The Skylark Merchant Group

After the door closed, Knight Stine, who had remained silent the entire time, finally spoke:

“My Lord, what should we do next?”

“Do your own duty, wait for his good news... and pray he doesn't expose himself,” Raymond said.

“My Lord, although Sir Roger has cooperated with us before, this matter cannot be compared to going to the battlefield after all,” Knight Stine said in a worried tone. “I won't question your decision, but I could also share this burden for you.”

“Whether it's gathering intelligence or delivering letters, I can do it just as well.”

Raymond shook his head. “You are my most valuable combat asset. You have a more important task.”

After a brief pause, he slowly explained, “I had someone purchase several properties in a town in the Rakard Empire. Once we return to the territory, I will tell you the exact location. When the time comes, take my wife and daughter... and you can bring your wife too. Let them go there to lie low for a while.”

“My Lord, what about after that? Do I need to stay there to protect them indefinitely?” Stine asked.

Raymond seemed to read his thoughts. “You will return to assist me when the time comes. This is just a precautionary insurance, not a final farewell.”

Knight Stine remained silent for a long moment before replying, “Understood.”

...

After leaving the inn, Roger didn't immediately head north to the royal capital. Instead, he first looked for a weapon shop because he remembered he had something he hadn't dealt with yet.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, a strong smell of alcohol hit his nose. A dozen empty liquor bottles were scattered haphazardly on the floor, and a stoutly built dwarf was slumped over the counter, snoring intermittently.

Just as Roger was about to turn around and find another shop, a gruff voice came from the dwarf's mouth:

“I'm not drunk. Just say what you want.”

Roger walked up to the counter and looked down at the dwarf. “I want to process some materials. Do you take commissions?”

The dwarf blacksmith rubbed his eyes and sat up straight. “Show me your materials first. Let's get one thing straight: if it's some worthless scrap metal, don't waste my time.”

Roger pulled the corpse of the Blue-Scaled Lizard directly from his system inventory and placed it on the counter. The dwarf blacksmith's eyes widened. He propped himself up and leaned in to inspect every scale closely.

“A Blue-Scaled Lizard? This is a rare find.” He tapped the surface of the scales, then flipped it over to examine the wound on its belly.

“Too bad it's not an adult. If it had grown for another year or two, these scales would be worth three times as much, but it's still decent. Where did you get this? These things usually only appear in the southern swamps and deep forests.”

“Can the materials from this corpse be used to make a suit of armor?” Roger asked, ignoring his question.

The dwarf blacksmith shook his head. “This Blue-Scaled Lizard isn't an adult. These scales are only enough to be added to armor or a shield to reinforce its impact resistance. That would be the most cost-effective use.”

Hearing this, Roger looked down at his leather armor.

According to the dwarf blacksmith, the rarity of this magical beast's scales was quite high. If he only used them to reinforce this leather armor, it would be somewhat of a waste.

Besides, this leather armor was already equipped with a detachable Protective Rune Plate, so there was no need to reinforce it further. Moreover, once scales were nailed onto leather armor, he would have to pry them off when the armor was eventually replaced, which would be time-consuming and tedious.

After thinking it over, Roger said, “Then use these scales to make me a shield.”

“Five gold coins, delivered in two days,” the dwarf blacksmith replied. “The shield face will use double-layered hardwood sandwiching the scales, with iron-wrapped edges and two reinforcing crossbeams on the back. If you add another two gold coins, I can also engrave a basic shock-absorption rune on the shield face. Though it won't block magic, it's very useful against blunt force impacts.”

“Deal.” Roger didn't pay extra for the rune engraving. After all, he already possessed rune knowledge in his mind. Once he reached a high enough level in the future, engraving it himself would be much more cost-effective than paying someone else to do it.

The dwarf blacksmith didn't go back on his word, delivering the goods on time two days later.

The shield's diameter was just enough to cover his chest down to his waist, its surface completely covered in the scales of the Blue-Scaled Lizard.

Roger hung the shield on his back to test its weight, spent a few silver coins to replenish some arrows, and then left the weapon shop, walking toward the Tobacco Inn.

Despite its name, the place was actually a gathering point for nearby merchant caravans to rest. Roger walked up to the counter and spoke to a plump woman in an apron behind it:

“I'm looking for the Skylark Merchant Group.”

Before long, a man in his late twenties, wearing a dark blue travel coat and sporting a neatly trimmed short beard on his chin, walked down the stairs and sat across from Roger.

“Do you want to be a caravan guard?” the man asked, getting straight to the point.

After Roger nodded, the man sized him up and down, then pulled out a key. “You're hired. You look like you've trained before, at least not like those amateurs who don't even know how to hold a sword.”

“I'm Edwin, the leader of the Skylark Merchant Group. If you have any questions, you can ask me directly,” the man added, pointing out the direction of Roger's room. “Dinner is served in the backyard downstairs tonight. It's free.”

Roger thanked him, took the key without further chatter, and went upstairs.

The room was small. A single bed and a set of old table and chairs occupied almost the entire space, leaving barely enough room to turn around. But to Roger, this was nothing. Having struggled in this world for so long, he had more or less gotten used to it.

He sat cross-legged on the bed, closed his eyes, and ran Croft's Meditation Method until someone knocked on the door.

In the inn backyard's communal dining area, a long table against the wall was piled with food. A circle of people had already gathered around it, men and women ranging in age from their early twenties to their fifties.

Roger walked over, picked an empty seat at the end of the table, and gave a brief nod to everyone present. He didn't join in their idle chatter, focusing solely on eating.

After all, he just wanted to hitch a ride and get some free food and lodging along the way. He had no intention of getting close to these people.

Edwin was also sitting at the table, but he had barely touched the food in front of him. He pulled a piece of parchment from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and read it carefully from beginning to end.

After reading it, he refolded the parchment, stuffed it back into his pocket, leaned back against his chair, and let out a long sigh.

Roger didn't pay much attention to his actions and returned to his room after finishing his meal.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, the caravan assembled in the open space of the inn's backyard.

Roger stood to the side, observing the composition of this convoy.

The caravan had about a dozen handcarts, two of which were clearly loaded with valuable goods. Covered with thick tarpaulins, they were personally escorted by Edwin in the middle of the convoy.

Including himself, there were about twenty guards. Judging from their weapon loadouts, they were all warriors, with none possessing magical abilities.

After some brief preparations, the caravan began heading north along the main road toward the royal capital, Parmenia.

By the afternoon, lush forests appeared on both sides of the main road. Right at that moment, a row of figures appeared ahead.

There were about a dozen newcomers, blocking the middle of the road in a loose, single-file line. Their equipment was a hodgepodge; the front few wore rusty chainmail, while the rest only wore patched leather vests.

“Bandits!”

Hearing someone shout, the guards drew their weapons one after another.

Roger unslung his Windwood Bow, notched an arrow, and jumped onto a nearby handcart, using the high ground as a shooting position. At the same time, he activated Scout's Eye, expanding an overhead view in his mind.

From an angle invisible to ordinary eyes, another twenty people were distributed in the woods on both sides, forming an encirclement with the bandits blocking the road in front.

This was within Roger's expectations.

Although the dozen or so blocking the front looked fierce, their equipment was uneven. If they were to clash head-on with a caravan guarded by armed escorts, they would have to leave behind several corpses even if they won.

For bandits whose main goal was to make a living, such a costly fight wasn't worth it. What actually made this venture profitable were the twenty ambushers hiding behind the trees, waiting to catch them off guard.

Once a frontal fight broke out, they could launch a surprise attack from both the flanks and the rear simultaneously.

“Who's the leader of this caravan?” The man in front, wearing a chainmail shirt with an axe resting on his shoulder, stepped forward and shouted in a booming voice. “Come out and talk. There's no need to draw blades the moment we meet.”

Edwin nudged his horse's flanks, and the mount stepped forward slowly, reining in about ten paces away from the bandit leader.

The bandit leader lowered the axe from his shoulder and planted it on the ground. “I don't ask for much. Just leave some toll money, and I'll let you pass safely. You probably don't want a bloody fight either.”

“We have a lot of people on our side, and you have some capable fighters too. If we actually fight, people will die on both sides. Risking lives for a cart of goods isn't worth it for anyone.”

Hearing the bandit leader's words, Edwin nodded readily, a calm smile even appearing on his face. “As long as you don't touch the goods, you can take all my personal money.”

With that, he turned his head and gave some instructions to the laborers at the rear of the caravan.

Those laborers hauled a wooden coin chest out of a carriage cabin, carrying it to a spot a few paces in front of the bandit leader. Upon opening the lid, dozens of gold coins could be seen piled inside.

Watching the gold coins reflect the dazzling sunlight, Roger felt his eyelids twitch. The bounty he had accumulated from fighting goblins to the death on the mountain wasn't even as much as what was in this chest.

“I wonder if this is enough to pay the toll?” Edwin sat on horseback, looking down at the bandit leader.

The bandit leader stared dumbfounded at the chest of gold coins, but he didn't immediately let his men go up to take the money. He raised his hand, stopping several restless lackeys behind him.

“I want some goods too.”

“Very well,” Edwin replied without hesitation.

The bandit leader hadn't expected this caravan leader to be so cooperative. He turned and gestured to a few of his trusted lackeys behind him, signaling them to go pick some goods.

Those men walked quickly toward the handcarts at the rear half of the caravan. Yet, as they passed the vehicles covered in thick tarpaulins—which clearly contained valuable items—they didn't even spare them a glance, heading straight for an inconspicuous flatbed cart at the very end of the line.

That cart was covered with a cheap, coarse white cloth, exposing a few simple wooden crates underneath.

When Edwin saw those men heading toward that flatbed cart, his relaxed expression underwent a subtle shift.

“You cannot touch that,” he said, his calm tone vanishing.

A mocking smirk curled on the bandit leader's lips. “What, going back on your word? You said it yourself: I can pick whatever goods I want. Now I just want to see what's on this cart. You're so tense, could you be hiding some shameful treasure?”

“You can have all those expensive fabrics and spices if you want them.” Edwin's hand rested on his sword hilt. “But not this.”

“What if I insist on this one?” the bandit leader provoked.

Edwin slowly drew his sword. “Then we have nothing more to talk about.”