The captain's voice rang out, crisp and authoritative.
My name, is —Tung Poe, —OK you lot, go check for any signs of ambush. Stay together and stay alert. —Wang Jian, since you're so concerned about his welfare, take him back to the caravan for treatment. We'll bring him to the city, but keep him away from the clients and don't let him out of your sight. If we're attacked, watch him closely then too.
Relief washed over me, and I leaned heavily on my walking stick. At least I wouldn't be left behind.
"Yes, sir," the men replied in unison. Without hesitation, two of them sprinted back toward the forest I had come from, their speed unnaturally swift as they kicked up a trail of dust. These weren't ordinary people.
The captain remained mounted on his horse, scanning the surroundings with sharp, calculating eyes. Meanwhile, the youngest of the group approached me, his expression warm and friendly. He cupped his fist in his open palm and gave a small bow.
"Hi, I'm Wang Jian. —What's your name?"
I fumbled to return the gesture, feeling awkward but trying my best. "Um, you can call me Li Jun Fan," I said quickly. "That's my name in my homeland's language. Jayson is the name I usually use as a nick name, but people there speak something different."
Wang Jian tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his face.
"Ah, I see. You must come from very far away. Here, we use family names first."
"Got it. Call me Li Jun Fan then," I said, trying to sound confident. "And yeah… I'm definitely far from home."
"Well, it's good to meet you, Li Jun Fan," he said with an easy smile. He gestured toward the caravan with one hand.
"Let's get that leg of yours looked at."
Grateful, I nodded and started walking. Wang Jian matched my pace, keeping an unhurried but watchful stride beside me.
"So, how did you end up so far from home?"
He asked after a moment.
I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "Honestly… I'm not completely sure. One moment I was walking home, and the next, I found myself in that forest." He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting me continue. "I know it sounds strange," I admitted. "But if I were going to make up a story, I'd pick something more believable."
Wang Jian chuckled softly.
"Fair enough."
He said, though I couldn't tell if he believed me. If random teleportation wasn't normal in this world, I didn't want to push my luck. As we neared the caravan, a middle-aged man with a thick beard approached us on horseback. He greeted Wang Jian with a nod before casting a wary glance my way.
"Who's this?"
"Someone in need of help", Wang Jian explained.
"The captain said to treat him and keep him away from the clients until we reach the city." The man, Shi Dan, rubbed his beard thoughtfully before nodding. "Alright, get to it. We'll move when the captain gives the order." Wang Jian led me to the back of the caravan, keeping a subtle but deliberate position between me and the rest of the group. Whether it was caution or habit, I couldn't tell.
As we walked, I took in the caravan's layout. Most of the wagons were plain, wooden, and filled with crates, but one stood out—a carriage, ornate and polished, with its windows shuttered. Whoever rode inside was clearly important. The guards were another matter. Mounted riders and more than two dozen armed men on foot surrounded the caravan. Each wore a red sash embroidered with a stomping bull, marking them as part of the same mercenary group.
At the rear wagon, we were met by three men. Two were older, gruff-looking individuals wielding axes. The third was younger, with strikingly handsome features and glossy hair tied neatly in a topknot. He carried an intimidating spiked polearm slung across his back, a brutal weapon that starkly contrasted his polished appearance. Wang Jian quickly explained the situation and introduced me. The two older men, Mo and Mu, barely acknowledged me before returning to their tasks. The younger man, Ming Lian, gave me a stiff, suspicious greeting, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized me.
Reluctantly, Ming Lian took charge of treating my wound after some coaxing from Wang Jian. Despite his clear disdain for my muddy, bloodied state, he worked efficiently, cleaning the gash on my leg, applying a pungent cream, and wrapping it in clean cloth. His sneers and muttered complaints about dirtiness didn't escape me, but I bit my tongue.
"Thanks," I said when he finished. Ming Lian ignored me entirely, moving to clean his hands with exaggerated precision. Wang Jian chuckled at the exchange. "Don't mind him," he said. "Lian's been living the good life lately. He'll get over it." I wasn't so sure, but I nodded anyway, settling back against a crate. "Thanks for helping me out," I said to Wang Jian. "And for convincing your friend to treat my leg."
"Don't mention it," he said with a shrug. "It didn't take much effort."
As the caravan prepared to move, I tried to strike up a conversation, hoping to learn more about this unfamiliar world. Wang Jian was happy to oblige, explaining the basics of the Southern Sky Province and the nearby Silverlake City. He also described the dangers of the Amberwood Expanse, a forest teeming with spirit beasts ranging from mildly threatening to mountain-destroying monstrosities.
I filed away every detail, my unease growing. The more I learned, the more precarious my situation felt. Just as I was about to ask more about spirit beasts and cultivation ranks, a shout from the front of the caravan snapped me out of my thoughts. Wang Jian and Ming Lian tensed, their hands going to their weapons as they scanned the horizon. Dark figures were moving toward us, fast and deliberate. A deafening explosion erupted from the front of the caravan, shaking the ground beneath us.
Chaos descended.
"Stay on the wagon!" Wang Jian barked, his sword clashing against the masked attacker's blade. The man, clad in black with a cloth obscuring the lower half of his face, pressed his attack. "Hide behind the crates and don't move!" "Okay!" I yelped, scrambling to obey. As I ducked, I caught sight of Ming Lian in action. His staff—part club, part weapon of destruction—swung with blinding speed, shattering an opponent's axe like it was made of glass. He closed the distance in an instant, landing a devastating blow. Flesh and bone erupted in a grotesque spray as the bandit's body flew through the air.
I froze, horrified, nearly losing my footing. Ming Lian glanced my way, his glare a thunderous warning. My legs almost gave out under the weight of it, and for a second, I thought I might actually piss myself. But he merely snorted and turned back to the fray, rushing to aid his comrades. I shook myself free of the terror, realizing I was still out in the open, and dove behind a stack of crates. My heart pounded wildly, and I absently noted that my leg—injured not long ago—seemed miraculously fine despite my frantic movements. Still, my mind was fixated on what I'd just seen. These people were beyond strong, but witnessing their raw power in such visceral brutality was an entirely different beast.
This world was terrifying. If I wanted to survive, I had to get stronger.
The sounds of battle were deafening—shouts, the clang of metal on metal, and the gut-wrenching screams of the injured. Explosions echoed from further up the caravan, drawing my eyes to the front. We were on a narrow road curving around a hill, and nearly every guard was locked in combat. The attackers, cloaked in darkness and masks, had used the terrain to launch their ambush. Even the wagon drivers, the Mo included, had joined the fight, though a few had chosen the same cowardly path I had: hiding wherever they could.
At first, it seemed evenly matched. But then more bandits descended from the hill, and the balance tipped. My attention was drawn back to the front by a series of concussive shockwaves. Two black blurs darted and collided, each impact shaking the air. My breath caught. Was that the captain? Holy crap. Ming Lian was strong, but this was a completely different level. What was worse, one of the attackers was keeping up with him.
I clung to the hope that their duel was moving farther away. But even as they disappeared from view, chaos erupted closer to me. A guard slashed through one bandit, severed another's hand, and decapitated a third—only to lose his own arm in the next moment, forcing him to retreat.
The guards were skilled and more powerful individually, but the bandits had sheer numbers on their side. Behind me, a sharp metallic crash snapped me out of my thoughts. I spun around and peeked over the crates just as Ming Lian's staff clashed against a massive glaive wielded by an armored bandit. The man's weapon gleamed with an otherworldly silver glow, and his plated armor glinted menacingly under the sunlight. The glaive intercepted Ming Lian's strike, sending his weapon screeching off course. The armored man retaliated instantly, driving Ming Lian back with heavy, calculated blows. Then, with blinding speed, he delivered a punch that sent Ming Lian flying through the air.
My stomach twisted as I watched. Ming Lian might not have been my favorite person, but I had desperately hoped he could win this fight. Yet here he was, on the ropes against someone even stronger. "OH No, Lian!" Wang Jian roared, his fury palpable. Light flared at his feet, and in a blur, he skewered an opponent through the neck. The move was breathtakingly fast, but he had to retreat just as quickly to avoid another bandit's axe.
The battle spiraled into chaos. Steel flashed, bodies glowed with power, and blood soaked the ground. Fighters moved like blurs, weapons slicing through metal as if it were paper. One bandit seemed to bounce off the very air, launching himself from above like something out of a nightmare. And there I was, crouched behind crates, utterly useless. I didn't even have a weapon.
Wait, Weapons!
My eyes darted to the back of the wagon. There—spare spears and an unstrung bow. Without a second thought, I reached for a spear. The bow would have been my preference, but I had no clue how to string it, let alone use it. The spear, at least, had a simple philosophy: stick them with the pointy end. A guttural shout tore me back to the fight. I peeked out in time to see one of our guards fall, a spear driven through his chest. Though his axe had cleaved his killer's shoulder, both men collapsed, leaving only Wang Jian and one other guard to face five attackers. Despair clawed at me as I tightened my grip on the spear. I had to do something—anything. But what could I possibly do?
Wang Jian blurred again, taking down another bandit with a swift strike to the throat. But the remaining four regrouped, pressing Wang Jian and the last guard back-to-back. The two held their ground valiantly, but they were outnumbered. As I scanned the battlefield, I realized Wang Jian wasn't just skilled—he was extraordinary. His movements were precise, his strikes deadly. If he weren't so badly outnumbered, this fight would already be over.
And then, from the corner of my eye, I saw the berzerker. His axes whirled like a storm, his body glowing crimson as if his rage had become a physical force. Wang Jian landed slash after slash, but the berzerker didn't falter. Instead, he seemed to grow stronger, faster, and more unhinged.
I cursed under my breath. There was no way Wang Jian could hold out much longer. And the other guard? He didn't stand a chance—his head was severed moments later. The bandits turned their full attention to Wang Jian. If he fell, it was all over—not just for him, but for Ming Lian, for the caravan, and for me. My hands trembled as I gripped the spear. I had to act. If I was going to die, I'd rather it be on my feet, fighting. I ducked low and crept around the wagon, keeping my steps as quiet as possible. Each breath felt louder than the battle raging around me. My heart pounded in my ears as I made my way closer to the swordsman who had just felled the last guard. He was limping slightly, blood dripping from his side. Good. That meant he was injured. Maybe I had a chance.
Wang Jian was holding off the berzerker, his blade a blur as it parried and struck. But the crazed dual-wielder showed no signs of stopping. His movements grew faster, more erratic, and more deadly with each passing second. Wang Jian needed help, and if the swordsman joined the fight, he wouldn't stand a chance. I swallowed hard. This was it. My only chance to make a difference.
Step by step, I closed the distance. The swordsman hadn't noticed me yet, too focused on finding an opening to strike at Wang Jian. My fingers gripped the spear so tightly my knuckles ached. Just a little closer… The moment came. I lunged, aiming for the middle of his back. But at the last second, he twisted, his sword flashing. The spear veered off course, still plunging into his shoulder. He snarled in pain, spinning to face me.
"You little rat!" he hissed, grabbing the spear with his free hand. His blade sliced through the shaft, leaving me holding a splintered stick. I stumbled back as he yanked the broken spearhead from his shoulder, blood dripping down his arm. Panic surged through me as he stepped closer, a cruel smirk twisting his face. "What were you thinking, kid? You're no fighter."
I scrambled backward, clutching the useless stick like a lifeline. My eyes darted around for anything that could help—a rock, a weapon, anything. But there was nothing. The swordsman raised his blade, ready to strike. And then, out of nowhere, Wang Jian appeared. A blur of movement, a flash of steel, and the swordsman staggered, blood spraying from a deep gash across his neck. He crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide with shock as life drained from him.
Wang Jian didn't stop. Without a word, he launched himself at the berzerker, who had been momentarily distracted by the swordsman's fall. The berzerker roared, his axes swinging wildly, but Wang Jian was faster. He darted in and out of the berzerker range, his sword finding openings in the bandit's defenses.
And then Ming Lian joined the fray. He came charging in from the side, what remained of his staff glowing with energy. The berzerker, focused on Wang Jian, didn't see him coming. Ming Lian's strike hit home, the staff slamming into the berzerker side with a sickening crunch. The man's roar turned into a gurgle as blood poured from his mouth. He staggered, dropped his axes, and collapsed to the ground.
The battlefield fell eerily silent, save for the distant sounds of fighting further up the caravan. My legs gave out, and I sank to the ground, breathing hard. It was over. At least, this part was.
"You okay?" Wang Jian's voice pulled me back to reality. He was standing over me, blood staining his clothes but his posture steady. I nodded shakily, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. Thanks." He glanced at me, then at the broken stick in my hand, and gave a small, approving nod. "You did well. Now get back on the wagon and stay there."
Ming Lian walked up, his expression less hostile than usual. He handed Wang Jian a jar of ointment, who quickly applied it to his wounds. Without another word, the two of them turned and sprinted toward the rest of the caravan, leaving me alone. I sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. My gaze fell to the sword the bandit had dropped. After a moment's hesitation, I picked it up. It felt heavy in my hand, unfamiliar, but it was better than nothing.
As I stood, a rustling sound to my left made me whip around, the sword raised instinctively. A bandit, one I thought was dead, was lunging at me with a dagger. Without thinking, I thrust the blade forward. It sank deep into his neck. The man's eyes widened in shock before he collapsed, gurgling, at my feet. I stood frozen, staring at his body. My hands shook as the reality of what I'd just done sank in.
—Just then a familiar blue halo of light emanated from his corpse—