The group of adventurers treaded east with refreshing ease. A good night sleep had certainly worked its magic, as their previous alertness had vanished into thin air. Their new half-orc comrade also walked alongside them.

  

The member of Silvar Cavalry now seemed much more open after being entertained by the half-orc's funny banter. In fact, none of them, particularly Shihle, seemed to have any knowledge of what had transpired last night, because if they did, Globrom wouldn't be slapping the half-orc's shoulder and laughing boisterously.

    

"Right, isn't that infuriating? Bwahaha, I regret not kicking that man's face!"

 

"Bah! I say ya should have farted in that bastard's face!"

 

"…how did I not think of this?!" Globrom looked like his life had lost its meaning.

  

Seeing this, everyone, except for Cloven, laughed. The tale behind Globrom's nine fingers was something he'd tell every time he'd hit off well with someone. It was already famous amongst the adventurers how Globrom had gotten into a fight with one of two Great Dukes' guards and managed to kill all of them at the loss of his forefinger. It was not until his comrades paid blood money to the guards' families that the Duke dropped the matter.

   

After three hours of hard travel saw them an area missing the thick underbrushes of the landscape they had left behind. Less trees impeded their vision, and no entangled mass of shurbs hindered them from advancing forward.

   

The gusts of winds were cool and wet of morning dew, like breaths of air from a cold waterfall, even though the blazing sun above them threatened sunlight.

  

Malazan realised that they were almost about to reach their destination. Also realizing this, eager smiles crept on the faces of Silvar Cavalry. Driven by his excitement, Globrom quikened his pace, yet, before he could move any closer, the ground beneath his feat caved in. All they heard was a scream before arrows came gliding towards them.

  

The members of Silvar Cavalry responsed swiftly. Zaron unsheathed his sword, slashing all the arrow coming his way. Shihle, the Spell-Caster, chanted a conjuration spell, 'Flame Arrow.' Fiery bolts—that appeared out of nowhere—were hurled, knocking out all the arrows within the spell's ten meters range.

   

On the other hand, Cloven simply ducked low as two arrows passed over him. The rest of the arrows were easily dealt by Malazan; griping his sword's hilt, Malazan swept it in a single fluid arc that ended with all the arrows being deflected.

   

From his peripheral vision, he noticed a slight movement from the trees. Within a moment Malazan caught a glimpse of someone's silhouette as he crossed from the shadow of one tree to the next.

  

"Is this how you greet your comrades, Alcot?" Malazan bellowed, a faint smile appearing on his face. "Look, l might have even gotten injured thanks to this trap of yours, don't you think?"

  

"Hahaha, I doubt this little trick would have been enough to scratch that bigger-than-life body of yours, to nothing of injuring you." A man emerged out of the woods. A long sleeved, animal skin jacket covered him to well above his waist and was half buttoned up at the bottom right side. The sleeves of his jacket were a little wide and reached down to below his hands, they were decorated with a single thread lining and a decorative band.

  

He wielded a longbow and calmly made his way towards them. After seeing the appearance of their ambusher, flickers of surprise passed over the Silvar Cavalry eyes before they heaved out a sigh of relief.

  

"Sorry, everyone. I thought it was an enemy after sensing that someone has fallen prey to the pit that I laid," he apologized with a bow.

  

"That dumb pig! Getting caught by surprise like that, even though he is the ranger of our team!" Shihle hurumphed in anger.

  

Alcot grinned. "Yeah, he is the last person I'd expect to not detect my trap," he said in a laughing manner.

  

Alcot was not wrong to say as such. Rangers were proficient in moving stealthily through the wilds and hiding themselves in brush and rubble. They focused their combat training on techniques that were particularly useful in stealth and detection, hence for a high rank ranger like Globrom to be unable to detect the trap must either mean he didn't have his guard up, or that he had gotten rusty. Or maybe a mix of the two scenarios.

  

"Anyway, what took you guys so long, Malazan?" Alcot turned to look at him.

  

The two parties had chased the remnants of the demihumans who had launched an attack on them. Eliminating a few orcs and ogres was not a difficult task for people of their strength to carry out, however, for them to take so long caused others to be worried.

  

"Well, it's a long story. I will explain it you on the way." Everyone smiled wryly at his response.

  

"Alright, then," Alcot nodded, curiosity clearly visible in his eyes.

  

However, as they were about to leave, a scream resounded from the pit,"Hey--don't just leave us here, ya guys!!"

 

"What? When did you fall in there, Dench?" Blen asked in shock.

  

An embarassed coughing sound came from the pit. "I…got frightened when those arrows came flying…and accidentally stepped on this hole in panic…" The half-orc's voice carried a wisp of helplessness.

  

Sensing it, Malazan smiled. It's better for you to taste defeat once in a while, he thought.

  

Ropes were thrown inside the pit and the two victims helped themselves, safely reaching the surface. Globrom got an earful about his recent poor performance by the party captain, Zaron. While on the other hand, Alcot was surprised to see the half-orc amid their ranks. He questioned them until his curiosity was sated, and kept glancing at the half-orc with interest from time to time.

  

The group soon worked their way forward through the woods, drawn by the light gleaming past the thickets. Shortly after, an open space of land became visible to their eyes.

   

Malazan spotted three men standing near a strongly sprung carriage, drawn by four grey geldings. The carriage seemed luxurious enough to be considered the vehicle of a wealthy noble or a merchant. The men looked equally fine, their equipment far better than what most low-ranking adventurer might glean from lifetime of hardwork. It was clear they took care of their weapons.

   

One wore a well-made, overshirt of linked chain, while the other next to him wore a fancy robe with extravagant carvings on top of it. Malazan assayed their party's leader; the man stood out in comparison to the other men. He donned a full body armor, which had been fashioned out of steel.

  

Although steel was a fairly common metal unlike mithril and adamantine, but a full body armor made out of it still surpassed the pockets of many high-ranking adventurers. That said, such extravagance was to be expected from the Moonlight Squad's, another four-star adventurer party from the capital.

   

Spotting them from afar, the leader waved at them. As they neared them, the leader came forward to greet, "You know, we were about to come looking for you guys," a muffled voice rang out from his helm.

  

"Yeah, it took us longer than expected."

  

"Is that so? Mr. Sablester has been waiting for you guys inside the carriage for quite some time, so let's get going. Oh? Who might this fella be?" Asked the leader, taking off his helm. A determined-looking face with dark hair and eyes appeared before them. He eyed Dench with keen suspicion.

  

"Someone we met on our way here, Alcot will explain the details to you, Darkeye, " Malazan said, addressing the man by his nickname.

  

"I see. Let us get going, then." He studied Malazan's expression for a moment before commanding his party memebers to place all the luggage onto the carriage.

 

 

The carriage steadily followed the road to Kraasea. The road, pitted and overgrown, was not far from a river, which provided a constant source of water and food for them.

  

Holding onto the horses' reins, Malazan leisurely sat in the box seat, along with two captains of the other teams. The elevated seat was sizable enough to accommodate all of them.

  

The rest of the adventurers sat inside the carriage, guarding the merchant and his luggage.

  

"Say, Malazan. What do you think of all this?" Darkeye interrupted the silence with a question.

  

"What do you mean?" He asked, pretending to be oblivious.

  

"You know what I mean." They glared at each other and the first one to look away was Darkeye. This contest of wills, however, went completely unnoticed by the eyes of Zaron who was sitting beside them.

  

Taking a deep breath, Darkeye slowly continued, "Why did our client request such a powerful line-up just to be his bodyguards?"

 

You're too inquisitive for your own good, Darkeye. And this will surely hamper you from tapping into your full potential, Malazan thought to himself with a sigh.

  

Certainly, the request was quite absurd this time around. Their client, Sablester, a wealthy merchant of Kraasea, had filled in a request three days ago, asking for the services of three four-star adventurer parties. This had caused quite a stir amongst the other adventurers. If one didn't know any better, they'd have thought that the man was plotting a rebellion.

  

In addition, to hire the services of three four-star parties didn't come cheap. The contents of the request stated that they were to guard the merchant and his luggage safely all the way to Kraasea. Though, for him to hire their services for such a simple task arosed naught but suspicion.

  

"Oh, yeah. I did smell something fishy back then. I don't think the luggage he is carrying is something as simple as a few valuable jewels," Zaron chipped in, offering his own two cents.

  

"Indeed. I have a premonition that our client is hiding something from us," Darkeye scratched his chin, brooding deep into the matter.

  

"How about investigati—"

  

"That is enough, you two. Our mission is solely to guard. Prying any further into our client's motives will be tantamount to breaking the Guild's code," he stopped them with a sharp glare. He had a faint inkling as to what the merchant would might be carrying. And considering the possibility of him hitting the bullseye, he figured it was better for the others to not get involved. The less people knew, the better.

  

"…yeah, sorry about that. I guess I got a bit too hyped up over this."

 

"Same here."

 

The conversation abruptly ended and silence prevailed. As Malazan thought back to the image of a slender, fidgety merchant, he couldn't help but look forward to the rest of the journey.

 

I wonder how someone like him got his hands on such an interesting toy.

 

3 Days Prior to the Party's Departure, 5:45pm

   

Weasel desperately run through the slums. At the moment, the sun was setting, putting a veil of red over the horizon.

  

He had been running almost the entire way since leaving the Adventurers Guild, so his breath was ragged and sweat beaded his face. 
Exhaustion made him want to rest, asked him if he wouldn't like to catch his breath, but time did not permit him such a moment of respite.

  

And then when he turned tight around a corner—
“Watch out!” Someone who happened to be on the corner groaned.

 

However, it all happened so fast that it took Weasel by surprise, and he collided against the stranger. All it took was a heartbeat before he felt his face slamming into someone's sturdy chest. Honestly, the concussion from collision was so hard that it felt like he had banged his face into a wall instead. He staggered back a few steps.

  

Weasel forced his mind to concentrate despite the fatigue and the waves of pain that dogged him with every halting step. He now looked at the stranger. The man had a face covered with scars. And because of the dark clothes he was wearing, he melted into darkness.

  

Irritation overcame Weasel and he yelled. "That's what I should say! Look where you're--eh? Crook? What are you doing here?"

  

"Boss wants to know why you haven't been reporting to him lately." Crook gestured for Weasel to follow him.

  

The mention of his boss caused Weasel to freeze. All the fatigue and pain he felt evaporated into air. It felt like someone had poured cold water over him. "I-I was coming to report to him, anyway," he grumbled before following Crook to a run-down shack. They stood before a certain door. Crook knocked twice, followed by a short pause, before knocking again.

  

The reaction to the sign came instantaneously. Weasel heard the creak of wood from behind the door, and the wooden plank covering the peephole moved. Green eyes peered out from the gap. They scrutinized Weasel and Crook. "Oh, so it's you guys. The boss has been waiting." Without waiting for their reply, he replaced the plank. Weasel heard the sound of a key being inserted in the doorknob, and shortly afterwards the door slowly opened.

  

As Weasel was about to enter, Crook pushed him aside and stepped in first. Weasel huffed in anger. It wasn't an overstatement to say the man could knock him unconscious with a single punch. Hence, there was nothing he could do, except take it lying down.

  

"C'mon in." Crook ushered him in. After entering, Weasel's nose caught a whiff of a nauseating stench. Expecting himself to get used to it, he slipped in a room to his right.

  

Someone closed the door promptly after he entered. The room was so cramped that only a single table could be placed inside. A dozen candles standing on it lighted the room with a dim gleam.

 

A man giving off the vibe of those who took violence as their profession and murder as their creed moved a chair and flumped down in it. He had a robust, mascular built, and a few scars occupied his face. He studied Weasel for a short while, causing the latter to tremble in response. "Why haven't you been reporting to me?"

 

"Boss, our prey had made a big move, so that's why I wanted to observe the situation a bit more before reporting to you."

 

"Oh? What did he do?"

  

"That fucking merchant borrowed the services of three four-star adventurer parties to guard him!"

  

"What?!" The boss replied in a surprised tone. Indeed. He also did not expect for the man to be capable of affording such a powerful line-up. The chair beneath him squeaked. "When do they set off?"

  

"Tomorrow morning from what I have heard."

 

"I see, we don't have much time left, then."

  

"B-boss, don't tell me we are still going after him?" Weasel stuttered. No one in their right mind would want to fight a congregation of so many powerful adventurer parties.

  

"What? Do you have anything else to say?"

 

Seeing the boss' murderous glare, he shivered and shook his head.

 

"Good. Tell the others to get ready. We will intercept them on the way. All we have to do is capture that man and seize his possessions. We will just have to figure a way to keep those adventurers busy till we have accomplished our mission. It's not like we are going to fight them to death."

  

Although his boss said so, Weasel still felt his neck tingle. Something told him their mission wasn't going to be so simple.