As the final light faded from the day, our camp was settling in for the night. After tending to the wounded and finishing the looting, our group worked quietly, burying the bandits' bodies nearby. An eerie calm followed the battle, but fatigue and the sense of victory over the fight kept spirits steady. I assigned Silvana to guard Sora and stay close to her during our journey, knowing the risks ahead. The road to the Aserai lands would be long, easily three or four days by our planned path.

To avoid drawing attention, we agreed to steer clear of larger towns, traveling through villages instead and trading supplies along the way. It wasn’t a journey we could afford to rush, and with the injured soldiers resting in our carts, we needed to take our time. If we hurried, we risked losing more men. I wanted to prevent any further encounters with raiders or looters, who were especially numerous near the borders.

The first day of travel was quiet, with the sound of the carts groaning over dirt paths the only thing filling the air. The sky was a blanket of gray clouds, with occasional gaps that allowed the sun to peek through and cast warm patches on the landscape. The smell of dust and distant fields of wild lavender filled my nose as we moved forward. Despite our small numbers, our group looked impressive, even organized—a force that felt ready for anything.

As the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the landscape, we approached a small village nestled in the hills. This was one of the villages under the authority of Lageta City, part of the Western Empire. The village itself seemed quiet, with only a few people out and about, mostly farmers leading livestock back from the fields. The sight was peaceful but carried a humble ruggedness, showing the resilience of those who lived there.

We made a trade, swapping some supplies for fresh meat and spices. The farmers offered us beef cuts, and the smell of it, earthy and raw, filled our carts as we prepared to settle in for the night. The villagers shared stories with us as we traded, tales of how they sustained their modest economy through cattle and horse breeding, proud of their small but thriving village.

The last of the daylight lingered on the horizon as Sora approached me. She suggested that our group could benefit from a few horses for the journey. She explained how it would not only ease the load on the carts but also reinforce our image as successful mercenaries. It was a sensible idea, and the suggestion stirred excitement in our recruits, who were eager for any symbol of advancement and wealth.

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The village head—a wiry older man who moved with a surprising amount of energy—took me aside to haggle for the horses. I had enough money for two sturdy desert horses, and after a lengthy negotiation that seemed almost a dance of words, he agreed to let them go for forty-four hundred denars. The transaction drained a substantial portion of the funds Sora had provided me, but the horses were a welcome addition.

That night, we camped just outside the village, with the men quietly chatting around small fires, savoring their evening meal. The sight of the horses gave everyone a sense of pride, reminding us of our mission and the reward we were all after. Silvana stayed close to Sora, and they shared some quiet words, almost conspiratorial, adding to the evening’s mystery.

We set off again at dawn, keeping a steady pace along the path southward. The wounded soldiers rested in the carts, their faces pale but determined, showing their strength through the pain. By midday, the road stretched out across a series of low plains that led toward Ortysia City. The plains gave way to sparse clusters of trees, each casting thin shadows that the wind tossed like whispers over the dry, sun-bleached grass.

In the distance, dust rose, heralding the approach of a Valandian army, around three hundred men strong. The sight sent a slight chill through me, as we all felt the weight of the situation. The Valandians were formidable, a force that could easily overwhelm us if they chose to, but it was unlikely they’d have any reason to harass a small band of mercenaries. Still, we kept our distance, watching their banners ripple in the hot breeze as they marched. The sound of their footsteps, even from a distance, was a deep, rhythmic rumbling that spoke of order and strength.

As we approached the outskirts of Ortysia, we stopped in a small village to rest the horses, adjust the carts, and take inventory of our supplies. The sun was dipping low, casting a deep amber glow that spread like warm fire across the fields and rooftops. As I surveyed the village square, my gaze settled on a figure bound in chains at the center of the gathering. For a moment, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but then recognition struck—a face that I recognized, someone I hadn’t expected to see again. The memory of him was faint, like a ghost lingering in the back of my mind, but the sight of him now was jarring, flooding back emotions and memories.