“Alright. Add that too.”

“Good. That’s 500 plus 800, total 1,300 sels.”

“…Wait, shouldn’t that be 500 and 700?”

“Children tend to become baggage if accidents happen. We charge a hundred more.”

“Ah, I see.”

I nodded and handed over the silver coins.

1,300 sels—on Earth, that would’ve been over 1.5 million won. Seemed steep just to tag along, but traveling from Central City to Seol Viscounty took nearly two weeks on foot. For guaranteed safety, it wasn’t so unreasonable.

The merchant counted the coins, then gave me a sharp look, eyes flicking over my body beneath a thin coat.

“You’ve got quite the build. Had some soldiering experience?”

I considered what to say, then just drew the Recall Dagger from my belt and flicked it toward a tree.

Thunk!

“…Ho.”

The blade buried itself deep, and the merchant let out a low whistle.

“Ever considered mercenary work? Pay’s decent.”

“No.”

“…Pity.”

He hesitated, then handed back 500 sels from what I’d just paid.

“…What’s this?”

“Just lend a hand if anything comes up. No need to be on the front line like a merc. Just enough to help. Fair?”

“…Fair enough.”

The journey was—unsurprisingly—uneventful.

With more than twenty hired mercenaries guarding over two hundred people, this wasn’t the kind of caravan petty monsters or ragtag bandits dared to pick a fight with.

Knowing this, both the merchants and the other travelers were relaxed, their nerves at ease.

“Hah! Don’t underestimate me. I’m one of the top five axe-men of the Wind Mountain Mercenaries.”

“Oh my, no wonder you looked so dependable. How about later tonight, warrior…?”

–Mercenaries flirting with the women who trailed the caravan for work.

“If the weapons sell well, I’ll be able to stock up on smoked herring…”

“Herring? Then why Seol instead of Polmus Port?”

“Polmus is flooded with cheap iron gear these days. Not worth the trip.”

“Ah, so Seol then. Though lately, Seol’s been catching plenty of herring too.”

“Right. If this trade goes well, maybe I’ll shift my whole route there.”

“Or you could swing by Count Ebas’s lands on the way. With all the border wars, Central’s weapons would sell like hotcakes. Buy leather and butter there, then haul it to Polmus.”

“No way. I’ll never leave the March. Too many tolls, too much risk of conscription. You ever seen a military note paid at face value?”

–Merchants trading gossip and plotting profits.

“When we reach Seol, we must greet Baronet Benil first. He’s my cousin’s father-in-law. He’ll surely show us how to make a living there.”

“Father… isn’t a cousin’s father-in-law basically a stranger?”

“Silence! We’re in no position to be picky! If only you hadn’t squandered the house deed, trading it for armor and swords you couldn’t even use in the labyrinth…!”

–Travelers dreaming of new lives in Seol.

But that peace shattered on the eleventh night after departure—just as Seol was almost in sight.

I twisted uncomfortably inside my sleeping bag.

Drrr… drrrr… snoreeee…

Why did this brat always crawl into mine when she had her own?

“Hey. It’s cramped. I said it’s cramped.”

“Mmm… smells like a newborn monster…”

“Don’t mutter weird stuff in your sleep…”

Snoreeee…

“…Washboard.”

Crunch!

“Ow! Hey, you little—! You’re not even asleep, are you!? Don’t pinch! Don’t bite! Don’t lick! Fine! I get it, I give up!”

As always, I couldn’t peel Shia off and had to surrender.

Her squirming quieted, and soon she snuggled in again.

Drrr… drrr…

“…Sigh.”

The warmth pressed against my chest—it felt like pure comfort made flesh.

“…Damn brat. You really are disgustingly warm.”

I hugged her tight without thinking, like when a small kitten climbs into your lap and you just have to pet it.

She wriggled happily and burrowed closer.

“Mmm… eheheh…”

“…Fine. I’ll let it slide ‘cause you’re cute.”

But then—

Dududududu…

A faint tremor rippled through the ground, even reaching the back of my skull.

I stiffened. Shia stirred, poking her head out through the knot in the sleeping bag.

“…My dear? What is it?”¹

“Horses. Ten head, at least.”

Her expression hardened.

“Coincidence?”

“…Not a chance. I’ll bet tomorrow’s breakfast on it.”

If the mountain doesn’t come to Muhammad, Muhammad goes to the mountain. And if people storm into a camp deliberately hidden off the road in the middle of the night—they weren’t coming with good intentions.

I wriggled free of the sleeping bag and grabbed the heavy steel staff I’d picked up in Central. The mercenaries standing guard must’ve felt it too—the ground shaking, the rumble of hooves. They jolted upright, voices ringing out.

“Ambush! Get up!”

Veteran mercs drew weapons, kicking their green recruits awake. The older merchants shoved their apprentices to move wagons into a barricade.

Panic spread among the travelers.

“Wh-what’s happening!?”

“Shut it! Keep your heads down if you don’t wanna catch a stray arrow! Keep the kids quiet, no crying! Got it!?”

The merc’s roar made people nod frantically.

Once he left, terrified whispers broke out.

“See? I told you, taking a back route was a bad omen!”

“You were the one happy about cheaper fares!”

“We should’ve stuck to the main road!”

“As if there aren’t bandits there too! Just bad luck, that’s all!”

“Quiet! The children are watching! If we can’t look dependable—”

“Shut it, woman! Who asked you—”

“Waaaahhh!”

“Shh, Tom, it’s okay. Don’t cry, okay?”

While chaos brewed, I slipped into the shadows of the trees.

Then—hooves thundered, a booming voice following.

“I am Baron Golgon, master of this forest!”

Gasps rippled through the camp. A mage lit a small orb of light, illuminating the intruders.

Eleven warhorses.

Not the kind of mounts common bandits could ever manage. Their grim, armored bulk stole the crowd’s breath.

At their head, a rider brandished his lance.

“Step forward, master of this caravan, and bow to my command!”

The merchants murmured until an elderly man stepped forward under the mercenaries’ guard.

“…I’m acting leader of this caravan. What business brings Baron Golgon here armed to the teeth?”

The man on horseback sneered, pointing his lance.

“You dare trifle with me! This is my forest! My land! You trespassers must pay the price!”

“…And that price?”

“Leave it all! The wagons! The goods! The horses! The young women! Every last thing! Then I may spare your lives!”

His lance glowed red, aura thrumming.

The caravan leader swallowed hard, forcing out words.

“Th-this is Viscount Halsen’s territory, under Marquis Baltrak himself! How dare you claim it as yours?”

Golgon’s grin widened.

“Because I said so, old man.”

He slashed his lance.

“Look out!”

Two veteran mercs threw themselves forward, raising bucklers.

Boom!

They were hurled back, shields shattered, bodies crashing into wagons.

Groaning, broken, they were out of the fight.

I judged Golgon with a glance.

‘Mid-level Aura User at best. For all his bluster… or maybe my standards are just too high.’

Golgon bared his yellowed teeth in a grin.

“Did you see!? Kneel, surrender your goods, your women, everything you own! Do so, and I’ll grant mercy!”

The Wind Mountain mercenary captain, Jacob, stepped up, his halberd blazing with yellow aura.

Vwoom!

“You’re no baron. Just some runaway knight turned brigand. You think you’re the only one who can use aura?”

“Ohh? Bold words. But will you still talk after seeing this?”

“What—?”

“Brothers! Show them!”

At his command, red light flared along most of the enemy lances.

Not all were aura—some only flared with crude mana—but it was enough.

Jacob’s eyes widened.

“…Eight Aura or Mana Users out of eleven? That’s insane…”

Golgon chuckled darkly.

“Now do you understand?”

The caravan leader, trembling, pushed himself upright.

“…Y-you… you’re Halsen’s knights, aren’t you?”

Golgon’s eyes glinted.

“Oh? And why would you think that?”

“No group but knights travels with this many aura-wielders. And knights turn to banditry only when one thing happens—their domain collapses. And the only viscounty to fall recently… was Halsen’s, crushed in their war with Count Ebas.”

Silence. Then Golgon’s laughter cracked the night.

“Heh… sharp old man. No wonder you lead this caravan. But tell me—don’t people call you dense?”

“…Wh-what?”

“From Marquis Baltrak’s perspective, bandits stealing cargo is one thing. But armed knights from a ruined viscounty raiding his lands? Entirely another. And if word of that gets out…”

“…!!”

“…Then our fun ends. So what do you think, old man? Should we let that happen?”

“…!!!!”

“Heh heh… we were willing to settle for loot, spare a few lives. But now? Every death here will be on your head.”