After we got the intel on the Caravan from the girl at Willowswept, we headed back and filled in Levi and Nisha. Both were supportive of the plan.

The faster we could leave, the better. Though a proper rest would've gone a long way — at least I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening sleeping, and even managed to squeeze in more after we sorted out dinner.

Each of us was assigned our own room, and Levi was more than happy to arrange it. He insisted, actually, that I not sleep in the same room as Nisha. According to him, it was going to be very dangerous for me.

'If only he knew I was the dangerous one here.'

Slightly ironic.

It was also a bit disappointing not to get any action for the night, especially since that lingering memory of her sucking my dick when I woke up the previous night had been sticking out like a sore thumb. But there was nothing to be done about it. We had bigger concerns.

Either way, I slept. And woke up. Quite early, too.

We made our way through the silent city in the pre-dawn darkness, meeting the caravan at the small merchant guild about two turnings away from the temple in the center.

The guild hall was dead at this hour — to be expected. There was some guy passed out on a bench near the back, snoring like his sinuses were running a full-scale mining operation. The sound echoed off the wooden walls in a way that made me wonder how anyone could sleep through it, including him.

The bartender rose from his seat the moment we entered.

"We're here for the Caravan," Tristan said.

The man did a brief headcount, eyes flicking over each of us. "The last five. Come on in — they've been waiting." He turned and walked toward the back without another word. We followed immediately.

Each of us wore a long hooded cloak to shield our faces from unnecessary attention. That precaution was mostly for my benefit, of course. Mercenaries and merchants had no code of conduct, no loyalty to the church or anyone else. But Tristan wanted us careful all the same.

Ten thousand silver coins was a lot of money, after all.

We entered the backyard of the guild and were greeted by a crowd of people in all manner of attire — dull traveling cloaks, armor both light and heavy, scattered wagons, horses, and even some beasts. The creatures were massive, hulking things with thick hides and watchful eyes. Either tamed Spirit Beasts or Beast-type Spirit Summons. I didn't know if taming was actually possible in Ealdrim, so I put my money on Spirit Summons.

Everything in this world was about Spirits, after all.

Attendants stood clustered in one corner. As the bartender led us over, he handed us off to one of them, who immediately began asking for our details and abilities. The man's eyebrows climbed when he learned we had three summoners out of a party of five — even though two of them were only C-rank and F-rank.

He didn't seem to care any less. If anything, he looked impressed.

For the first time, I almost felt tempted to settle for the bare minimum. These people barely saw summoners at all. Even an F-rank was something of a superstar appearance to them.

It was something. Small comfort, maybe, but something.

As we joined the crowd, several men made their way to the front. One stood out immediately — a man in impeccable attire. High-collared coat with tails, black hair groomed slickly back, and a beard-and-mustache combination that looked like it required daily maintenance. His eyes were deep-set and calculating, the kind that missed nothing.

Flanking him were two veteran-looking men. Either highly experienced adventurers or hired knights — the way they held themselves suggested they'd seen plenty of blood.

As the well-dressed man stepped forward, his presence commanded immediate attention. The mutterings around us died, conversations cutting off mid-sentence until the yard fell into silence.

Somewhere near the back of the crowd, I chose that moment to lean toward Tristan.

"Who's that?"

"He's a merchant."

'Dumbass. Does he look like a soldier to you? Of course he's a merchant.'

I bit back the retort and kept watching.

The man allowed himself a small smile, surveying the assembled crowd. He whispered something to the man flanking his right. That one left immediately, and before he returned, the dim lantern light in the backyard grew brighter — someone had adjusted the lamps.

The increased light poured across the yard, illuminating the merchant's face more clearly. He squinted briefly, letting his eyes adjust, then regarded everyone with that same measured smile.

"For those who do not know me… I am Humstembuckles, a prominent merchant in these parts, as I like to believe." He paused, looking around. "I am also a Baron, overseeing Mishard on behalf of Count Vhictor."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but he continued without acknowledging them.

"I'm sure many of you know our routine by now. Many of you are not first-timers on this Caravan, and I know some have probably grown tired of hearing me speak like this." A self-deprecating smile. "But it's necessary to understand the nature of our journey — especially at a time like this, where the church's hunt for their heretic is causing discord among merchants and disrupting the peace of commerce."

The crowd muttered again. Their unease prickled at my skin, but I held still, keeping my expression neutral beneath my hood.

The man — Hummingbuckles, or whatever he'd called himself — continued outlining the nature of the job. The Caravan was supposed to travel to Faeren Heights, where it would meet another party taking goods out of the country. Our group would receive an incoming caravan from them and escort it back to Mishard.

This was the established routine. Standard procedure they'd all done before. The whole journey was supposed to take three days at moderate speed, with rest periods factored in.

After all the explanations wrapped up, people began mingling — introducing themselves, sizing each other up, forming the loose bonds that might keep them alive on the road. But I stood apart at the edge of the crowd, Octavia silent beside me.

There was a bitter taste in my mouth.

'If that damned Pretty Boy decides to be stubborn and hinders this Caravan…'

The thought trailed off into something darker. Something I didn't want to examine too closely.

Nisha's hand touched my shoulder, jolting me from my thoughts. I turned to find a small smile on her ferociously beautiful face.

"Relax." Her voice was low, meant only for me. "This is a caravan of a hundred people. A hundred people capable of protecting themselves. You won't be causing anyone's death." She squeezed my shoulder gently. "Don't burden yourself."

Just then, the wagons lurched into motion. Wheels groaned against packed dirt, horses snorted and stamped, and the scattered crowd began pulling together into something resembling order. Guards took their positions along the flanks while merchants climbed aboard their carts.

The Caravan was setting off.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.