Brandishing his greatsword, Grant roared fiercely as he clashed with the assailants. "Hahaha, a bunch of fools! Did you think that's all I've got?" Engaged in the melee, Grant and Isef suddenly realized that Elena, whom they were supposed to protect, was now vulnerable. From the opposite bushes, a shadowy figure lunged forward. "Damn, another hidden scoundrel!" Grant bellowed, helplessly entangled in the fight. The emerging assailant reached for Elena, his face betraying his certainty of victory. Just as he was about to succeed, a dark object, trailing a blur, swooped down. The overeager attacker, having forgotten Sean's nearby presence, as did the others, who had momentarily forgotten the existence of the archery machine.

A scream of agony pierced the air as the attacker's outstretched arm was severed, splattering Elena's face with blood. Contrary to Sean's expectation, Elena did not scream but looked indifferently at the writhing figure before her. The composure she displayed startled Sean, revealing the disdainful demeanor nobles often had towards their inferiors. The image of the playful and beautiful girl he had seen when boarding the carriage seemed to fade away.

Standing beside Elena, Sean, armed with a sword picked up from the driver, stood like a war deity guarding the young lady. "Well done, lad!" both Grant and Isef exclaimed. Grant's greatsword, heavy and forceful, yet wielded with surprising agility, dominated the brawl, quickly dispatching the disheartened attackers who had been effortlessly outwitted. Meanwhile, Isef and the leader of the assailants, both skilled swordsmen, were locked in a closely contested duel. "I never expected my meticulous plan to be foiled by you," the leader remarked. "That means your plan wasn’t meticulous enough," Isef retorted, their swords clashing as they continued their verbal spar. "Is that boy one of your companions?" "Isn't he?" "He was the only variable I hadn’t accounted for!" "Alas, your regrets are futile now; you've no chance left."

Isef's short sword in his left hand suddenly locked the opponent's rapier, pulling it aside, exposing the man's chest. Seizing the moment, Isef's broadsword thrust into the unprotected body. "Battle isn't a time for chatter; you were too distracted," Isef commented like a swordsmanship instructor. The four survivors stood silently in front of the carriage, the horses nervously tapping the ground, the silence so profound one could almost hear the blood flowing. "That should be all of them. Isef, clean up here. Sean, help me move the bodies off the road." "Okay." Discarding his sword, Sean joined Grant in moving the corpses. Grant showed no pity for his fallen comrades, instead pilfering their belongings, which seemed a significant windfall to Sean.

"Sean, how do you feel?" "About what?" "Killing." "No particular feeling, quite indifferent." "You're a natural-born mercenary. I was terrified the first time I killed." Sean's nonchalance surprised Grant, who realized that becoming accustomed to bloodshed might be a boon for a young man in these tumultuous times. "They were trying to kill me! Maybe it's because I'm used to hunting; blood means little." Sean's response was detached.

As Grant prepared to lift the driver's body, the seemingly lifeless man slowly sat up. "Phew! Nearly scared me to death!" Laughter erupted as they watched the driver, still appearing drunk, sit up. It seemed in this unsettled world, even a driver had developed his own survival skills. "You're lucky!" Grant commented, examining the shot-through flask that saved the driver's life. The clever driver had feigned death at the perfect moment. "Let's get moving. The Eharz River is up ahead; we can clean up there." The driver suggested, as everyone, except Sean, was stained with blood, including Elena.

Elena, with a somber expression, climbed into the carriage, sitting silently as if enduring some great strain. Isef, Grant, and Sean, seated at the back, began examining their spoils. "Your arrows, only ten left usable." Isef handed Sean the recovered arrows. "No matter, I can make more with the right materials." "Look, this sword Isef got is quite something," Grant remarked, holding the leader's rapier, its conical blade adorned with gilded patterns and a gold-inlaid hilt. "An Italian Schwann sword, see the Ferrara blade mark. Probably a relic from some noble house. Indeed, a fine weapon, though I'm not a rapier user." "No worries, with the Ferrara mark it should fetch a good price in Reutlingen; many nobles there favor rapiers."

Sean, sitting aside, watched Grant and Isef appraise their unexpected haul. Besides the rapier, the rest of the weapons were ordinary, though the five crossbows could sell well among mercenaries. Sean's gaze stealthily shifted towards Elena, her pallor and apparent struggle to maintain her composure betraying her strict noble upbringing. "She's a Countess. Our town's lord is just a baron, two ranks lower," Sean thought. "No wonder she called me a country bumpkin." A hint of inferiority crept into Sean as he glanced again at Elena, then turned his attention back to Grant and Isef. "Kid, best not to harbor any thoughts about her." "Yes, we're from different worlds. Dream too much, and you'll be in trouble!" Grant and Isef warned Sean. "No, no! I was just thinking about her musket, such a loud bang!" Sean quickly changed the subject. "Yes, a fine piece for self-defense, only nobility can afford those spring-loaded types. I've seen the matchlock ones." Grant picked up the conversation.