Chapter 74: Caravan, Plunder

The midday sun scorched the gravel until it burned, as five old-fashioned steam wagons powered by burning stones crawled along the Scaled Earth Rift Road, their exhaust pipes spewing black smoke that twisted into grotesque shapes in the heat haze.

The Scaled Earth Rift Road—a branch of the Thousand Serpent's Scar.

It earned its name from the ground being covered in snake-scale patterns.

Nick sat atop the cab of the lead wagon, legs crossed, swaying a bottle of cheap ale in his hand, the liquid within shimmering with a murky gold in the sunlight.

He was a middle-aged man nearing forty.

He was thin, his face and head wrapped in white cloth to shield against the direct sun, revealing almost nothing but a pair of eyes, with brown pupils that occasionally flashed with a cunning sharper than any goblin's.

"See that? Right there, that protruding rock wall."

Nick pointed the bottle toward the wasteland on the front right, saying, "Three years ago, I led a crew and dug up a chest of ancient elven coins from beneath that spot—pure gold, carved with ancient runes. I sold them to an old scholar in the North and made a full fifty thousand gold coins!"

Pfft!

The scarred driver spat on the ground below.

"Give it up, Nick! Last time you said that chest of ancient coins was the Dwarven King's toilet seat!"

He was a dwarf.

His beard was thick, his body short, strong, and stocky.

He was missing two front teeth, and his speech whistled.

Nick grinned, revealing a row of uneven teeth.

"That was a different chest! The Dwarven King's toilet seat was copper; I soaked it in acid, aged it into an antique, and sold it to a nouveau riche merchant. That fool still displays it at home as a family heirloom."

The mage Maggie in the back of the wagon lifted the curtain.

Her face was covered by a sand-proof scarf, revealing only a pair of sharp green eyes: "Nick, if you're really so good at making money, why are you still driving this pile of junk wagons? Can't even afford guards?"

Nick fell silent for a few seconds.

His gaze grew somber, but he quickly perked up, slapping his thigh; a few drops of liquid splashed from the bottle, landing on the scorching iron roof and instantly evaporating into white steam.

Nick laughed heartily, saying, "Good things take time; what's the rush?"

He downed the cheap ale in one gulp: "Once we deliver this batch of 'Dragon Blood Ore' outside and sell it, I'll treat you all to the tavern until dawn!"

"Dragon Blood Ore?"

The young apprentice Cole poked his head out from behind a cargo box, a smudge of burning stone ash on his nose, and asked in confusion, "But isn't what's in our boxes Chicken Blood Stone?"

Nick glared at him and lowered his voice:

"Shh! Keep it down! What's wrong with Chicken Blood Stone? Add some dye, spin a story, and it becomes Dragon Blood Ore! Those mage apprentices from the noble schools know nothing; they can't even tell a lizard tail from a dragon claw, and they think no one dares to deceive noble mages, making them the perfect targets for sales."

The scar-faced driver laughed heartily, nearly spitting out the tobacco he was chewing:

"Nick, you'll end up hanging from the city gate sooner or later."

"Hang? To do business, you must have the resolve to face death!" Nick snorted disdainfully: "If I were afraid of death, I would have been a law-abiding accountant at the Emerald Merchant Guild ten years ago."

He squinted, gazing at the steaming heat haze in the distance: "You know? Back then in Silverport City, I sold a shipload of moldy grain to an elven ambassador with just my words, and that old thing even praised me for my honesty and trustworthiness."

Maggie rolled her eyes, completely disbelieving: "And then? You were hunted by elven rangers for half a year?"

"That was an accident!" Nick waved his hand as if to brush away the unpleasant memory: "Besides, didn't I end up living just fine? I even swindled that ranger's sword and sold it."

The apprentice Cole looked on with admiration, blinked, and quickly asked, "Really?"

"Of course!" Nick puffed out his chest, then suddenly wore an expression of regret: "The hilt of that sword was even inlaid with gems; pity they were glass."

Everyone burst into laughter; except for the apprentice, they all treated Nick's stories as boastful jokes.

The roar of the steam wagons mingled with their laughter, echoing between the rock walls of the Scaled Gorge Rift Road.

Hot wind swept across, carrying sand and gravel; Nick gazed at the winding canyon in the distance, listening to his companions' laughter, and inevitably recalled his own life of great ups and downs, feeling somewhat complex, yet a smile remained fixed on his face.

At all times, one must keep smiling; a smile makes others lower their guard.

This was the lesson the caravan elder taught Nick when he first went into trade at the age of thirteen.

But soon, Nick could no longer smile.

Awooo! Awooo!

The howl of giant wolves rose, undulating and soaring straight to the sky.

The smile froze on his face.

"Damn it! Why did I have to run into monsters and villains in the wilderness!"

Nick cursed inwardly, his heart sinking gradually.

The Caeler Wilderness is rich in mineral resources, yet also teems with countless ferocious beasts, magical creatures, and monster clans; around the Thousand Serpent's Scar road, the armies of the Lothren Federation occasionally conduct cleanups to eliminate or drive away powerful ferocious beasts and magical creatures.

However, this has little effect on the intelligent monster clans.

Because they possess intelligence, the wilderness monster clans know how to lie low, how to endure, and how to flee immediately into the wilderness depths when danger is sensed, only to surge back like a tide once the danger has passed.

The Caeler Wilderness is vast, and even legendary-level ferocious beasts and magical creatures dwell within.

The Lothren Federation's cleanup armies will not venture deep into the wilderness without cause, as that would bring unnecessary trouble and losses; cleaning the ferocious beasts and magical creatures around the trade routes at regular intervals is sufficient.

Unless one is willing to pay a huge price, it is nearly impossible to clear the wilderness of ferocious beasts.

Moreover, these ferocious beasts and magical creatures are themselves a form of biological resource.

As for the intelligent creature clans, well, most merchants refer to them as monster clans.

Their numbers are negligible compared to the ferocious beasts and magical creatures; only unlucky fools encounter them, and they know how to seek advantage and avoid harm, daring not to attack powerful caravans, usually selecting only weak ones with few resources to plunder.

Unfortunately.

Nick's caravan was the unlucky and weak one, the target marked by a monster clan.

Dust rose in the distance as seven or eight gray figures darted out from the shadows of the rock walls; wolf paws stepped over the scorching gravel without making a single sound.

"Damn it!"

The scar-faced driver yanked the tobacco from his mouth and reached for the short axe beneath his seat: "It's the Gray-Maned Werewolves!"

Nick's heart sank to the bottom.

Gray-maned werewolves—they are not mindless beasts, but a wise clan that knows how to ambush, flank, and even negotiate; they often strike only when victory is certain, and worse, they rarely leave survivors.

Except for the first few gray shadows.

Nick strained his gaze into the distance, vaguely spotting giant wolf riders half-hidden among the bushes, their bodies partially exposed.

If it were kobolds or the like, it would be manageable, but those giant wolves are massive, with vicious claws and fangs; our caravan's strength is utterly insufficient to deal with them.

Resistance is a dead end; surrender and negotiation still hold a sliver of hope.

"Hold steady! Don't move!"

Nick growled, urging his companions not to act rashly.

A burly adult werewolf, nearly two meters at the shoulder and missing his right ear, lunged forward first, a low roar rumbling in his throat.

"We surrender!"

Nick immediately raised both hands, his voice sharp and loud, as if fearing the others wouldn't understand the Common Tongue: "Take all the goods! Don't hurt anyone!"

The scarred driver still tried to resist, but the moment he grabbed his axe, another powerful werewolf tackled him from the side; sharp claws pressed against his throat, and with a light slash, blood sprayed across the spot.

The sorceress Maggie, however, remained calm.

She slowly lifted her face veil, revealing a pale but composed face.

A pair of antelope-like horns spiraled upward from her head, unlike a normal human; now she held both hands level, signaling she had no weapons and no intent to resist.

Upon seeing her, the nearest werewolf felt an inexplicable sense of panic and dread.

But quickly, that dread was swept away by innate ferocity; the werewolf roughly yanked off her backpack and began rummaging through it violently.

"Gently! Those are healing potions!" Maggie couldn't help but shout, earning a backhand swipe from a claw that immediately drew blood at the corner of her mouth.

Nick's eye twitched, but he dared not move.

He knew that any unnecessary action at this moment would be suicide.

(End of this chapter)