In a world with a long history, there are bound to be countless legends. The grassland under Felix's feet is one such legend. It's known as the Andre Plains. Historically, it was called the Scorching Wilderness. It's said to be the landing site of the first elves who migrated to the Delrano world.

Before the Tree of Life transformed the world, this land flowed with molten lava, and elemental beings from the Elemental Plane of Fire descended here.

The Tree of Life changed not only the Delrano world but also this scorching land. Now covered in lush green grass, it's become a verdant sea. The plains are home to a tribe of centaurs from another plane.

They suffered great losses fighting demons from the Abyssal Plane thousands of years ago, losing three generations of chieftains at Devil’s Cliff. As a result, the elves granted this land to the centaurs, whose males had almost entirely perished in battle, as a place for their recovery and growth.

Now, the centaur tribe, a close ally of the elves, maintains a population of about two hundred thousand. They live as nomads, mostly in the southern part of Andre Plains, where water and grass are plentiful.

The arrival of My Lord led to the rise of humanity, surpassing orcs and becoming the only race that could rival the elves. From a foreign species, humans expanded rapidly, controlling nearly a third of the world's territory in just a few thousand years.

This is the human race's expansion and growth. Felix had been traveling across these vast plains for two days.

Guided by a rough sense of direction, Felix rode eastward towards the human world, occasionally spotting traces of merchant caravans, which helped him stay on course and avoid getting lost in the vast grasslands.

He estimated that a medium-sized caravan of about a hundred people was ahead. The warmth of their campfire traces indicated that if Felix hurried, he could catch up with them by evening.

Traveling with the caravan was an excellent choice, as it meant no worries about getting lost, and more importantly, Felix was running out of provisions. He considered buying food from the merchants, having no confidence in his culinary skills.

Seeking wealth, caravans were the most active presence on the plains, trading food with orcs for materials or purchasing precious materials and artifacts from the elves at high prices. In the human world, anything from the elves was always tempting.

In the evening, Felix finally caught up with the caravan returning to the human world, but his approach alerted the patrol cavalry. Being a mercenary is not a simple job. Every living being cherishes its life, and any work related to it must be undertaken with caution.

On these plains, the mercenaries' duty wasn't just to accompany the caravan – that would be foolish and akin to joking with one's life.

They rode ahead of the caravan, scouting for danger, with the ability to escape quickly on horseback in case of danger. A patrol unit would circle the caravan within a five-kilometer radius to signal any threats, allowing the caravan to prepare defenses.

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Felix encountered such a patrol team: three members, two men and a woman. The men were tall and muscular, their sturdy muscles visible under their leather armor. The woman was robust, no less formidable than the men, wielding a huge two-handed axe.

Her pale skin and large pores suggested she was from the north, where Norman people lived, known for characteristics different from other human races.

After confirming Felix posed no danger, the patrol cautiously approached him and inquired about his intentions.

Felix's youthful and pale face earned him some trust. After a brief conversation, the Norman woman seemed to let her guard down completely, perhaps seeing the thin boy as someone in need of protection.

Felix politely expressed his desire to follow the caravan to the human city and hinted that if it wasn't possible, he would be content just to buy some food. Felix's request disarmed the mercenaries' hostility. They perceived no threat from him, just a simple request from a fellow traveler.

After all, he was just a child.

About fifteen minutes later, Felix met the leader of the caravan, a middle-aged man exuding a certain martial spirit, quite different from the corpulent merchant he had expected.

Felix learned from the Norman woman that this leader, once a border defense officer, was now transporting goods with the help of this mercenary group out of past gratitude, unlike other profit-driven merchants.

Merchant caravans traveling between races generally fall into two categories. One is organized by large trading companies with their own mercenary guards. The other, like this one, is formed by a few trustworthy merchants hiring mercenaries for protection. This approach is riskier, as rich caravans can tempt mercenaries to turn into robbers.

To ease the leader's wariness, Felix concocted a backstory for himself. His father, a human world merchant, was attacked by bandits, and Felix, saved by a roaming elven ranger, had been living on the outskirts of Mistwood Forest ever since. Recently, the ranger revealed that the Oath of the Shattered Blade adventurers might have been behind his father's demise.

So, the skilled young man decided to venture into the human world to seek clues and avenge his father. It was a clichéd plot from a knight’s tale, but it effectively won over the mercenaries with its familiar tropes, evoking sympathy and acceptance.

The notorious Oath of the Shattered Blade, coupled with Felix's fluent but simple Elvish, solidified his story's credibility. The caravan agreed to take him to the human city and even offered to help gather information.

Such tales of avenging a parent resonated well with these merchants and mercenaries, whose jobs exposed them to dangers unknown to most. If they were to meet an untimely end, they would hope for a son like Felix to seek vengeance years later.

Stories are always captivating but remain just that—stories.

That night, Felix camped with the caravan, placed in the middle as a gesture of sympathy for his quest to avenge his father.

"Why do you always wear a cloak, Felix?" asked the only young girl in the group, Marina, the caravan leader's daughter. She was a golden-haired beauty and the sole mage, or rather, a mage apprentice, in the group.

Felix remained silent, skillfully slicing beef with his sword, salting it, and chewing thoughtfully. His appearance had already won him favor among the few women in the caravan. His handsome features were undoubtedly attractive, and his youthful appearance disarmed their wariness.

Coupled with the sympathy and curiosity his story aroused, Felix had all the makings of a heartthrob.

"Felix, you seem very quiet," Marina interpreted his silence as a sign of his tragic past. A child who lost his parents and was raised by an elven ranger would naturally be reserved, she thought. Moved by compassion, the golden-haired beauty began to comfort her handsome peer.

Suddenly, the sound of clashing weapons arose. Felix stood up, looking towards the center of the caravan where the noise came from.

"They are just sparring," Marina explained, seeing Felix's interest. "Journeys are often silent and dull, so this is a way to add some excitement. Besides, the winner usually gets a few gold coins as a reward."

On long and monotonous caravan trips, sparring between mercenaries provided entertainment for the merchants and a break from the journey's tedium. It was a simple way to pass the time, with the added incentive of a small prize for the victor.