The morning sunlight dispelled the darkness of the forest and eased the lingering anxiety in everyone's hearts.
After last night's battle, everyone had been busy cleaning up the battlefield while remaining on guard in case the enemy returned. As a result, most hadn't gone back to sleep.
Now that the sun had risen, people could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Some who were truly exhausted lay down to catch up on some much-needed rest.
A group of mercenaries started preparing breakfast, while their leader, Saru, was still arguing with the merchant Oliver about compensation for the casualties.
In truth, the compensation standards had already been agreed upon before departure. The current dispute was entirely due to an unfortunate man who had been mistakenly killed by his own side.
Oliver insisted the death was the responsibility of the Fire Fox Mercenary Company and refused to pay compensation, hence the heated argument with Saru.
Colin, uninvolved in the matter, sat by a campfire, leisurely sipping the "water" from his canteen.
The early sunlight was harsh, so he pulled the brim of his hat lower, nearly covering the top half of his face.
Then, he took out a parchment scroll and crossed out the line he had written the day before: "Human blood aids advancement."
He had discovered that the fresh blood he'd secretly extracted from a bandit corpse the night before had no effect on his strength at all. It was no different from deer blood—useful only for satisfying hunger and replenishing energy. It lacked the potency of blood from Knight Carter.
Perhaps ordinary human blood was useless.
Maybe it had to be the blood of a professional.
And not just any professional—but one of higher rank than himself.
At this thought, Colin involuntarily glanced at the only Tier 2 warrior present—the leader Saru.
Then he shook his head.
Whether or not he could defeat Saru aside, Colin wasn't willing to kill an innocent man just to level up faster.
He still had some lines he wouldn't cross.
As his thoughts wandered, Colin noticed that the argument between Oliver and Saru had finally ended.
The pudgy merchant was walking toward him with an unhappy expression—clearly, he hadn't won the dispute.
"That man is impossible!" Oliver grumbled as he approached, casting a glance at Saru in the distance.
Colin found it mildly amusing. This was the same merchant who had so boldly declared yesterday that he would sponsor an army. Now he was haggling over a mercenary's compensation.
"Well, consider it a gesture to maintain morale. After all, there's still a long road to Fallen Eagle City. It wouldn't be wise to fall out with the Fire Fox Mercenary Company now."
"I know. If not for that, I wouldn't have backed down to that old dog Saru," Oliver muttered, still disgruntled.
"Want some jerky? It's better than bread."
The plump merchant became generous again.
Colin accepted the offer with a smile and continued chatting casually with him.
After breakfast and a couple more hours of rest, the caravan began packing up to resume their journey.
Just then, Saru suddenly halted everyone. He dropped to the ground and pressed his right ear to the dirt.
Colin frowned slightly at the sight.
His own hearing wasn't nearly as sharp during the day, and at the moment, he hadn't noticed anything unusual.
But Saru suddenly sprang to his feet and roared:
"Horses! Hoofbeats! Quick—everyone, prepare for combat!"
The camp instantly descended into chaos at Saru's shout.
Oliver's face went pale in an instant.
He understood how serious this could be.
This wasn't like last night's raid. Bandits couldn't afford horses. If these newcomers were hostile… they'd be in serious trouble.
Thud-thud-thud…
As time passed, Colin finally heard the rapid hoofbeats himself.
The ground began to tremble slightly.
The mercenaries forming ranks became even more panicked, and even Saru's roaring voice could no longer calm them.
Colin squinted toward the treeline and saw a thin grey line emerge from the forest like a speeding arrow heading straight toward the camp.
A cavalry unit!
There were only about twenty of them, but the overwhelming momentum they carried was enough to make Colin believe that a single charge could shatter the fragile defensive line the Fire Fox Mercenaries had managed to form.
This was the terrifying pressure of the king of warfare in a cold weapons era.
Boom!
The earth thundered.
The cavalry drew closer.
The mercenaries trembled.
Oliver shut his eyes in anguish.
Saru stood firm behind a massive tower shield, like an immovable rock.
Colin, sighing at the hopeless situation, lifted his tricorne hat and drew his single-handed sword.
Just as everyone prepared to make a final stand, the approaching cavalry abruptly came to a sudden halt about thirty meters from the camp.
"Neigh—!"
A chorus of horse cries rang out as the twenty warhorses reared back in unison.
Impressive horsemanship.
Colin couldn't help but admire it inwardly.
His nerves eased slightly.
They probably weren't enemies.
However, judging by their aggressive charge and showy sudden stop, it was clear they'd intended to intimidate the mercenaries.
These men might not be enemies, but they certainly didn't come with good intentions either.
Oliver, ever the shrewd businessman, noticed this as well and refrained from stepping forward. Instead, he motioned for Saru to handle the negotiation.
Saru had little choice. He'd taken Oliver's money, after all, and was obligated to deal with any threats along the journey.
So he lowered his shield and greatsword, stepped forward empty-handed, and shouted:
"Friends! I am Saru, captain of the Fire Fox Mercenary Company. We are escorting goods for the Tulip Chamber of Commerce to Fallen Eagle City. Is there anything we can assist you with?"
The cavalry remained motionless, like statues.
The forest fell silent.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
The air grew so heavy it was suffocating.
Suppressing his fear, Saru forced himself to step closer.
Finally, he saw the emblem on the chest of the lead rider's armor and gasped:
"You… You're a knight of House St. Hild?"
His booming voice carried to the rear ranks, triggering murmurs among the mercenaries.
At the same time, weapons began to lower to the ground—because in the Empire's northern frontiers, the name "St. Hild" was a symbol of absolute authority.
Even the imperial royal family didn't command such awe here.
Clack. Clack.
The lead knight finally moved.
He lifted his visor, revealing a pair of cold, emotionless eyes, and gave a slight nod—confirming his identity.
Then, from the satchel on his saddle, he pulled out a scroll of parchment and tossed it at Saru's feet.
His tone was unquestionable as he declared:
"By order of the Duke of St. Hild's son, Marquis Charles, you are hereby conscripted."