After driving off the bandits, it was clear that continuing the journey was out of the question.
The caravan decided to find a relatively safe clearing nearby and set up camp for the night.
As darkness fell and the campfires crackled to life, the weary guards finally had a moment to catch their breath.
But for Arthur, the end of the battle didn't mean his responsibilities were over.
Taking advantage of the brief calm, he gathered his soldiers for a short but meaningful pep talk.
After enduring the trial of blood and fire, many of the younger soldiers had shed their naivety. In its place was a newfound excitement and confidence that came with their first taste of victory.
Some of them, however, seemed a little too exhilarated. Their hands trembled slightly as they gripped their weapons, as if they couldn't wait for the next fight.
Arthur understood this feeling well. It was a sign of growth, but also a potential danger.
His tone was calm and steady as he addressed them. He neither exaggerated their victory nor downplayed the risks they had faced.
He reminded them that real war was far more brutal than this small skirmish, and that their journey of growth had only just begun.
Once the morale talk was over, Arthur finally had a moment to open his Data Panel.
His eyes quickly scanned the familiar numbers, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Just as he had expected, the soldiers' experience points had increased significantly, with most gaining between ten and twenty points.
For the spearmen who had already reached level five or higher, the progress wasn't massive, but at their current stage, even the smallest improvement was valuable.
However, Arthur's attention was soon drawn to his own stats.
Arthur Grayson
Class: Knight, Level 7 (65/100)
Experience Pool: 0/100
"Not bad, up by three points," he murmured to himself, satisfaction evident in his tone.
Not only that, but his knightly squire had also made notable progress, reaching level four.
Just as he was about to close the Data Panel, something unexpected caught his eye.
At the very bottom of the screen, a new icon had appeared—one that clearly didn't represent a human.
Warhorse (Unnamed)
Quality: Common (47/100)
Experience Pool: 0/100
"Wait, even warhorses can be added to the Data Panel?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of excitement flashing in his eyes.
This discovery was both surprising and thrilling.
If selling weapons was a lucrative business, then the trade of warhorses was like striking gold in a monopolized market.
The price range for warhorses was staggering. Ordinary horses might cost ten gold coins, but a well-trained warhorse could easily fetch dozens, if not more. Some were so rare they were practically priceless.
Arthur quickly replayed the earlier battle in his mind, trying to figure out what had triggered the warhorse's inclusion in the Data Panel.
Was it its performance in combat? Or perhaps its obedience to him?
Based on his experience with soldiers being added to the Data Panel, he leaned toward the latter explanation.
Still, if every warhorse required his personal training to be added, the practicality of this feature would be limited.
Even so, Arthur couldn't help but feel excited about the possibilities.
Even if it couldn't be scaled up, he could still use this method to cultivate a few elite warhorses, giving him a significant edge in future battles.
As the night deepened, the camp gradually grew quieter. Just as Arthur was preparing to rest, Geoffrey, the leader of the caravan, slipped into his tent.
The man looked a little embarrassed but got straight to the point.
He promised that once they returned to the city, he would provide an additional reward. While it wouldn't be a huge sum, it would be enough to show his gratitude.
"This is only fair," Geoffrey said earnestly. "After all, you and your men risked your lives to protect us. We can't just ignore that."
Arthur nodded, a faint smile appearing on his face.
Arthur didn't care much about the extra reward Geoffrey had promised, but he appreciated the man's attitude.
This kind of partnership—one that respected both rules and relationships—was the foundation of long-term cooperation. At the very least, it would make future dealings between them much smoother.
After a brief rest, the caravan set off again.
Although the bandit threat had been dealt with, Geoffrey was still visibly shaken. Sitting stiffly in the wagon, his hands gripped his knees tightly as he silently prayed for the rest of the journey to pass without further incident.
Despite the attack, the caravan's profits from this trip were still substantial. In fact, the latter half of the journey proved even more lucrative.
Arthur knew this success was largely thanks to the reputation of the Falcon Caravan. Without their connections, he would never have been able to enter these mountain settlements so easily, let alone linger and observe.
Arthur had given his soldiers clear orders: stay disciplined and avoid any conflict with the mountain folk. Their job was to protect the caravan and quietly watch as the locals came and went, trading their goods.
Standing off to the side with his arms crossed, Arthur's sharp gaze swept over the area. His mere presence was enough to deter any would-be troublemakers from acting on their impulses.
The camp's relative calm was suddenly broken by the sound of an argument.
"Can't you lower the price on the medicine? All I've got are these rabbit pelts!" a desperate voice pleaded.
"No way! These rabbit pelts are barely worth anything—they're only good for making gloves. Top-grade medicine like this is for my own use. Why would I sell it to you for cheap?" Geoffrey's voice was firm and dismissive, leaving no room for negotiation.
Arthur's attention was drawn to the commotion.
Turning his head, he saw Geoffrey locked in a heated argument with a ragged-looking mountain man. The man's face was etched with desperation, while Geoffrey's expression was cold and disdainful.
Arthur began walking over, ready to intervene before things escalated.
Seeing Arthur approach, Geoffrey's confidence grew. While he always acted humble and restrained in front of Arthur, he showed no such courtesy to the impoverished mountain folk. Sympathy wasn't in his vocabulary, and the idea of taking a loss was as painful to him as losing a limb.
The mountain man's fists clenched tightly, veins bulging on his forearms. He was clearly at his breaking point. His gaze darted between Geoffrey and Arthur before finally settling on Arthur.
In that moment, his body trembled slightly, and a flicker of fear flashed in his eyes. He clearly recognized who Arthur was. But then, as if reminded of something, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand his ground.
"Please," the man said, his voice low but resolute. "Give me the medicine. Next time, I'll bring you ten wild boar pelts in exchange."
Ten wild boar pelts?
That was no small offer. Those pelts could be used to craft several high-quality leather armors, far more valuable than ordinary trade goods.
Geoffrey's eyes lit up for a brief moment, but his expression quickly returned to indifference. He looked the man up and down, sneering at his tattered clothes.
"Next time? You'd better worry about not starving to death first! Get out of my way. If you keep blocking my path, I won't be so polite."
The mountain man's fists tightened even further, his knuckles turning white. It seemed like he was on the verge of snapping.
But just as he was about to lose control, a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Friend, you look familiar," Arthur said, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable authority.
The mountain man froze, startled. It was as if he suddenly remembered something. His body instinctively tried to pull away, but Arthur's grip was like an iron vice, holding him firmly in place.
No matter how much he struggled, his strength was utterly useless against Arthur.
Arthur, however, was quietly surprised. The man's raw strength was far greater than that of an average person—stronger even than many trained soldiers.
But what intrigued Arthur more wasn't the man's strength.
It was something else entirely.
"I don't know you! Let go of me! This isn't a place for outsiders like you to throw your weight around!" The mountain man's voice carried a mix of panic and anger.
His shouting quickly drew the attention of the surrounding mountain folk.
Even with the Falcon Caravan's reputation backing him, Arthur knew that causing a scene in a place like this was far from wise.
Still, he ignored the curious and wary gazes around him. Instead, he turned to his squire, Gilbert, and calmly instructed, "Go fetch my medicine."
Gilbert nodded and hurried back to the camp. A short while later, he returned with a small pouch in hand.
Arthur took the pouch, then handed it to the mountain man. His tone was calm but carried an undeniable firmness. "Friend, I mean no harm. Ten wild boar pelts—I'll take the deal. This is my personal medicine, far better than anything you'll find on the market. Especially… for treating deep puncture wounds."
Arthur's sharp gaze locked onto the mountain man's eyes, as if he could see straight into his soul.
The man instinctively avoided Arthur's gaze, his expression shifting into something more conflicted. He wasn't sure if Arthur had already figured out his situation, but the thought of his gravely injured brother waiting at home made him grit his teeth and accept the pouch.
"Outsider, I'll bring you ten wild boar pelts," the man said, his voice low but filled with stubborn determination.
Arthur nodded slightly, his tone steady. "Good. The next time the caravan comes through, I'll be waiting. If I'm not here, you can give them to Geoffrey."
The mountain man turned to leave but stopped after a few steps. He glanced back over his shoulder and asked, "Knight, tell me your name."
Arthur smiled faintly and replied, "Arthur Grayson."
The man stood silent for a moment before responding, "My name is Amos. I'll bring the pelts."
With that, Amos strode away, his steps firm and resolute. Arthur watched him go, his expression calm but thoughtful.
Geoffrey, however, sidled up to Arthur, his face full of regret. "Sir Arthur, I'm afraid your medicine might have gone to waste. These mountain folk… they don't exactly share a knight's sense of honor."
Arthur chuckled lightly, his tone carrying a hint of deeper meaning. "No, I think he's a warrior. He deserves a chance."
Geoffrey raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What makes you say that?"
Arthur didn't answer directly. Instead, he smiled faintly and let his gaze linger on Amos's retreating figure.
In his mind, Arthur was already analyzing the situation. Among the mountain folk, those who dared to stand their ground and fight were often the strongest and most capable. If someone else had been leading the caravan, they might have already been overwhelmed by people like Amos.
Men like him were rare assets among the mountain folk—potentially invaluable in the right circumstances.
And Arthur knew one thing for certain: his medicine wasn't something easily obtained by just anyone.