As the caravan made its way through the rugged terrain of the Western Highlands, Merlin found himself observing more than participating. Captain Cairine's group, efficient and self-sufficient, took charge of every aspect of the journey, handling both the protection and navigation through the dangerous landscape.
Merlin, for his part, followed along dutifully, allowing his curiosity to lead him as he continued to observe the Highlanders in action. They moved with the precision of a well-oiled machine, their training in augmentation evident in every step. The warriors seamlessly blended their elemental powers with their martial skills, as if the very air and earth around them had become extensions of their bodies.
As they crossed mountain passes and navigated through rocky forests, Merlin's role was reduced to that of a silent observer. He would occasionally offer help when asked, but the Highlanders made it clear that their methods and techniques were unique to them, and they preferred to handle things on their own.
Merlin found the constant movement and silence around the caravan both meditative and frustrating. He had learned much about the Highlanders' way of life, but there was little opportunity to apply his own skills or even speak with Cairine's group unless they sought his input. While he had the chance to observe their mastery of the arts of war, there was little in the way of shared learning between him and the others.
Still, the experience was invaluable. He had never before been so immersed in a group with such a strong sense of unity, tradition, and purpose. Despite his initial frustration, Merlin took it all in—absorbing the way the Highlanders communicated with each other through subtle glances, the way they relied on instinct as much as skill, and the unspoken bond that existed between them.
Though the journey was long, and Merlin's contribution to the caravan's success felt minimal, he could already sense the impact of his time spent with the Highlanders. He understood that this was not just about combat or magic—it was about the people and their way of life. And despite the lack of direct involvement, Merlin knew that this mission would teach him things he couldn't have learned in any training hall or classroom.
The caravan's steady progress came to an abrupt halt when scouts from Cairine's group returned with grim faces. They had spotted a large goblin pack ahead—a chaotic horde led by several Hobgoblins. The group's numbers were concerning, and their presence so close to a trade route was unusual.
Cairine quickly called for a meeting. Her group of Highlanders gathered in a tight circle, their grim expressions matching the severity of the situation. Merlin was invited to join the discussion for the first time, his experience as both a mage and a tactician finally being recognized.
"The pack numbers at least sixty goblins," one scout reported, "and five Hobgoblins. They've set up camp in a narrow valley not far from here. If we try to bypass them, we'll lose days."
Cairine nodded, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "We don't have the time or resources to take a detour. We'll have to go through them. Suggestions?"
Merlin stepped forward, meeting Cairine's gaze. "If we engage them head-on, it'll be a chaotic melee. Goblins thrive on confusion. But if we can funnel them into a kill zone, we can control the flow of the fight and pick them off systematically."
Cairine arched an eyebrow. "And how do you propose we do that, mage?"
Merlin pointed to the map the Highlanders had drawn of the area. "The valley works to our advantage. If we position the caravan at the narrowest point, we can use it as a barricade. Your group can form a defensive line on either side, while I set up traps and barriers to keep the goblins from flanking us."
"And the Hobgoblins?" Cairine asked.
"They'll likely stay at the back to command the goblins. I can focus on drawing them out using ranged spells. Once they're isolated, we can eliminate them together," Merlin replied.
Cairine exchanged glances with her lieutenants before nodding. "Fine. You've got a plan, mage. Let's see if you can execute it."
As night fell, the caravan was positioned strategically in the valley, with Highlander warriors stationed on the flanks. Merlin worked quickly, inscribing lightning-based trap arrays along the valley floor. These traps would not only disrupt the goblins' movements but also create confusion, giving the defenders an edge.
When the goblins finally arrived, their high-pitched shrieks echoed through the valley. The moonlight revealed their grotesque forms scrambling over rocks and bushes, weapons raised high. The Hobgoblins stayed back, barking orders in guttural tones.
Merlin activated the first set of traps as the goblins surged forward. Lightning erupted from the ground, shocking the first wave and throwing the horde into disarray. Cairine and her Highlanders charged in with precision, cutting down the disorganized goblins with ruthless efficiency.
As the battle raged on, Merlin targeted the Hobgoblins with well-placed Volt Lances. One fell, but the others quickly adapted, using goblins as shields. Merlin pushed his mana harder, sending out a chain of Static Tethers to immobilize a group of goblins, creating an opening for Cairine to break through the enemy line.
The Hobgoblins, realizing their disadvantage, began to retreat. Merlin, his mana reserves running low, coordinated with Cairine to launch a final assault. Using his Flashstep Lunge, he closed the gap between himself and the leader of the Hobgoblins, slashing through its defenses with his Black-Iron Saber.
The battle ended in victory, though it left the defenders exhausted. As the caravan resumed its journey the next day, Cairine approached Merlin with a rare smile.
"You did well, mage. Maybe you're more Augmenter than I thought."
Merlin simply nodded, the experience a testament to how far he'd come—and how much further he had to go.
The aftermath of the goblin ambush brought an unexpected shift in the dynamic between Merlin and the Highlanders. Cairine's group, known for their skepticism of outsiders, began to view Merlin with newfound respect. His decisive actions and tactical mind during the battle had proven his worth, but what truly impressed them was his willingness to fight in close quarters alongside them.
From then on, the Highlanders began coordinating more actively with Merlin during their journey. Whether it was setting up defensive formations, scouting routes, or preparing ambushes, they consulted him and treated him as an equal. Cairine often exchanged ideas with him during their marches, and even the more stoic members of her group began to ask him questions about his techniques and the Rolling Thunder cultivation method he occasionally displayed.
For his part, Merlin embraced this newfound camaraderie but deliberately began to rely less on his mana spells and more on his body refinement and martial arts. Part of it was strategic—reserving his mana for emergencies—but there was more to it. Merlin didn't want to be seen merely as a mage.
He was a disciple of the Dawnsedge Sword Sect. Myrddin's memories might have given him an advantage in magic, but Merlin's identity was rooted in the path of the augmenter. He was determined to honor the Sect's philosophy of balance between body and mana.
During one sparring session at a campsite, Merlin demonstrated this resolve. One of Cairine's lieutenants, a burly warrior named Faryn, challenged him to a duel to test his physical capabilities.
"Let's see if you can fight without all that magic, mage," Faryn said, hefting his broad axe with a grin.
Merlin simply unsheathed his Black-Iron Saber, adopting a neutral stance from the 8 Blades Body Art. The sound of thunder seemed to hum faintly around him as he took a deep breath, his muscles coiled like a spring.
The duel was intense. Faryn's strikes were heavy and relentless, forcing Merlin to rely on speed and precision. Each time Faryn's axe came down, Merlin used his saber to redirect the force, his movements fluid and efficient. The Rolling Thunder cultivation technique had strengthened his muscles and reflexes to an impressive degree, and it showed.
Finally, Merlin used a step from Thunder Steps to close the distance in an instant. With a calculated feint and a swift strike, he disarmed Faryn, his Black-Iron Saber resting lightly against the Highlander's neck.
Faryn laughed as he stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "You're more than just a mage, Merlin. You fight like one of us."
The Highlanders cheered, and from that point on, Merlin was no longer "the mage." To them, he was a warrior in his own right, someone who embodied the ideals of strength, skill, and strategy.
As the journey continued, Merlin found himself becoming more attuned to his martial techniques. His mastery of the 8 Blades Body Art deepened, and the Thunder Steps technique became almost second nature. He began incorporating elements of his body refinement training into his fighting style, blending strength and speed with explosive bursts of power.
Though he still held Myrddin's memories and arcane knowledge, Merlin knew that his true path lay in forging his own identity—a balance of magic and martial arts that honored both his past and his future as a disciple of the Dawnsedge Sword Sect.
*****
Faryn had developed a habit of challenging Merlin every evening, each duel testing a different aspect of combat. That night, however, Faryn decided to forego weapons entirely and proposed a wrestling match.
"Come on, Merlin," Faryn said with a grin, flexing his massive arms. "Let's see if all that fancy footwork translates to real strength. No blades, no tricks—just you and me."
The Highlanders gathered around, cheering and laughing as Merlin reluctantly stepped forward. He rolled his shoulders, his toned frame dwarfed slightly by Faryn's bulk.
"Fine," Merlin said, his voice calm but determined. "But don't complain when you lose."
The match began with Faryn lunging forward, his hands outstretched to grab Merlin. Merlin dodged with a quick sidestep, his movements smooth and calculated, but Faryn was relentless. Every time Merlin tried to find an opening, Faryn's raw strength and superior size forced him to retreat or reposition.
After a few minutes, Merlin realized he couldn't rely on technique alone. Faryn's body refinement techniques, honed through years of training in the harsh Highlander traditions, gave him a physical advantage that was hard to overcome.
With a deep breath, Merlin decided to unleash the Lightning Vein Body Augmentation technique. It was the first time he had used it since the Maze trial months ago, and he could feel the familiar surge of energy coursing through his body as the technique activated. His veins pulsed faintly with a bluish glow, and his muscles tightened as if charged with electricity.
The next time Faryn came in for a grapple, Merlin met him head-on. This time, he didn't dodge. Instead, he locked arms with Faryn, their muscles straining as they fought for control. The Highlander's eyes widened slightly as he felt the unexpected power behind Merlin's grip.
"Impressive," Faryn grunted, his smile turning into a determined grimace. "But let's see how long you can keep it up!"
The two men wrestled fiercely, their movements kicking up dirt as they struggled against each other. Merlin's augmented speed and reflexes allowed him to counter Faryn's brute force, and his enhanced strength gave him the leverage he needed to hold his ground.
Finally, Merlin saw an opening. Using the enhanced speed from his Lightning Vein technique, he shifted his weight and performed a flawless leg sweep, bringing Faryn to the ground. Before the Highlander could react, Merlin pinned him, locking his arms in place.
The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter as Faryn, pinned and breathless, slapped the ground in surrender.
"You've got some hidden tricks, Merlin," Faryn said with a chuckle, wiping the sweat from his brow as Merlin helped him up. "That was something else."
Merlin smirked, his body still humming with residual energy from the Lightning Vein technique. "You're not so bad yourself. Maybe next time, I won't have to use them."
From that night on, Faryn and Merlin's matches became a highlight of the caravan's evenings, each one a blend of camaraderie and competition. The Highlanders grew even more respectful of Merlin, recognizing that beneath his calm demeanor and disciplined technique lay a relentless drive to improve—a drive they all shared as warriors.