The local Knight and his attendants watched everyone board the boat, not a single Mercenary tried to run off.
Only after the river barge cast off the mooring ropes tied to the stakes at the ferry and began moving along the current did they finally breathe a sigh of relief, counting their job as truly done.
This Knight, whose leather straps on his armor were about to burst, tugged at his horse's reins and turned to leave, but still looked rather reluctantly at Sachia, who was standing at the bow, gazing into the distance.
The boat should also have been hired out in full by Seward; a group of Mercenaries and Warriors, all clad in armor that clinked and clanged and looking fierce as devils, walked aboard, yet the captain didn't even lift an eyelid.
He'd spent his adult life running boats up and down the Ponta River; he'd seen far too much of the world for this number of people to rattle him.
