Chapter 74: Caravan, Raid

At noon, the scorching sun baked the sand and gravel until they burned hot; five old-fashioned steam cargo wagons, powered by combustion stones, groaned along the Scaled Earth Rift Road, their exhaust pipes spewing black smoke twisted by the heat into bizarre shapes.

The Scaled Earth Rift Road—a branch of the Thousand Serpents’ Trace.

It was named for the ground’s surface, covered in patterns resembling snake scales.

Nick sat atop the lead wagon’s cab, legs crossed, swaying a bottle of cheap barley wine, the liquid glinting 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 him from direct sun, leaving only his eyes exposed—brown irises that occasionally flashed a cunning sharper than a goblin’s.

“See that protruding rock wall?”

Nick pointed the wine bottle toward the wasteland on the right ahead and said, “Three years ago, I led a crew and dug up a chest of elven ancient coins from beneath it—pure gold, engraved with archaic runes. I sold them to an old scholar in the Northern Lands and made fifty thousand gold coins!”

Pfft!

The scar-faced driver spat below.

“Come on, Nick! Last time you said that chest was the dwarf king’s toilet seat!”

He was a dwarf.

His beard was thick and bushy, his body short, strong, and sturdy.

He was missing two front teeth, so his speech hissed through gaps.

Nick grinned, revealing a crooked row of teeth.

“That was a different chest! The dwarf king’s toilet seat was copper—I soaked it in acid to age it, then sold it to a nouveau riche merchant. That fool still keeps it in his house as a family heirloom.”

The sorceress Maggie pulled back the curtain.

She wore a sand-proof veil over her face, revealing only a pair of sharp green eyes: “Nick, if you were really that good at making money, why are you still driving this pile of junk? You can’t even afford guards?”

Nick fell silent for a few seconds.

His gaze grew dull, then quickly brightened again; he slapped his thigh, splashing a few drops of wine onto the scorching iron roof, where they instantly vaporized into white smoke.

Nick laughed heartily: “Good things take time—why rush?”

He drained the cheap barley wine: “Once we deliver this batch of ‘Dragon’s Blood Ore’ and flip it, I’ll buy you all drinks till dawn!”

“Dragon’s Blood Ore?”

The young apprentice Ke'er peeked out from behind the cargo crate, lime dust on his nose: “But aren’t we carrying chicken blood stone?”

Nick glared at him, lowering his voice:

“Shh! Keep it down! What’s wrong with chicken blood stone? Add some dye, spin a story, and it becomes Dragon’s Blood Ore. Those mage apprentices from noble academies know nothing—they can’t tell a lizard’s tail from a dragon’s claw, and they think no one would dare deceive a noble mage. Perfect customers.”

The scar-faced driver burst into laughter, nearly spitting out his chewing tobacco:

“Nick, you’re going to get hanged at the city gate one day.”

“Hanged? To do business, you must be ready to die!” Nick sneered. “If I were afraid of death, I’d have stayed a humble accountant for the Emerald Guild ten years ago.”

He squinted at the distant shimmering heat: “You know, back in Silver Harbor, I talked an entire ship of moldy grain into being bought by the elven ambassador. He praised me for honesty and integrity.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, utterly unconvinced: “And then? You were hunted by elven rangers for half a year?”

“That was an accident!” Nick waved his hand, brushing off the unpleasant memory. “Besides, didn’t I end up fine? I even swindled the ranger’s sword and sold it.”

The apprentice Ke'er looked at him with awe, blinking eagerly: “Really?”

“Of course!” Nick puffed out his chest, then suddenly looked regretful: “The hilt had gemstones on it—too bad they were glass.”

Everyone laughed, except the apprentice; all others treated Nick’s tales as mere boasts.

The rumble of the steam wagons mixed with their laughter, echoing off the cliffs of the Scaled Canyon Rift.

Hot wind swept sand and gravel past; Nick gazed at the winding valley ahead, listening to his companions’ laughter, his mind drifting back over his turbulent past—complex, yet his face remained fixed in a smile.

Always keep smiling. A smile lowers others’ guard.

That was the lesson his caravan elder taught him when he was thirteen, on his first trade journey.

But Nick soon stopped smiling.

Awooo! Awooo!

The howls of giant wolves rose in waves, piercing the sky.

Smiles froze on their faces.

“Damn it! Why did I have to run into monsters out here in the wild?”

Nick cursed inwardly, his heart sinking.

The Ser Wilds held abundant mineral resources, but also countless ferocious beasts, demonic creatures, and monster tribes. Around the Thousand Serpents’ Trace, the Lothien Federation’s troops periodically cleared out or drove off dangerous beasts.

But this had little effect on intelligent monster tribes.

Because they were intelligent, the wild monsters knew how to lie low, endure, and flee deep into the wilderness at the first sign of danger—then surge back like a tide once the threat passed.

The Ser Wilds were vast, even home to legendary beasts.

The Lothien Federation’s clearing forces would never recklessly penetrate deep into the wilds—it brought unnecessary trouble and losses. Clearing the area around trade routes every so often was enough.

Unless one was willing to pay a tremendous price, wiping out the wild beasts was nearly impossible.

Besides, these beasts themselves were a kind of biological resource.

As for intelligent biological tribes—well, most merchants called them monster tribes.

Their numbers were negligible compared to the beasts; only the unluckiest fools ever encountered them. They knew how to avoid danger, never attacking strong caravans, only targeting weak ones with little to steal.

Unfortunately,

Nick’s caravan was exactly that: unlucky, weak, and now targeted by a monster tribe.

Dust rose in the distance; seven or eight gray shadows burst from the shadows of the cliffs, wolf-paws stepping over scorching gravel without a single sound.

“Shit!”

The scar-faced driver yanked the tobacco from his mouth, hand darting to the short axe beneath his seat: “Graymane wolf-tribe!”

Nick’s heart plunged to his gut.

Graymane wolf-tribe—they weren’t mindless beasts, but intelligent, capable of ambush, flanking, even negotiation. They struck only when certain—and worse, they rarely left survivors.

Beyond the first few shadows,

Nick strained his eyes and glimpsed giant wolf-riders half-hidden among the bushes, their bodies exposed.

If they’d been goblin-men or something similar, it might’ve been manageable—but these wolves were massive, claws and fangs fearsome; his caravan had no chance against them.

Resistance meant death. Surrender or negotiation offered a sliver of hope.

“Stay calm! Don’t move!”

Nick growled, warning his companions not to provoke.

A mature wolf-man, nearly two meters tall at the shoulder, missing its right ear, lunged forward, growling low in its throat.

“We surrender!”

Nick immediately raised both hands, his voice shrill and loud, as if afraid they wouldn’t understand Common Tongue: “Take everything! Don’t hurt anyone!”

The scar-faced driver tried to resist, but as he grabbed his axe, another strong wolf-man tackled him from the side, a sharp claw pressing against his throat—just a flick, and blood sprayed across the ground.

The sorceress Maggie remained calm.

Slowly, she lifted her veil, revealing a pale but composed face.

On her head were a pair of antelope-like horns, spiraling upward—not human at all. She held both hands out flat, signaling she carried no weapons and meant no resistance.

The nearest wolf-man suddenly felt a pang of fear and caution upon seeing her.

But the instinctive savagery quickly drowned the caution; the wolf-man yanked her pack off, rummaging through it violently.

“Be careful! That’s healing potion!” Maggie cried out, earning a backhand swipe from a claw—blood immediately seeped from her lip.

Nick’s eye twitched, but he didn’t move.

He knew any extra motion now was suicide.

(End of Chapter)