Mastery Is Earned

Early the next morning, Raymond arrived at the town’s main gate. Three donkey carts were already waiting there, loaded with goods.

“You’re Raymond?”

A middle-aged man in a wool coat came forward, his gaze lingering briefly on Raymond’s sword and linen clothes.

“Yes.” Raymond nodded.

“Sheriff Marcus already sent word,” the man said. “My name is Bob, and I’m in charge of this caravan. You’ll be responsible for the middle cart. Follow my instructions on the road.”

Raymond nodded and climbed onto the middle cart. It carried all manner of iron farming tools and pottery, along with numerous bottles and jars. Fortunately, there was still some room. Raymond wedged his pack among the goods, kept his sword at his waist, and sat back against the sideboard.

Soon afterward, three more armed mercenaries in leather armor arrived one after another. The sword at Raymond’s waist looked to be in good condition, but he wore nothing more than ordinary linen clothes, without even the cheapest leather armor. The other three mercenaries looked him over but made no attempt to speak with him. They clearly did not think much of the young newcomer.

One of them boarded the lead cart, while the other two took the relatively empty cart at the rear. Raymond was left alone in the middle and was perfectly happy with the peace and quiet.

There were eight people in all: three drivers, one caravan master, and four mercenaries. Once everyone had arrived, the donkey carts swayed slowly out of town. The journey was thoroughly dull, and the rocking carts could easily lull someone to sleep. Raymond, however, was not sleepy in the slightest. He spent the time observing his surroundings.

When the road was flat and the view unobstructed, the four mercenaries remained aboard the carts to conserve their strength. Whenever they approached dense woods, sloping ground, or a bend in the road, they dismounted in advance and spread out along both sides of the caravan to keep watch. Raymond did not presume to act on his own. He watched the others’ positions and movements, then quickly followed their example by taking up a position slightly ahead and to the side of the middle cart.

At the first village, the caravan stopped to unload basic necessities. Bob checked the quantities and settled the accounts with the person in charge of the village. Meanwhile, Raymond and the other mercenaries guarded the caravan to prevent anyone from stealing or seizing goods amid the commotion. Over the course of the stop, he became acquainted with a mercenary named Teddy. Teddy looked only a few years older than Raymond, and his manner was somewhat flippant.

“I hear things have been unsettled lately. Monsters are active in Blackpine Forest, and refugees keep coming south from the north. A caravan like this used to need only two guards, but this time they’ve doubled the number,” Teddy remarked.

The latter part caught Raymond’s attention. “What’s happening in the north?”

“Huh? You haven’t heard?” Teddy looked surprised, then became eager to share what he knew. He deliberately lowered his voice, putting on the air of someone well informed.

“They say there’s a severe drought in the north and the harvest failed. Refugees from the northern lands are coming to our Kingdom of Goldvale to beg for food.” Teddy clicked his tongue. “And I hear orcs sometimes raid southward. Those northerners really have it rough.”

“Orcs?” Raymond’s brow twitched.

Of course he had heard of orcs. Stories told by traveling merchants, mercenaries, and bards occasionally mentioned the foreign race living beyond the northern frontier. But those tales often described orcs as monsters two or three meters tall, capable of tearing warhorses apart with their bare hands. Raymond had always assumed such claims were exaggerations intended to draw an audience. He had never considered that orcs might truly exist.

“That’s right, orcs. You’ve never seen one?” Teddy put on a worldly air. “I hear they’re all huge—stronger than Greater Goblins. I have no idea how those northerners manage to hold them back.”

“Stronger than Greater Goblins?” Raymond looked at Teddy. “You’ve seen one?”

The Greater Goblin had stood more than two meters tall, with a broad chest and back like a bear. Its ferocity and brutality remained vivid in Raymond’s mind.

“Uh, well...” Teddy rubbed his nose awkwardly.

Forget orcs—he had never even seen a Greater Goblin in person.

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“All right, you lot! Get back on the carts. We’re leaving!” Bob called.

Teddy relaxed slightly and hurried onto the cart. Raymond sat down again, though his thoughts remained on their conversation.

Goblins, kobolds, gnolls, and fishfolk were not uncommon within the Kingdom of Goldvale. Orcs might live far to the north, but stories of sightings and battles had always circulated throughout the northern lands. Moreover, Raymond had only just seen a Dragonblood Goblin with scales, slit pupils, and even the ability to breathe fire. If orcs and draconic bloodlines truly existed, then were elves, dwarves, and even the spellcasters described in ancient texts really nothing more than legends? Raymond could not answer that question for now, but the world was clearly far broader than he had previously understood.

The caravan resumed its journey and soon passed through a second village. After exchanging farming tools and cloth there, it continued toward its final destination, Silverleaf Village. It was already dusk when the caravan drew near the village. Silverleaf Village stood at the edge of Blackpine Forest, surrounded by dense woodland. For that reason, Raymond and the other mercenaries kept their weapons in hand and walked slowly alongside the caravan for the rest of the journey.

“Hee-haw! Hee-haw!”

One of the donkeys suddenly stopped. It pawed anxiously at the ground, snorted heavily, and let out a series of grating brays. No matter how hard the driver pulled on the reins, it refused to move forward.

“What’s going on?” Bob, who had been checking the accounts aboard the lead cart, jerked his head up. He hurriedly jumped down and drew a dagger from his waist.

Silverleaf Village was already close, and villagers frequently traveled this road. The old donkey’s sudden fright only made everyone more vigilant. Raymond and the others gripped their weapons and warily surveyed their surroundings.

“Over there!” A sharp-eyed mercenary spotted a figure nearby and quickly warned the others.

No one approached recklessly. They spread out along both sides of the carts and looked in the direction he indicated. A hulking figure emerged from the shadows. The man was exceptionally tall, nearly a full head taller than Raymond, who was himself 1.85 meters tall.

He had broad shoulders, a deep chest, and thick, powerful bare forearms. He carried a heavy woodcutting axe in one hand. Over one shoulder, he bore a large bundle whose contents were hard to make out.

Raymond tensed. Judging by his silhouette alone, the stranger was large enough to rival the Greater Goblin from the cave. Yet the two gave entirely different impressions. The Greater Goblin had been thickset and bulky, like a giant bear wrapped in fur.

The man before them was similarly massive, but his proportions were more balanced. His waist and abdomen were trim, and there was not the slightest clumsiness in his movements.

As he gradually emerged from the forest’s shadows, Raymond finally saw him clearly. His exposed skin was tawny brown, and short, coarse hair clung untidily to his head. He had heavy brow ridges, deep-set eyes, a low, broad nose, and an exceptionally wide jaw. Two canines, neither especially large, protruded slightly over his lower lip.

Compared with his imposing frame, however, his cheeks were somewhat hollow, while his waist and flanks were far too thin. He was still remarkably strong, but Raymond could tell that the big man had not eaten his fill in a long time.

“Good heavens! What kind of monster is that?”

“Don’t come any closer!”

“Get out of here, you damned mongrel!”

At the final insult, the tall man stopped abruptly. He came no closer. Instead, he slowly lowered the burden from his shoulder onto the ground. It was a large bundle of freshly split firewood. His hand tightened little by little around the axe handle, thick veins rising across the back of his hand.

Raymond could clearly see anger gathering in his eyes. But the man remained where he stood. He neither raised the axe nor took a single step forward.

Raymond glanced at the firewood on the ground, then noticed the path behind the man leading toward the village. He slowly lowered the point of his sword.

“Don’t attack him.”

He stepped half a pace forward while keeping a safe distance. “He’s only here to deliver firewood. This is probably a misunderstanding.”

Raymond’s actions did not immediately dispel the others’ wariness, but they eased the tension considerably. Even so, the mercenaries kept their weapons in hand, facing the stranger without daring to relax. The tall man swept his dark golden eyes coldly over the group before finally fixing his gaze on Raymond.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

Hurried footsteps and shouts came from the distance. Everyone turned to see a girl carrying a wooden basket running toward them. She ran directly between Raymond and the tall man, then addressed the group. “Henk is delivering firewood to the village. I was just bringing him his food for today.”

Bob visibly relaxed at her explanation, though he still did not order the guards to put away their weapons.

“You know him?” Raymond asked curiously.

“Yes. His name is Henk. He comes from the northern lands and is working in our village now.” The girl took a large piece of black bread from her basket and handed it to Henk.

Henk accepted it and gave a slight nod. “Thank you,” he said in the Goldvale common tongue, his pronunciation imperfect and his accent heavily nasal.

He stuffed the bread into the cloth pouch at his waist and prepared to shoulder the firewood again.

“A northerner? He certainly looks strange. Ha!” Teddy could not suppress a derisive laugh.

“Shut up!” Bob snapped coldly.

Henk paused, but he did not look back or tighten his grip on the axe again. As he bent down to lift the firewood, Raymond walked toward him. Raymond stopped before Henk and extended his right hand. “We misunderstood you just now. I’m sorry. My name is Raymond.”

Henk looked down at Raymond but did not take his hand.

“Henk.”

He gave only his name, then shouldered the firewood and walked toward the village.