The Caravan

Angela was stunned for a moment, then slowly raised her head and nodded with immense force.

“Thank you, my lord!”

She suddenly stood up from her chair, bowing deeply in her haste, and accidentally bumped her forehead against the tabletop.

The plates clattered from the impact, and the food and utensils in front of her were thrown into a mess.

With bits of food stuck to her face, she couldn't help but gasp. She hurriedly apologized, scrambling to clean up the mess in a fluster, which brought amused smiles to everyone's faces.

Edmund waved his hand, gesturing for a maid to come and clean it up.

“If you want to show your gratitude, thank Mr. Bai,” Edmund reminded her softly.

Angela immediately turned to Bai Xuan. Her lips trembled as if she had a thousand words to say, but in the end, she only bowed deeply, offering a solemn salute.

Bai Xuan said nothing, merely picking up his cup and taking a gentle sip.

From beginning to end, Julia sat quietly to the side, listening to their conversation.

She looked at Bai Xuan, then at the bowing Angela, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes.

With this thought, she stood up, walked slowly to Angela's side, and extended her hand.

Angela looked up and froze, staring at the elegant, blonde-haired, blue-eyed noble lady who had walked over to her.

That hand was fair, slender, and smooth, a stark contrast to her own calloused hands. She instinctively shrank back, not daring to take it.

Julia did not withdraw her hand, looking at her with a warm gaze.

“Since you are someone the gentleman highly values,” she said, her voice soft and sincere.

“then you are my sister. If you ever need anything in the future, do not hesitate to come to me.”

Angela's lips trembled, unsure of how to address her. After a long pause, she whispered, “M-Miss...”

Julia offered a faint smile, slightly awkward but full of gentleness. “There is no need to call me Miss. Just call me Julia.”

Angela lowered her head, clutching her skirt tightly, her voice as quiet as a mosquito's buzz. “Miss Julia...”

Julia did not correct her again, only gently taking her hand and gesturing for her to sit back down.

Angela's legs were still a bit weak, and she accidentally bumped into the chair leg as she sat. Julia quickly supported her arm until she was securely seated, only then slowly letting go.

Watching this unfold, the corner of Edmund's mouth twitched slightly as a hint of a smile flashed in his eyes, though he said nothing.

Afterward, the kitchen served a few more dishes.

However, Angela ate very little, merely picking at her plate with her fork, clearly still feeling quite constrained.

Seeing this, Julia took the initiative to sit next to her, placing a piece of tender meat onto her plate.

Angela was taken aback and looked up at Julia, but Julia had already turned away to converse softly with Edmund.

She lowered her head, looking at the meat on her plate. As she chewed slowly, a wave of warmth welled up in her heart.

When everyone was nearly finished eating, Edmund wiped his hands, turned his gaze to Bai Xuan, and spoke sincerely.

“Please rest here tonight, sir. A guest room has already been prepared.”

Bai Xuan nodded, and Edmund immediately gave Jesse a look.

Jesse immediately called over a maid and whispered a few instructions in her ear.

The maid walked quickly to Bai Xuan's side and bowed slightly. “This way, sir. Please follow me.”

Bai Xuan stood up and followed the maid out.

Angela raised her head, her gaze closely following his departing figure. Her lips parted, but in the end, she still said nothing.

Noticing her gaze, Julia gently patted the back of her hand in comfort.

The corridor was exceptionally quiet. Only half of the wall lamps on either side were lit, casting long, stretched shadows of the two of them in the dim yellow light.

The maid walked ahead at a brisk pace, and Bai Xuan could clearly see the tips of her ears flushing red.

Bai Xuan followed silently behind.

Stopping in front of a guest room door, the maid gently pushed it open.

“Please wait a moment, sir. I will go fetch fresh bedding.”

She bowed respectfully and quickly walked away. Bai Xuan pushed the door open, stepped into the room, and slowly looked around.

The room was not very spacious, but it was kept extremely neat and tidy.

A large wooden bed stood against the wall, with a bronze lamp resting on the nightstand.

By the window sat a desk covered in a plain tablecloth, adorned with a small vase of light purple flowers. He did not know their name, but they bloomed with exceptional beauty.

Bai Xuan sat on the edge of the bed, the softness of the mattress making him feel a bit unaccustomed.

These past few days, he had already grown used to a hard life.

He reached into his robe and pulled out the now-transformed badge, gently cradling it in his palm.

The golden luster flowed under the lamplight, as if it had a life of its own.

He turned it over and over, examining it several times, and even probed it carefully with his mental power, but the panel still only displayed that single familiar line of text.

It was better to keep this item on his person rather than inside his Space Ring.

If a critical moment arrived and it failed to trigger due to being isolated inside the Space Ring, that would be disastrous.

He placed the badge inside his inner pocket. Pressing it gently, he could clearly feel a faint warmth lingering against his chest.

Before long, footsteps echoed in the corridor.

The maid walked in holding clean bedding. After quickly making the bed, she stepped back to the doorway and spoke respectfully.

“If you need anything, sir, just pull the bell rope by the head of the bed.”

With that, she bowed once more and gently closed the door behind her.

Bai Xuan blew out the bronze lamp on the nightstand, plunging the room into instant darkness.

The footsteps in the corridor gradually faded away, and silence returned to his surroundings.

...

Deep within the Cross family estate in Blackcreek Town.

The room was carpeted with a thick rug, and the dark patterns on the walls flickered in the candlelight.

A faint, elusive cool fragrance lingered in the air, making the surrounding silence feel even more profound.

Zane Cross sat in a high-backed chair, one hand resting on the armrest. His fingertips tapped against it idly, the slow rhythm carrying an oppressive weight.

His skin was unnaturally pale, casting a cold luster under the flickering candlelight. His short hair clung close to his scalp, the strands reflecting a metallic gleam.

He sat as still as an exquisite wax figure, with only the occasional movement of his eyes betraying a hint of life.

A man knelt before him, keeping his head low and his back bent, holding his breath as much as possible.

“Young Master,” the man finally spoke, his voice steady without a single ripple of emotion.

“The traps have all been set; everything is foolproof. According to the original schedule, the Gemstone should be on its way back right now.”

Zane's tapping finger suddenly stopped.

His face remained expressionless, but a spark ignited deep in his eyes—a raging fire that he suppressed completely, preventing even a fraction of it from showing on his face.

After a few seconds of silence, he spoke slowly.

“Proceed as planned. Have the caravan take the hidden route. Tell the Practitioners in the family to keep a close eye on it; not a single mistake is allowed.”

“Understood,” the subordinate replied simply and respectfully.

Zane fell silent again. After a moment, he pulled out a handkerchief and slowly, meticulously wiped his fingers, his movements elegant yet aloof.

“Have you investigated Harvey's matter?” he asked without even looking up, his tone as casual as if he were asking about an insignificant trifle.

The kneeling man's body stiffened slightly.

The moonlight streamed diagonally through the window, landing precisely on his face.

Peter Warren.

The head of the Information House. However, when he heard Harvey's name, his throat bobbed involuntarily, betraying a trace of panic in his heart.

“We only found out that he left town to pursue someone. As for the specific reason, he did not disclose it to his subordinates.”

He looked up slightly at Zane, and seeing that the young master was not paying attention to him, he continued.

“That person is a Healer who arrived in Blackcreek Town half a month ago. He once cured an adventurer who had been injured by Harvey.”

The two of them happened to cross paths in the Inner Wall. Harvey warned him with a few words at the time, but didn't think much of it afterward.

He paused, choosing his words carefully before adding, “Recently, that man appeared in town again. He left after purchasing a Chocobo, and as soon as Harvey received word, he immediately gave chase.”

Having said this, he stopped.

He did not mention a single word of the intelligence suggesting that the Healer likely knew about the Gemstone, and that Harvey had pursued him precisely to confirm this suspicion.

Those words remained wedged in his throat, forced back down.

This was his oversight, but he did not dare speak of it.

He knew Zane's temperament all too well; once Zane learned the truth, his end would be no better than Harvey's.

As long as the Gemstone was safely transported back, this matter might be swept under the rug.

As for Harvey, he was merely an insignificant pawn in the family. With or without him, no one would care.

Zane's fingers did not stop, the handkerchief repeatedly wiping his fingertips. He looked up at Peter, his tone carrying a hint of scrutiny.

“Is that all?”

“That is all.” Peter buried his head even lower, not daring to meet Zane's gaze.

“...Never mind,” Zane said, withdrawing his gaze, his tone as light as if discussing a trivial matter.

“It's just a dead man.”

As he spoke, his brow furrowed slightly, and his movements to wipe his fingers grew more frequent. An inexplicable irritability welled up in his heart, and something throbbed faintly in his chest, though he could not tell why.

He closed his eyes, remaining silent for a moment. When he opened them again, his voice was a notch deeper than before.

“When the time comes, I will personally go to meet the caravan.”

Peter's face instantly paled. He kept his head lowered, terrified that Zane would notice the panic and unease in his eyes.

“Young Master,” he tried desperately to steady his voice, attempting to dissuade him. “This matter is guaranteed to be foolproof. There is no need to trouble you to personally—”

“No matter,” Zane interrupted coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I will only be at ease if I go myself.”

Peter did not dare say more.

He understood Zane's temper too well. Saying one more word now would not be a matter of reassurance, but rather of provoking the young master's wrath.

He softly replied, “Yes,” then slowly stood up and bowed before taking his leave.

Stepping out of the room, the door gently closed behind him, shutting out the candlelight and the cool fragrance within.

Standing in the long corridor, Peter finally couldn't help but close his eyes and take a deep breath, his heart filled with anxiety.

The young master was going to meet the caravan himself. If they encountered highwaymen along the way, with Zane's methods, he could squeeze the origins out of even a corpse.

If he found out that the information leak was due to his oversight... the consequences would be unimaginable.

He had to reach the caravan's route before Zane did. No matter what, he had to keep the situation under control.

Not daring to delay, he immediately opened his eyes and hurried out.

The corridor was long, and only half of the wall lamps were lit. The dim yellow light and shadows flickered across his face, making his expression look even more grim.

As he walked, his mind began to scheme over another matter.

Mora, that blacksmith, was not only connected to Barend, but also deeply tied to that Healer.

He had left her alone before to avoid unnecessary complications, but now, he could no longer afford to wait.

He quickened his pace, and his figure soon vanished at the end of the corridor.

...

A small stream curved along the edge of the woods, the water babbling softly.

The sunlight shattered into a shimmering glare across the water's surface.

Just then, a long snout dipped into the water, drinking with loud gulps.

The snout was long and sharp, flanked by sharp tusks on both sides. It connected to a grayish-brown head, and further down was a plump, round body.

It was actually a Dreadboar, and quite a large one at that.

Suddenly, the sound of tearing wind pierced the tranquility of the woods.

An arrow pierced the Dreadboar's hind leg with precision. It jerked its head out of the water, letting out a sharp squeal as its bristles stood on end.

Immediately after, two more arrows whistled through the air. One embedded itself in its shoulder, while the other grazed its neck, drawing a spray of blood.

The Dreadboar stumbled and turned around, its front hooves rearing high. With a violent jerk of its head, a wind blade slashed from its mouth, slicing clean through the two incoming arrows.

“Oh,” a light chuckle echoed from the edge of the woods.

“This beast actually has some skill.”

Before the voice could fade, two more arrows were shot.

By now, the Dreadboar had no strength left to unleash another wind blade. It struggled forward a couple of steps before its legs gave out, and it collapsed heavily by the stream.

Blood gushed from its wounds, flowing into the water and slowly being diluted by the babbling stream.

After twitching a few times, it stopped moving entirely.

A figure emerged from the woods. He first poked the Dreadboar's eye with an arrow, and seeing no reaction, poked its nostril.

Only after confirming it was completely dead did he grin, grab the Dreadboar's hind leg, and drag it back.

Before he had dragged it very far, a caravan came into view, parked on a small path in the woods.

Three carriages rolled along the gravel path, moving exceptionally slowly.

The path itself was narrow, flanked by dense shrubs and trees on both sides. Without looking closely, one would never notice a road was hidden here.

Several cloaked figures walked beside the carriages, their cloaks concealing most of their faces. Only the hilts of blades and bowstrings visible at their waists revealed that they were by no means ordinary guards.

Their gazes constantly swept over their surroundings, occasionally resting on the two large iron cages on the carriages, their expressions vigilant.

The iron cages were crammed with people, men and women separated on either side.

Some huddled in corners, shivering violently; some leaned against the iron bars with hollow eyes; others sat motionless with their heads bowed, as if they had long forgotten what it meant to be alive.

Only once in a while, when one or two of them lifted their eyelids, a flicker of light searching for survival would flash in their eyes.

Only the third carriage was different. It was a size smaller than the first two, and its body was covered by a thin cloth that concealed most of the cage.

Through the gaps in the cloth curtain, one could see a girl locked inside all by herself.