Leonard stared at the man in front of him, barely able to keep the terror from creeping across his face. He’d just arrived in this village, one of many he visited every few months, and barely had time to settle in when *this guy* shows up. Big sword, weird posture, and insisting they speak in person.

'What does he want?' Leonard thought.

He had his doubts about this guy right away. You don’t get to lead a caravan by being gullible, after all. But they were in the middle of the village, within sight of his guards, so he figured he was safe enough. Besides, a little courtesy never hurt.

'oh just a mercenary looking for a ride.' He almost started planning a polite way to refuse the request, but then the guy pulled out something Leonard didn’t expect—an old, bronze-colored noble sign.

'He’s a noble?!'

Leonard’s mind raced. No one in their right mind would fake a noble sign, especially not one with a specific design like this. He’d taken the time to memorize every house in Albion—it’s the kind of thing an illegal son of a minor noble had to do to survive and thrive in the business. And this sign? 'Highcliff.' A small barony in the far north of the empire. The kind of place no commoner would even know about, let alone forge a sign for.

'But what in Mesra’s name is a lord from the far north doing here?'

Leonard didn’t have time to answer his own question. The only thing that mattered was keeping this guy from getting pissed off. He bowed slightly, trying to mask his growing dread. "I wonder, my lord, why thou wouldst travel with a humble caravan such as ours?" Leonard asked, forcing politeness into every syllable while hoping to get some answers. 'Either way, this can’t be good.'

The man chuckled. "Oh, that? I have my own... personal reasons. And of course, I can tell thee—after all, thou art going to carry me. It would be rude not to, but that might... put thy safety in danger."

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Leonard’s stomach flipped. 'Danger? Oh no, no thank you.'

"No need for explanation, honorable lord! I would be most honored to carry thee to the capital!" The words came out faster than he thought possible.

The man smiled in a way that made Leonard’s skin crawl. "Good. I hope I am not causing any kind of trouble for thee... am I?"

'Yes, yes you are,' Leonard thought,"Not at all, my lord. Our caravan shall be honored for generations for carrying thee." 'Absolute bullshit'

"Good. Then I shall wait at the inn. Inform me when thou hast finished trading."

"Of course, my lord. No need to worry, we have already finished."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Already? Thou hast been here for what, fifteen minutes?"

"Our merchants are very fast!"

"Is that so? Most caravans stay at least three days, mayhap a week."

"Our merchants are very very fast!!!"

The man laughed, and Leonard forced himself to join in, both of them chuckling together, completely ignoring the mountain of unsold supplies stacked in the caravan behind them.

'I’m doomed,' leonard almost cry

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I leaned back in the wagon, resting my head against the soft cushions. The interior was way fancier than I expected, all gilded wood and embroidered drapes. 'He gave me his personal wagon?' How considerate of him. I chuckled to myself.

'Of course, the kid’s terrified,' I thought, staring at the intricate designs above me. 'Can’t say I blame him. Hard to run a caravan at his age without a healthy dose of paranoia.'

But credit where it's due—he handled it fast. The wagon was comfortable enough that I almost forgot the circus I had to go to soon. Almost.

My body sank into the cushions, and before I knew it, sleep crept up on me, dragging me under.

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"We're heading off to the capital now."

The words had barely left my mouth when my men started looking at me like I’d just grown an extra head. One of them, Torsten—bless his soul—couldn’t help but voice what they were all thinking. "Boss… the capital? But we just got here... we haven’t even bought or sold anything yet..."

I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. "Well, there’s a noble in my wagon who wants us to leave now," I said, my tone as flat as possible.

"A noble?! What’s a noble doing here—and why does he want us to go to the capital?" Torsten pressed, his face scrunching up in confusion.

"Do I look like I know that?" I snapped. "Go and get ready to move. Quickly."

One of the younger men—clearly not understanding the severity of the situation—piped up. "But, boss… we still have three villages to go before the capital…"

I stared at him for a moment, and then I hit him with the only option that made sense. "Very good... how about you go and tell him that yourself, Torsten?"

Torsten’s face went pale faster than a ghost in broad daylight.

"Get ready," I repeated, this time slower, like I was talking to a child. "The sooner we leave, the safer we’ll be. And be careful—don’t be rude to the noble in *any* way... unless, of course, thou hast a death wish."

I have never seen these men move so quickly before, I wasn’t complaining. The faster they packed up, the faster we could get out of this nightmare.

After slipping a few coins to the utterly confused village elder and throwing in a couple of vague promises about coming back later, we finally left.