The merchant's cart creaked as it rolled through the busy streets of the Farmus border town.
Unlike the empty roads before, this place was alive.
Voices overlapped from every direction—vendors calling out prices, armored guards coordinating patrols, travelers arguing over supplies. The smell of cooked meat and iron tools mixed in the air, grounding everything in a way the wilderness never did.
The merchant finally looked like he could breathe properly again.
"Alright," he said, stretching his shoulders. "Repairs first, then supplies, then we move north."
They stopped near a repair yard where carts were being fixed and reinforced. The merchant quickly negotiated with a craftsman while the guard checked their remaining supplies.
Reinhard stood slightly apart, not interfering.
People passed him in the crowded yard—merchants shouting over each other, porters dragging crates, guards giving sharp orders. Yet somehow, space seemed to naturally form around him without anyone consciously deciding to give it.
Not fear.
Not respect.
Just an odd, unspoken sense that he did not belong to the usual rhythm of things.
He didn't react to it.
He simply waited.
Soon, the merchant returned, wiping his hands on his trousers after finalizing the repairs.
"Alright," he said, sounding satisfied. "Cart's fixed well enough. We should be able to make the northern route without it falling apart on us again."
The guard nodded while tightening a strap on his gear. "Supplies are good too. We can push straight through."
The merchant stretched his arms. "Then we're set."
He glanced toward Reinhard.
"You still coming with us?"
The question was casual now. Not uncertain. Just confirmation.
Reinhard gave a small nod.
"I will accompany you."
"Good," the merchant said with a grin. "Would've been awkward after everything if you just wandered off."
The guard snorted. "Pretty sure we would be the ones having a hard time after that."
And with that, they headed off towards the Armed Nation of Dwargon.
The journey toward Dwargon had become something of a pattern.
Rocky roads. Controlled patrol routes. Distant fortifications growing more frequent with each passing hour.
And monsters.
Always monsters.
But something changed after the third encounter.
Reinhard said nothing.
He simply adjusted his position beside the cart.
The road toward Dwargon had grown more structured, but it was never truly empty.
Monsters still lingered in the rocky stretches between patrol zones—creatures drawn to movement, sound, or simply the presence of life passing through their territory.
Most of the time, they appeared without warning.
At least, without warning to anyone else.
The merchant was mid-sentence when Reinhard's gaze shifted slightly off the road.
"…and I'm telling you, Dwargon steel is supposed to be lighter than it looks, which sounds impossible, but—"
Reinhard spoke calmly.
"Left ridge. Four creatures."
The merchant stopped. "Huh?"
The guard frowned. "Where?"
Reinhard had already stepped closer to the cart.
"Approaching quickly."
A beat of silence passed.
Then—
A low rustle echoed from the rocks to the left.
The merchant's face tightened. "I didn't hear anything until just now…"
The guard raised his spear. "Here they come!"
The monsters burst out of the rocky slope in a sudden wave of motion.
Four shapes—low to the ground, fast, and already closing distance before the guard could fully set his stance.
"Damn it—!" the guard snapped, stepping forward anyway.
The merchant instinctively pulled back toward the cart. "Why is it always so close—?!"
Reinhard moved first.
Not rushing.
Not accelerating.
Just stepping into the path between the cart and the oncoming beasts.
The first creature reached him in an instant.
Reinhard drew his scabbard[1].
A single clean arc cut through its charge, dropping it mid-motion before it ever touched the ground.
The second was already behind it.
Reinhard shifted slightly—no wasted movement—blade reversing direction in the same fluid motion. Scabbard flashed once more. The second fell.
The third and fourth separated instinctively, circling wide from different angles.
The guard finally lunged forward to assist—
—but froze as Reinhard had already changed position again.
One step.
Then another.
A diagonal strike ended the third before it could pivot.
The final creature tried to leap past him, aiming directly for the cart.
Reinhard's Scabbard met it halfway through the air.
Silence returned as its body hit the ground.
For a moment, only the wind moved through the rocky pass.
The guard lowered his spear slowly. "…I didn't even get a chance to engage."
The merchant exhaled sharply, gripping the side of the cart. "I barely even saw them until they were already on us…"
Reinhard sheathed his sword with calm precision.
"The path is clear," he said simply.
No one argued.
The merchant climbed back onto the driver's seat, still a bit tense but recovering. "Yeah… let's keep moving before I start thinking about how many more of those are around here."
The guard gave a short nod, eyes still scanning the rocks. "Agreed."
The cart rolled forward again.
The road remained uneven, carved between stone ridges and worn terrain, but it was still a defined route—one that steadily guided them north.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
The tension didn't fully leave, but it settled into expectation.
If something appeared—
Reinhard would notice.
If something attacked—
Reinhard would end it.
And so they continued toward Dwargon.
[1] I say Scabbard because he hasn't seen the monsters before, and wants to end things as quickly as possible.