Merlin walked at a measured pace beside the caravan, his figure cutting a striking silhouette in the afternoon sun. His freshly styled dreadlocks swayed slightly as he moved, and his simple grey combat mage robe, paired with the black dire beast leather tunic, gave him the appearance of someone practical yet undeniably formidable. His attire was functional, yet every detail told a story.
The leather straps binding his sleeves revealed the quick-draw mechanism for the Black-Iron Straight-Edged Saber sheathed horizontally at his back waist. This weapon, forged from a rare mana-conductive alloy, was both a nod to his training and a reflection of his resourcefulness. The short saber, slightly over 30 inches, rested comfortably in its Elderwood sheath, a relic of craftsmanship that hinted at the influence of Myrddin's memories.
On his left hip, his Elderwood wand rested in a carefully crafted leather holster. The silver mana-conductive rings inlaid at the tip and base gleamed faintly in the sunlight, subtly reflecting Merlin's ingenuity. This wand, his personal design, was a testament to the fusion of ancient wisdom and modern practicality—a symbol of his journey and aspirations.
The caravan consisted of three wagons, each carrying goods critical to the sect's trade agreements with the Western Highland clans. From medicinal herbs to enchanted artifacts, the cargo was invaluable, making the mission both high-stakes and potentially perilous.
The caravan master, a grizzled man named Granth, had been skeptical of Merlin at first. "You're younger than I expected," he'd said upon their introduction. However, after witnessing Merlin's steady demeanor and the aura of quiet confidence he exuded, Granth's doubts began to fade.
Accompanying the caravan were two other hired guards, seasoned mercenaries who had their own reservations about working alongside a sect disciple. Their skepticism wasn't unusual—many disciples lacked practical experience outside the confines of the sect. But Merlin's composure and preparedness quickly earned their respect.
The first few days were uneventful, the road winding through gentle hills and open plains. Merlin used the time to familiarize himself with the terrain, noting potential ambush spots and routes for escape if necessary. He also kept an ear on the conversations between the caravan crew, listening for insights about the Western Highlands and any recent disturbances in the region.
One evening, as they set up camp, Granth approached Merlin. "You don't talk much, do you?"
Merlin glanced up from where he was adjusting the leather straps on his tunic. "Not unless I need to."
Granth chuckled. "Fair enough. Just hope that saber of yours talks loud enough if we run into trouble."
Merlin allowed a faint smile. "It will. But I'd rather the wand do the talking first."
Though the journey had been quiet so far, there was an undercurrent of tension. The Western Highlands were known for their untamed beauty but also for the dangers lurking within—bandits, rogue magical beasts, and rumors of raiders from the northern steppes.
Merlin kept his senses sharp, his mana flowing steadily through his pathways as he practiced subtle exercises from the Rolling Thunder Cultivation Method during breaks. The quiet hum of energy within him was both a comfort and a reminder of the power he wielded.
"Two weeks," he murmured to himself one night as he stared at the stars. "Let's see what the road has in store."
As the caravan crossed into Highlander territory, Merlin's senses were immediately overwhelmed by the shift in the ambient mana. The air grew denser, laden with elemental energy that was raw and untamed. The rolling hills gave way to jagged cliffs and towering pine forests, their presence casting long shadows that seemed to breathe with life. The tension within the caravan was palpable, the once-casual conversations of the crew now reduced to hushed whispers and darting glances toward the treeline.
Merlin, for his part, wasted no time. Slowing his pace slightly, he placed two fingers on the mana ring at the base of his Elderwood wand and sent a deliberate pulse of lightning mana into the air. The mana traveled outward like a ripple through water, integrating seamlessly with the ambient energy around him.
This was a derivative of techniques Merlin had refined from Myrddin's memories. By employing Lightning Vein Pulse, his mana created an electric field in the surrounding area, sensitive to disturbances from living beings. Every pulse returned information—density, size, movement—allowing him to paint an invisible map of his surroundings.
The technique immediately paid off. Within seconds, Merlin could sense faint signals emanating from the forest to the east. At first, they seemed like ordinary wildlife—small creatures, likely deer or foxes—but then, farther out, larger signatures emerged, moving in coordinated patterns.
"Human-sized," Merlin murmured to himself, narrowing his focus. The signals were faint but steady, as though whoever—or whatever—was out there was skilled at masking their presence.
Merlin approached the caravan master, Granth, who was riding at the front. "We're not alone," he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Granth frowned, his hand instinctively moving to the short sword at his hip. "How many?"
"Hard to say," Merlin replied. "At least six. Maybe more. They're keeping their distance for now, but they're out there, eastward. Moving with intent."
Granth nodded grimly. "Could be Highlander raiders, or maybe just scouts. Either way, we'll keep moving. You sense anything closer, let me know immediately."
Merlin returned to his position near the middle of the caravan, where he discreetly informed the other guards of the potential threat. The mercenaries, now fully on edge, checked their weapons and armor, casting wary glances at the treeline.
As they pressed forward, Merlin maintained his sensory technique, refreshing it every few minutes to ensure he wasn't missing any new signals. The larger signatures continued to follow them, always staying just at the edge of his range.
"They're testing us," Merlin thought, his grip tightening on the hilt of his short saber. "Waiting for the right moment."
The caravan eventually reached a narrow pass bordered by steep cliffs—a natural choke point and a prime location for an ambush. Granth called for a halt, his voice low but firm. "We'll rest here for a bit, but stay sharp. I don't like how quiet it's gotten."
Merlin nodded, his senses on high alert. The Lightning Vein Pulse revealed no immediate threats within close proximity, but he could still feel the distant presences lingering like wolves circling their prey.
As the caravan crew began to set up a small perimeter, Merlin couldn't shake the feeling that the true challenge of this mission was about to begin.