Translator: AnubisTL
The midday sun beat down mercilessly, baking the gravel and earth until they shimmered with heat. Five old-fashioned steam trucks, powered by combustion stones, trundled along the Scaly Earth Rift Road, their exhaust pipes spewing black smoke that twisted into grotesque shapes in the heat waves.
The Scaly Earth Rift Road—a branch of the Thousand Serpents' Trace—was named for the snake-scale patterns that covered its surface.
Nick sat atop the leading truck's cab, legs crossed, idly swaying a bottle of cheap ale. The liquid glinted with a murky gold in the sunlight.
He was a man approaching forty, lean and gaunt, his face and head wrapped in white cloth to shield them from the sun, leaving only his eyes visible. Within their brown pupils, glints of cunning, even more cunning than a goblin's, occasionally flashed.
"See that? The rocky outcrop over there."
Nick pointed the bottle toward the desolate wilderness to his front right. "Three years ago, I led a crew that dug up a chest of elven ancient coins from under there—pure gold, inscribed with ancient runes. Sold them to some old scholar in the northern territory for fifty thousand gold coins!"
Pah!
The scarface coachman spat on the ground below.
"Give me a break, Nick! Last time you said that chest of ancient coins was the dwarf king's toilet seat!"
He was a dwarf.
His thick beard was dense, his body short, strong, and stocky.
Two front teeth were missing, causing his speech to whistle.
Nick grinned, revealing a row of uneven teeth.
"That was a different chest! The dwarf king's toilet seat was made of bronze. I soaked it in acidic liquid, aged it to look antique, and sold it to a nouveau riche merchant. The fool still keeps it in his house as a family heirloom."
Sorceress Marge, sitting at the back of the carriage, lifted the curtain.
Her face was covered by a sand-proof mask, revealing only her sharp green eyes. "Nick, if you're so good at making money, why are you still driving this heap of junk? Can't even afford guards?"
Nick fell silent for a moment.
His gaze grew distant, but quickly brightened. He slapped his thigh, splashing a few drops of liquid from his wine bottle onto the scorching hot iron roof. They evaporated instantly into white smoke.
Nick laughed heartily. "Good things take time, don't they? What's the rush?"
He drained the cheap ale in one gulp. "Once we get this batch of 'dragon blood ore' out of town and sell it, I'll treat you all to drinks at the tavern until dawn!"
"Dragon blood ore?" Apprentice Cole poked his head out from behind a cargo box, a smudge of combustion stone on his nose. "But aren't these chicken blood stones in the crates?"
Nick shot him a glare and lowered his voice. "Shh! Keep it down! What's wrong with chicken blood stones? Add some dye and spin a story, and they become dragon blood ore! Those mage apprentices from the noble schools don't know shit. They can't even tell a lizard's tail from a dragon's claw, and they think no one would dare cheat a noble mage. They're the perfect marks."
The scarface coachman burst into laughter, nearly spitting out his chewing tobacco. "Nick, you'll end up hanged at the city gates one day."
"Hanged? To do business, you have to be prepared to die!" Nick scoffed. "If I were afraid of dying, I'd have been a boring accountant at the Emerald Merchant Guild ten years ago."
He narrowed his eyes, gazing at the shimmering heat waves in the distance. "You know, back in Silverport City, I once talked my way into selling a boatload of moldy grain to the elven ambassador. That old fool even praised me for my honesty and integrity."
Maggie rolled her eyes, clearly disbelieving. "And then what? You spent six months on the run from elven rangers?"
"That was an accident!" Nick waved his hand dismissively, as if swatting away an unpleasant memory. "Besides, I came out of it just fine, didn't I? I even managed to trick that ranger out of his sword and sell it."
Apprentice Cole's eyes widened with admiration. He blinked rapidly and eagerly asked, "Really?"
"Absolutely!" Nick puffed out his chest, then suddenly looked wistful. "The hilt of that sword was even inlaid with gems. A pity they were just glass."
The group erupted in laughter, everyone except the apprentice taking Nick's tale as an exaggerated joke.
The roar of the steam truck mingled with their laughter, echoing between the rock walls of the Scale Canyon Rift Road.
Hot wind carrying grit swept past as Nick gazed at the winding canyon ahead. Listening to his companions' laughter, he couldn't help but recall the ups and downs of his life. A complex mix of emotions stirred within him, yet a smile remained fixed on his face.
Always keep a smile on your face; it disarms others.
This was advice the caravan captain had given Nick when he was just thirteen, on his first trading expedition.
But Nick's smile quickly froze.
Howl! Howl!
The howling of giant wolves rose in a rising and falling chorus, piercing the sky.
His smile stiffened on his face.
Damn it! Why did I have to run into these wilderness monsters and villains?!
Nick cursed inwardly as his heart sank.
The Sierre Wilderness was rich in mineral resources, but also teeming with ferocious beasts, demonic creatures, and monster clans. The areas around the Thousand Serpents' Trace were periodically cleared by the Lothurn Federation's armies, who would eliminate or drive away the most dangerous creatures.
However, these efforts proved ineffective against intelligent monster clans.
Because they were intelligent, the wilderness monster clans knew how to lie low, endure hardship, and flee to the heart of the wilderness at the first sign of danger. Once the threat passed, they would surge back like a tide.
The Sierre Wilderness was vast, even harboring legendary-grade ferocious beasts and demonic creatures.
The Lothurn Federation's cleanup armies wouldn't venture deep into the wilderness without good reason, as it would only invite unnecessary trouble and losses. Regularly clearing out the ferocious beasts and demonic creatures surrounding the trade routes was sufficient.
Unless they were willing to pay an exorbitant price, completely eradicating the wilderness's beasts and demons was nearly impossible.
Moreover, these creatures themselves were a form of biological resource.
As for the intelligent creature clans—well, most merchants referred to them as monster clans.
Their numbers paled in comparison to the ferocious beasts and demonic creatures, and only the unlucky would ever encounter them. These clans were cunning, avoiding powerful caravans and instead preying on weaker ones with few resources.
Unfortunately, Nick's caravan was both unlucky and weak, making it a prime target for a monster clan.
Dust swirled in the distance as seven or eight gray figures darted from the shadows of the rock walls. Their clawed feet padded across the scorching sand and gravel, making not a sound.
"Shit!"
The scarface driver yanked the tobacco from his mouth and reached beneath his seat for a short axe. "It's graymane werewolves!"
Nick's heart sank.
Graymane werewolves—they weren't mindless beasts. They were intelligent creatures, masters of ambush, encirclement, and even negotiation. They struck only when they had the upper hand, and worse, they rarely left survivors.
Except for the initial gray shadows.
Nick strained his eyes, dimly spotting Giant Wolf Knights partially concealed among the bushes, their massive forms emerging half-hidden.
If it were just some kobolds, that would be manageable. But these giant wolves were colossal, their claws and fangs like daggers. The merchant caravan had no chance against them.
Resistance meant certain death. Surrender and negotiation offered a sliver of hope.
"Stay calm! Don't move!" Nick growled, warning his companions against rash action.
A burly werewolf, nearly two meters tall at the shoulder and missing its right ear, lunged forward, a deep growl rumbling in its throat.
"We surrender!"
Nick immediately raised his hands high, his voice shrill and piercing, as if afraid the werewolves wouldn't understand Common: "Take everything! Just don't hurt anyone!"
The scarface driver still wanted to resist, but as he grabbed his axe, a burly werewolf tackled him from the side. Sharp claws pressed against his throat, and a swift slash drew blood, staining the ground.
Sorceress Marge remained calm.
She slowly lifted her veil, revealing a pale but composed face.
A pair of antelope-like horns spiraled upward from her head, unlike those of a normal human. She held her hands flat, palms outward, signaling she had no weapons and intended no resistance.
The nearest werewolf felt an inexplicable sense of panic and wariness upon seeing her.
But soon, this caution was overwhelmed by its primal ferocity. The werewolf yanked her backpack from her shoulders and began rummaging through it roughly.
"Be careful! Those are healing potions!" Marge cried out, only to receive a backhanded slap from a claw, drawing blood from the corner of her mouth.
Nick's eye twitched, but he didn't dare move.
He knew that any unnecessary action at this moment would be suicidal.
(End of the Chapter)
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