Chapter 155: Dire Situation

"Heh, Chief Eight, looks like this caravan has some good pickings. Once you're done, maybe we could have a turn, eh?" said a scar-faced bandit with a smirk, riding alongside two others as they sped toward the maple grove.

The eighth chief, clearly irritated, replied, "Get the job done first, and the big boss will reward you. Just kill this vagrant so we can report back."

The three bandits brandished their swords with vicious grins, charging toward the figure slumped beneath the tree. But just as they approached, the supposed vagrant suddenly lifted his head and looked at them without a hint of fear.

"Crack!"

In an instant, an intense chill enveloped the three bandits. They and their horses froze into solid ice, like lifelike sculptures. Then, with a sickening crunch, they toppled forward from their momentum, shattering into pieces on the ground.

Frozen fragments littered the forest floor—body parts scattered among shards of ice, yet not a drop of blood spilled. There was no scent of death in the air, only an eerie silence that made the scene even more terrifying.

The vagrant's gaze shifted coldly to the rest of the bandits in the distance.

※※※

"B-Boss, something's happened!"

The leader of the bandits, his eyes still on the beautiful girl Emma, scowled at the bandit's panicked shout from behind.

"What could possibly be so urgent?" he barked.

The trembling bandit turned pale, stammering, "The eighth chief… he's dead. And…."

"What?"

The leader's eyes gleamed with anger, boring into the bandit's terrified face.

"His death was… horrible. Boss, you really need to see this."

Furious, the leader commanded, "Fine, take me to it!" He glared back at the caravan, ordered his men to keep watch, and then led a group of bandits toward the grove.

In the maple grove, the leader found the ground littered with icy remains—frozen limbs encased in shattered crystals. Even the most hardened bandits felt a chill run down their spines as they stared at the vagrant, now slumped beneath the tree but clearly dangerous.

"You… you did this?" the bandit leader hissed, his face ashen. While he didn't understand how it had happened, his rage overcame his fear, and he bellowed, "Kill him!"

The bandits charged, swords drawn, but suddenly, a dense black mist spread through the grove, swallowing the advancing bandits whole. Moments later, flashes of electricity flickered through the mist.

"It's a mage! A sorcerer! Run!" Those who hadn't yet entered the mist turned and fled, screaming. Even the bandits who'd been guarding the caravan heard the commotion and bolted in terror.

Those who had been engulfed by the mist weren't so lucky. When the haze cleared, the grove was strewn with bodies, some lying askew with vacant expressions, others scorched from lightning. The air reeked of charred flesh.

The vagrant stared at the dead bandits, his face expressionless. He sighed, "Pathetically weak…"

It had been nine days since Merlin—the supposed vagrant—had taken refuge in the maple grove. He'd hoped that his potent blood and coagulants would suppress the corrosive poison long enough for him to find a safe place to create an antidote. However, the poison only seemed to spread faster, now infiltrating his entire body.

His strong constitution could no longer stave off the effects, and even the simplest movements felt agonizing.

Fortunately, these bandits had been weak—at most, their leader was a third-tier elemental warrior. Once cloaked in **Dark Mist**, they had stood no chance.

Merlin's gaze fell on the caravan in the distance. A few people were watching him from afar, and an idea struck him. Maybe they could help.

※※※

"Father, the bandits are gone!" Emma whispered, looking around and confirming that the attackers had fled.

"Yes, it seems they angered a powerful sorcerer," replied her father, Shebley, as he gazed at the figure in the grove. The rough-looking vagabond had shown himself to be a mysterious and mighty mage.

He had heard tales of mages before, of their incredible powers, but he'd never actually seen one. Now, he had witnessed a massacre—the bandits had been slaughtered without the mage even moving a muscle. It was terrifying.

When he noticed the mage glancing their way, Shebley's heart skipped a beat.

After a long pause, he took a deep breath and addressed his wife and daughter, "Come. We must thank the mage for saving our lives."

Despite his fear, he led Emma and his wife towards the grove where Merlin waited.

As they neared, they saw the bodies littered across the forest floor. The lingering stench of burnt flesh filled the air, adding to their tension.

"My lord mage," Shebley said, clutching his chest in a respectful gesture, "thank you for saving us from the bandits. I, Shebley of the Dürkman family, am deeply grateful."

Merlin looked up, his face pale but calm. He replied, "Mr. Shebley, I need your help."

"Help?" Shebley was puzzled. The mage seemed to possess incredible power—what assistance could he possibly need?

"I require a quiet, secure place. The town of Ditas should suffice."

Relieved that Merlin's request was so simple, Shebley smiled and said, "Please, sir, it would be my honor to arrange a safe place for you in Ditas. Come with us."

But Merlin didn't move, instead letting out a weary sigh. "If I could walk, do you think I would need your help?"

With that, he lifted the fabric covering his leg, revealing the exposed bone and decaying flesh beneath. Shebley, despite his experience as a merchant, gasped at the sight.

Once he recovered, he quickly nodded. "I'll fetch help to bring you to the wagon, my lord."

Merlin nodded. Soon, Shebley had ordered some of his men to carry Merlin to the wagon, and the caravan slowly resumed its journey toward Ditas.

※※※

"My lord, how is this? I found this courtyard in town for you," Shebley said, gesturing to a secluded courtyard as the caravan reached Ditas. Without even resting, he had scoured the town for a suitable location.

As Merlin was carried into the courtyard, he looked even paler than before. Without inspecting the place closely, he said, "Take me inside. And bring Emma; I need her assistance."

"Emma?" Shebley's expression shifted, and he hesitated before murmuring, "My lord… my daughter is still young. Perhaps I could find someone else…"

But Merlin's icy glare silenced him immediately.

"Mr. Shebley," Merlin said, his voice like a chill wind, "I'll say it again. Bring Emma."

Though Shebley was visibly conflicted, he eventually gave in and left to fetch his daughter. Merlin, meanwhile, sighed inwardly—he knew Shebley misunderstood his intentions, but he was too weary to explain. His condition was deteriorating; if he couldn't concoct the antidote soon, he'd be in real danger.

"Sir, I've brought Emma," Shebley called out from outside the door.

"Let her in," Merlin replied.

The door creaked open, and Emma stepped inside, her face a mix of curiosity and nervousness.