From a distance, Mican could not make out the detailed features of the carriage or its party members, but he could tell that the members of the convoy seemed dangerous. There was a whole party of them and three of them were on horseback.

He could not recall having ever felt such an eerie feeling before in his entire life. The carriage emitted a feeling so dark it almost felt as if the sun was slowly being blotted out, and oddly enough, the young man was filled with heavy emotions of disdain and disgust.

As the carriage was on the same road he was, and there was little chance he could outpace it as he was on foot, Mican crouched down in the bushes, deciding to wait for the convoy to pass by before beginning his trek. He also wanted to see what was so special about it, being able to invoke such strong emotions in him.

The convoy eventually stopped at the stone outpost, and a figure on horseback could be seen waving at the two men standing guard on the structure, their loud voices echoing through the trees.

Having finished whatever they were saying, the figure, seemingly the leader of the group, signaled forward, and the group continued forth across the path.

One of the two guards on the outpost, similar to the youth before, ran out a few moments later. He went jogging opposite of Mican through the winding path where the convoy came from.

The clopping of horseshoes and rattling of metal rang out as the carriage and its companions drew closer, and Mican could finally make out the members of the troop, and the cargo the vehicle contained.

This was a party of seven people, six men and one woman. Three of the men were on horseback, one of them riding closely to the carriage’s side, while the second followed the figure that Mican assumed to be the leader of the group.

The leader of the group was an average sized, blond-haired man with sharp blue eyes that almost seemed to shine. The young man seemed to be in his early twenties, around the same age as Mican.

He wore a silver robe lined with gold, reminiscent of a priest, and he was fairly heavily armored, steel armaments covering his torso and arms. He carried a large golden mace that was blinding in the sunlight, seeming almost too fancy for a weapon.

The two men that followed him on horseback were in a full steel armor, a visor on their helmets covered their facial features, and they carried shields and sheathed cross-swords.

The three men on horseback seemed to be a trio, as they all carried the same insignia emblazed onto the center of their clothing, armor, and shields. Mican recognized the emblem to be a simple red war-hammer inside a golden circle.

Four other individuals were with the team, seemingly subordinates as they followed the commands of the blond-haired man.

“Don’t stray behind and don’t let down your guard, members of the Brave Heart. I cannot afford to fail this mission. It must be completed smoothly and without issues. This is my chance for greatness, do you understand?” A light voice rang out from the priestly blond-haired man riding the horse, his seeming aimed at the four companions travelling with him, resounding through the woods into Mican’s ears.

The crisp, clear voice echoed through his brain, raising both of his eyebrows. The language the blond-haired man spoke was exactly the same as his native language.

To Mican, this should not have been possible, and he couldn’t make a single lick of sense out of it in his head.

“Sir, I can’t even count how many times you’ve told us already. What is this, only the fifth time I’ve been hearing these exact words since we’ve met?” A smooth male voice responded back.

The voice came from a black-haired man in his late twenties who drove the carriage pulled by two horses. The man’s facial features were fairly plain, and he carried a bow and a quiver full of arrows strapped to his back.

He wore brown leather armor and a light green cloak on his back that swayed gently in the wind, the color of the cloak same shade of green as the leaves in the forest. A large, cruel-looking hunting knife was strapped to his side.

“Be quiet, Erving. Of course we understand, sir. Rest assured, we took our C+ grade party placements a long time ago, we’re fully capable of a simple escort mission as long as we get our due.” A gruff voice sounded out, Mican identifying the source as a middle-aged man walking at the front of the pack.

This man had short brown hair on his head and a well-groomed beard. He seemed more experienced than any other member of the group, his face appearing well into his forties, covered in scars of various sizes.

The man wore a full set of heavy, studded leather armor, multiple layers of it showing attached to the chainmail on his body. A stone war-hammer was strapped to the man’s hip, it had a pole the length of a fully grown man’s arm and a head the size of two fists.

“Of course, Mister Brewster. You will all be rewarded with a mountain of gold if we safely arrive at Yaribol’s Grand Tower, but only if.” The blonde-haired man frowned his eyes slightly before he continued speaking.

“It is because you refer to this mission as ‘simple’ that I feel the constant need to remind you. You clearly do not understand the dangers of the cargo we carry. I do not blame you for your lack of caution, but this is a genuine B+ class demon we were tasked with, please keep that in mind.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

As the group neared, Mican’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the carriage. A large rectangular prism of metal appeared before his eyes, being about three meters long and two meters wide, drawn on four large metal wheels.

Both the floor and the roof of the box were metal, and both left and right sides of it were lined with thick steel bars slightly thicker than a grown man’s arms. The front and back of the box was completely walled off.

The watching young man quickly realized that this was no carriage, but instead a jail wagon. Looking through the bars in the jail, both disgust and shock filled the young man.

A large, hideous creature sat within the jail, thick black liquid dripping from multiple open wounds on its body, both fresh and old. From all the areas not drenched in black, Mican could tell that the creature was white in color, an unnatural white, similar to the color of bone.

The being did not seem to have skin, its body appearing of a similar composition to bone, and even sitting it neared the height of a man.

The creature’s body was bony and gangly, but quite muscular. Its arms were very long, reaching down to its knees, resting awkwardly on the ground in the jail wagon which was clearly too small for it.

The most disturbing part about the creature was its head, being unshapely on its body and looking similar to a skull, but irregular in the fact that it had no skin. It was as if it was the creature’s skull, despite there being a clear skeletal structure beneath the head.

It had blunted, rotting yellow teeth in two rows, similar to a human, and it had no eyes, only two deep black concaves in the place where they usually would be, as if carved out with a pencil. Its head hung loosely between its knees on a thick and lengthy neck which was about two feet long.

Other than the four thick limbs, the creature didn’t look like anything human.

“Is this thing really that dangerous? It looks pretty creepy, but it hasn’t really acted up so far.” A light female voice came from one of the figures moving along on the ground.

The woman was walking along the plains, farthest to the forest, so Mican had only barely noticed her presence. She seemed to be around her early thirties, very faint signs of wrinkles on her face. She was fairly pretty despite her age, long and dull red hair that reached her hips flowed from her head, and her facial features were very well defined.

She wore a long blue cloak that reached down towards her shins, and a large hood hung from behind her head, clearly meant for purpose of disguise. Underneath the cloak, Mican could spot several small pieces of leather armor along with two large daggers similar to his own, two each strapped both left and right of her waist.

“Don’t underestimate this demon, Mirabel. I’ve only ever heard of such an evil from the Caspar family’s treasured archives, and I had to pay a fortune for the knowledge. It should be powerful, and terrible.” A deep male voice reverberated into the surroundings, from the final member of the four-man party.

This voice belonged to a man who looked to be around thirty. He gave off an aura of authority despite not looking very old, and he was fairly handsome, having sharp facial features and smooth brown hair.

The man was fairly tall and wore plain purple robes with a similarly purple cloak on his body. The only points of notice on his clothing were a woven system of dotted stars upon his cloak, and a belt connected by a red crystal that was clasped around his waist.

There was a dagger sheathed in the belt, and he wore a small pendant on his neck in the shape of a water droplet, red in color. The only other significant feature of the man was that he was walking along with the help of a long wooden staff as large as him, a large blue crystal embedded at the top.

“Scholar Leigh is correct. This is a demon rarely seen, dubbed ‘The Devil’s Traveller’ by our forefathers." The blonde-haired man elaborated on the scholar’s words, giving him a look of appreciation. “It’s rare that a wandering godcraftsman has knowledge this deep, Elder Leigh. I find myself constantly being impressed by you on this journey.”

“Please, Sir Johnathan, you humble this old man. Give anybody my age and they will have learnt the same.” Leigh paused and gave a short bow towards the riding horseman, in an elegant fashion.

“Yes, but the hard part is whether or not they would make it to your age.” A chuckle rang out from the blonde-haired young man.

“Can you please not openly poach my party members in front of me, Sir Johnathan.” Grumbling sounded out from the middle-aged man named Brewster.

“Don’t mind those two grumpy old men, Johnathan. Why don’t you recruit me instead? I can show you the charms of a mature lady.” Interrupting Brewster’s grumbling, the red-haired woman of the party spoke sultrily towards the young leader, giving him a suggestive wink.

“W-why, I’ve been sworn to chastity, my lady! We cannot do such an immoral thing.” A red blush appeared on the young man’s cheeks. Flustered, he stuttered out his response to the teasing.

Chuckles rang out in the air from the rest of them, some of the ice breaking between the two parties, and clear goodwill showed as the members of the group chatted amongst each other.

“He’s lying to you, little human fools. A mountain of gold, for a simple escort mission? The moment we arrive at the Tower of Godcraft, he will have you all executed!” A sickening, deep voice interrupted the laughter and chatter, coming from the center of the group.

The source of the laughter was the hideous creature sitting in the jail. Its voice, reminiscent of a tire skidding on gravel, broke any trace of harmony in the atmosphere, setting a solemn mood in the air.

“Silence, you foul imp.” Johnathan spoke out in disgust towards the creature.

Immediately after his words, the scraping of metal sounded out as a sword was drawn from its sheath and pierced into the side of the demon, its owner being the fully armored horseman closest to the cage.

Black liquid splattered out from the fresh wound as the man took back his blade, but the demon only gave a toothy grin with its disgusting mouth, not showing a single reaction of pain.

Surprisingly to Mican, despite the demon’s words not a single eyelash was batted, or doubt expressed. Other than a few mean looks from the party and a glob of spit from the man named Brewster, no other reaction was shown.

It was evident to Mican that this manipulation attempt had already happened before, or that they were prepared for it, showing nothing but disdain.

“Haaahahaaaaahaaaa”

A revolting laugh sounded out from the demon, earning him another stab to the side. It was then made clear to Mican that the demon did not care about the attempt, knowing it would not work, but that it simply wanted to ruin their good atmosphere.

Distaste once again filled Mican, and he lowered his head further into the bushes as the wagon drove by. Letting them pass him by, the convoy continued on their way. He planned to wait a good ten to twenty minutes or so before he made his journey, but for the first time since he had seen it, the demon made a slight movement.

Its head turned only slightly, but it was as if there were eyes in the two sunken, empty holes in the demon’s head, staring directly at him, even though there looked to be nothing there.

At the same time, the bowman, Erving, stopped chatting with his party members as his eyebrows turned down, and his eyes sharpened as they began scanning the woods.