5
Meanwhile, Ricardo’s group of mercenaries was running into a wall with their bandit hunt. They had found some bandits in one of the locations marked on the map—the forest on the outskirts of the city—but the group was far too small to be responsible for the caravan raids. The dozen or so bandits they spotted scattered the moment Ricardo’s group arrived, fleeing in every direction. At the very least, they wouldn’t be causing trouble anytime soon.
Other than that, the mercenaries had uncovered nothing. No whisper nor trace of the caravan raiders.
“So the cave we found in the forest is another dead end. The narrow entrance already gave us little to hope for…”
After a string of false leads, Ricardo marked another X on the map, his eyes dull with frustration. The hastily assembled mercenary group was rough around the edges, but Ricardo couldn’t shake the feeling that their failure was due to his own shortcomings. Even more frustrating was the vague, nagging sense that there was something off about this whole job.
“Maybe they’re targeting a different riverbank…?” Ricardo muttered. “The timing doesn’t quite match up with when we started this operation, but it makes a guy wonder…”
The city’s ruling body wasn’t a monolith. There was always a possibility that certain members were colluding with bandits to undermine their rivals. If that was the case, it would make things infinitely more complicated.
But something else was eating at Ricardo, something that gnawed at his instincts even more than his suspicions about the politicians.
“Ricardo, there’s a caravan departing from Banan. Might as well go meet with them.”
“All right.”
Ricardo looked up as his lieutenant called him from the tent. Stepping outside, he saw a caravan of ten liger-drawn carriages moving in a single-file line toward the setting sun. The caravan was well-guarded, with several sturdy-looking escorts walking alongside the wagons. For a group this large, it was clear they had substantial cargo to protect.
“Out traveling this late? Business must be booming,” Ricardo remarked.
“Well, if worrying about where the sun is makes you lose a business opportunity, you’re just a fool. Hoshin would laugh at you from the heavens,” the caravan leader shot back.
“Yeah, I get that… But I’m surprised to see so many guards.”
“We’ve heard the rumors about the raids. Isn’t that why you’re all out here, too?”
The brawny merchant gave an exaggerated shrug, but Ricardo didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer to one of the wagons and flipped back its cover.
Iron chains.
And beneath them—people, crammed inside like cargo.
“…You’re slave traders.”
“Not a fan of what you see, sir? Guess not, with that ring around your neck,” the merchant said, his eyes flicking to Ricardo’s collar.
Ricardo didn’t react. The metal band around his neck was missing its gemstone, which marked him as a free man.
“The slave business is still a business,” Ricardo muttered after a pause. “As long as you’re following the rules, it ain’t my place to say anything.”
He snorted at the lifeless expressions of the chained men and women, before turning his back on them. Then, addressing the caravan leader, he waved them on.
“Sorry for holding you up. We’re keeping the roads safe, but you’d best watch yourselves, too. If you run into the wrong kind of bandits, they won’t leave behind even a morsel of flesh on your bones.”
“Well, that’s terrifying. We’ll definitely be careful,” the merchant replied with a laugh.
At his signal, the caravan resumed its journey. Ricardo ordered his band to see them off, before preparing to move out himself.
As the last wagon rolled by, a deep voice called out from the rear of the passing caravan.
“Hey, Wolfie. Pretty face you’ve got there.”
Ricardo turned his gaze toward the speaker. A towering man, even taller than Ricardo’s six-and-a-half-foot frame, stood at the back of the caravan. Though Ricardo was broader, the sheer number of sword scars covering the man’s body suggested he was no stranger to battle.
But what stood out most about him were the four arms extending from his shoulders—a distinct mark of the many-armed race.
“A many-armed, huh? Don’t see many of you in Kararagi,” Ricardo remarked.
The man with two pairs of arms let out a soft, amused giggle. “I’m sure you don’t. Most of my kind migrated to Volakia, but my ancestors settled in Kararagi instead. I’m one of their descendants.”
With big, buggy eyes, the many-armed man brandished the axes in each of his four hands, his grin a mixture of arrogance and madness. Ricardo didn’t like the way the guy smirked, but what unsettled him even more was his attire.
He wore light leather armor covering only his vital areas. This warrior was clearly confident in his strength. Draped over his shoulders was a cape of mismatched furs and skins, and the haphazard way they were sewn together made it painfully obvious what they were.
“Do you wanna know? You wanna know, don’t you?” The man’s voice lilted into a singsong tone, his grin stretching wider. “Tee-hee-hee, well, you’re right. After all, I’m wearing the pelts of your kind, the wolfins. I clean the skins of the enemies I kill—and let me tell you, this sure was tough to peel off.”
Ricardo didn’t blink. “You seem to be mistaken, but I’m just a dogman. A kobold. I just ate a bit too much growing up and got a little big, that’s all.”
“Tee-hee-hee! Oh, I know. You wolfins are on the brink of extinction, so that’s the story you’ve all agreed to tell.” The man’s voice dripped with mocking amusement. “Lying as an entire race to protect yourselves—compared to the extinct oni, I’d say you’re doing quite well. Am I right?”
The many-armed man crouched provocatively, peering up at Ricardo with an almost childlike fascination. But Ricardo didn’t take the bait. Arms still crossed, he jerked his chin toward the departing caravan.
“They’re leaving you behind. You’re a bodyguard, aren’t you? Stop flirting and get back to work.”
“Aw, too bad…yes, truly a shame. Tee-hee-hee, ohh, your loss.”
With an exaggerated pout, the man stowed his four axes onto his back. Then, with his buggy eyes raking Ricardo up and down, he grinned. “I’m Didorii. If I see you again, I’d love to tell you more about these skins.”
“That so, Didorii? Well, no thanks. If I see you again, I’m taking that head clean off your shoulders.”
“Tee-hee-hee-hee-hee!”
Satisfied with that answer, Didorii bobbed his head eagerly. Then, with an unsettling skip, he trotted after the caravan, quickly catching up before vanishing into the distance.
Ricardo watched him go, his expression carefully neutral until Didorii was out of sight. Then, with a loud crack, he twisted his neck.
“What a creepy caravan,” one of the mercenaries muttered.
“That’s slavers for you…,” Ricardo replied. “But there was one particularly rotten bastard. Said his name was Didorii. You ever heard of him?”
“Nope. But someone else might have. I’ll ask around.”
“It has nothing to do with busting bandits…call it a personal curiosity. A fool with his kind of delusions is a bad influence on kids. If I see him on my day off, I’m gonna kill him.”
Ricardo’s lieutenant blinked at his matter-of-fact tone, then suddenly burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just thinking how much you’ve changed,” the lieutenant chuckled. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself lately, you know. The mercenaries have a new nickname for you—‘The Mighty Hound That Got Defanged By a Little Girl.’”
“I’m surrounded by idiots. Y’all really need a hobby.”
With a grumble, Ricardo stomped back toward his tent. He needed to focus on the bandits. If he kept coming up empty-handed, even Chuden’s usual patience would start to wear thin.
“Besides, if I leave Ana alone too long, she’ll get bent outta shape.”
The moment he muttered those words, he frowned, realizing exactly what his lieutenant had meant. The rumor was inevitable. To say he was defanged was a mistake, but even he had to admit, she was on his mind more than she ought to be.
Which was exactly why…
“I hope she can just have a peaceful, uneventful life…”
His voice trailed off as he looked up at the sky.
The sunset painted the heavens in hues of pink and indigo, melting together into a shade of light purple—the same color as Anastasia’s hair.
It was a beautiful color.
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