Abundant Oasis, forest path.
A caravan from Sumeru City was making its return journey, hauling desert goods back to town. Traders like them usually carried supplies from the rainforest that were scarce in the desert.
On the way back, they would load up on desert specialties unavailable in the rainforest. That way, their return trip wouldn't be empty, and if sales were good, they could earn a tidy profit.
Now, passing through the Abundant Oasis, the caravan intended to resupply their water.
Although their water reserves were still ample—enough to reach Caravan Ribat—it was always wise to refill. Accidents could happen: monsters raiding, barrels knocked over, water lost.
What they hadn't expected was that nothing happened along the way—but trouble appeared at the oasis instead!
As the caravan moved calmly down the path, the bushes suddenly burst open. Over a dozen Eremite mercenaries leapt out, surrounding them on all sides.
Faced with the sudden ambush, the caravan's guards instinctively formed a protective wall in front of the goods. The middle-aged leader of the caravan scowled.
"Eremites… what do you want?"
Naturally, merchants braving the desert brought guards with them—about a dozen in number.
Though their combat experience was not on par with Eremite mercenaries, if they truly fought with their lives, the battle's outcome wouldn't be certain.
"Heh. Nothing complicated. You've made quite a fortune in the desert, haven't you? Leave the mora and the goods behind, and you can walk away."
The Eremite leader sneered.
He knew the type of caravan guards they faced. If they went straight for blood, the battle would be costly on both sides.
But if he made it clear they only wanted money and goods, the guards would hesitate. Few would be reckless enough to fight to the death for someone else's cargo.
That way, they could seize the profits smoothly without paying a heavy price.
Unfortunately, their raiding party was small.
Had they twenty men or more, they could have seized the entire caravan, then demanded ransom from their families—a far greater profit.
But this caravan had been a chance encounter; they hadn't been able to prepare.
"You've got to be kidding!"
The caravan leader was furious. Traveling between desert and rainforest was grueling work, all for a bit of mora—and now these thieves wanted to snatch it away?
That would mean their effort was for nothing! Worse, the guards' wages, the money spent on supplies—if everything was stolen, this wouldn't just be wasted work, it would be ruinous loss.
No matter what, they couldn't let these bandits succeed.
The Eremite leader ignored him, turning his eyes to the guards instead.
"Do you all feel the same way? A few mora in wages—are they worth bleeding and dying for?"
"..."
The guards kept silent. They had accepted this job knowing the risks. No, the pay wasn't worth dying for. But appearances mattered—they couldn't show weakness before a fight even started.
If the battle turned against them, they could always flee. They weren't suicidal outlaws like the Eremites.
They had families depending on them. To die here would be unforgivable.
As for ruining their professional reputation by fleeing—well, if they lost this line of work, they could find another. Better to lose a job than lose one's life.
If they were single men, perhaps they might gamble their lives for honor. But as breadwinners for their families, ensuring everyone's safe return was duty enough.
The goods and mora would have to be left to fate.
"Oh? So it's going to be a fight then? Very well. Brothers, get ready!" the Eremite leader barked, seeing their resolve unshaken.
"Yes, boss!"
At his command, the mercenaries drew their weapons, slowly closing in on the caravan.
The measured pace was meant to increase pressure while avoiding startling the pack beasts.
If the beasts bolted, the cargo would scatter across the sands. Even if they won, they would lose much of their prize.
Finding runaway pack beasts in the desert—especially once the wind buried their tracks—was nearly impossible.
"Damn…"
The caravan guards faltered, their eyes showing doubt as the Eremites advanced. Subconsciously, they glanced toward their employer.
Then, almost in unison, they edged closer to him, their stance declaring: Don't worry, master, we won't let them harm you.
But the caravan leader was torn.
He knew full well the wages he paid were not enough for the guards to risk their lives. Now it was up to him—either give the order to retreat, or foolishly demand his men fight to the death.
The first choice gave everyone a way out. The second—they would refuse, damaging their professional integrity, but the caravan itself would earn a reputation for forcing men into hopeless fights.
After that, no guard would dare work for them.
Unless they offered exorbitant pay—but then prices of their goods would soar, and no one would buy them.
As a veteran merchant, the middle-aged man understood this clearly.
Abandoning the goods and retreating was the only sensible choice. Everyone would save face, and at least they could still rely on each other to make it safely back to Caravan Ribat.
Grinding his teeth, he glared at the Eremites.
"Damn you filthy dogs… We're leaving!"
Hurling one last insult, he signaled his guards to withdraw slowly. Before leaving, they scooped up the bags of mora.
At least if the money could be preserved, the caravan's losses would not be crippling.
"Hmph. Didn't you hear me? Brothers, cut him down!"
The Eremite leader's eyes narrowed as he spotted the man carrying a pouch. He didn't need to guess what was inside. If the caravan carried off the earnings, then what point was there in this raid?!
"Bastard!" the caravan leader spat, cursing.
The guards did not panic at once. Seeing the Eremites charging, they steadied themselves, grouping tightly together to block the assault.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sound of clashing metal rang out without pause. But because the guards had to shield the caravan leader, their movements were somewhat restricted.
Sensing the danger, the leader of the caravan had no choice—he decided to surrender the mora.
However, he didn't hand it over directly. Instead, he hurled the bag of coins into the nearby woods, hoping to draw the Eremites' attention and buy his people time to retreat.
"Boss, the mora flew into the woods!" one Eremite shouted.
"Mm."
The Eremite captain understood it wasn't wise to press too hard. He raised his hand, signaling his men to halt.
But they still surrounded the caravan, refusing to let them leave.
"What now? What else do you want!" the caravan leader snapped, furious.
"Haha, relax. I said we'd let you go once we got what we came for. But first, we should confirm the bag really has mora inside, don't you think?"
The Eremite leader chuckled, then sneered at the caravaners.
"Oh, and surely you've still got mora on your persons. Hand that over too."
From the brief skirmish, he already knew the guards' resolve was shaky. Emboldened, he began pushing further.
This time, the guards themselves grew angry. But with the cargo and coins already lost, they figured their own purses hardly mattered. Better to hand them over than provoke desperate killers.
As they prepared to surrender the mora on their persons, the Eremites—who had been waiting for just such an opening—suddenly lunged with their blades.
The guards, distracted by the handover, their weapons held loosely, were caught off-guard.
Why leave survivors when killing them meant seizing everything and squeezing even more ransom?
The caravaners had only just realized what was happening when the blades were already at their chests. Too late to resist—
But at that very instant—!
The guards saw in shock that the blades had stopped in mid-swing, frozen inches from their bodies.
The mercenaries' stances were not feigned—their faces showed genuine murderous intent—yet now they were utterly still.
Startled and confused, the guards stepped back cautiously. Looking closer, they realized the Eremites weren't just holding their blades still—their entire bodies were frozen, like lifelike statues. Even the terror in their eyes was perfectly preserved.
"Wha—what's going on here?"
The caravan leader swallowed hard. He had never seen anything so eerie before. His legs trembled; part of him wanted to run, but his knees no longer obeyed.
"Are you all unharmed?"
The sudden voice from the side made their hearts leap—fearing some man-eating beast had appeared.
When they turned stiffly and saw instead a young man with black hair, accompanied by a red-haired girl, they finally exhaled.
"Y-you are…?" the caravan leader asked, relief mixed with caution.
At least they weren't monsters.
The guards, too, breathed easier.
Nolan smiled lightly.
"We were just passing through. Saw you in danger, so I stepped in. Don't worry—they're under control now."
He gestured at the frozen Eremites.
"Th-thank you. You look familiar… could it be, you're the legendary adventurer, Sir Nolan?"
Relaxed at last, the caravan leader and guards peered closely.
Coming from Sumeru City, they instantly recognized the red-haired girl: Nilou, the star dancer of Zubayr Theater.
But to see her here, traveling with a man… and that man looked very familiar. Wasn't he the great hero who had saved Sumeru itself?
Recently, even the Lesser Lord Kusanali had personally announced on the Akasha that Nolan and Lumine had been honored as "Sages." Anyone with an Akasha Terminal knew his name.
"That's right. I am Nolan." He nodded calmly.
Indeed, Nahida's announcement had made every Sumeran aware of him.
The result was that his collection of "Spirituality" had skyrocketed—he could now gather enough to inscribe new attributes three times a day, where before he could only manage twice.
"Thank the heavens! Truly, thank you, Sage!"
The caravan leader and guards bowed gratefully.
"It's nothing. As a Sage, how could I stand by while you suffered?" Nolan waved a hand, then added:
"To be honest, I was watching for a while. I thought since your numbers weren't too different, you might hold out. But it seems these thugs were fiercer than expected.
"Though that's no surprise—they are desperate outlaws. Tell me, do the Eremites always act so brazenly in the desert?"
The guards flushed with embarrassment. Though they had reasons, their fear and carelessness were undeniable.
Awkwardly, one replied:
"My lord Sage, the Eremites used to rob caravans, yes, but against groups this size, they usually just demanded a toll. They wouldn't dare take everything.
"But lately… more and more caravans have been attacked outright. We don't know why the Eremites have grown so violent."
Nolan recalled the injured adventurer party he had seen outside Caravan Ribat. Could that have been the Eremites' doing as well?
He thought a moment, then said:
"Very well. Would you tie these men up for me? I have questions to ask them."
"Of course, no problem!"
The caravan leader and guards, eager to help, hurried to the pack wagons and fetched ropes.
"I'll release them one at a time from stasis. Once I do, seize them and bind them tightly."
With helpers at hand, there was no need for Nolan to do it himself.
"Yes, Sage! Understood!" The guards nodded firmly. One-on-one, they could manage; if not, they might as well quit guarding caravans altogether.
Nolan first released the time-stop on the Eremite captain. The man, still mid-swing, had his blade descending—only to be instantly mobbed by guards and pinned to the ground.
Ropes wound round and round until he was trussed like a beast.
The Eremite leader was left dumbfounded. Just moments ago, hadn't they been circling those fat sheep, ready for slaughter?
How had he suddenly ended up bound like this?
Even after all his men were restrained, he still hadn't recovered, staring blankly in disbelief.
"Now then," Nolan stepped forward and asked,
"Tell me who you are, and why you've been raiding on such a large scale. What's your purpose?"
(End of Chapter)
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