Chapter 13 - Shadows of the Hidden Trade

The caravan pressed deeper into the mountains as afternoon light thinned beneath high cliffs.

The narrow winding trail forced the wagons into a single-file line, threading carefully along steep drops and jagged outcrops. Occasionally, faint distant howls echoed off the rocks—the cries of predators lurking far from view.

Teresa walked at the front, armor gleaming under the sun. Her silver eyes moved constantly, tracing every crevice, every shifting shadow. Her cloak shifted softly with each precise step, the black Fairy Tail emblem centered across her back standing bold against the pure white fabric.

The encounter with the runed lizard earlier still lingered in her mind. Not because it had posed any real threat—but because its presence confirmed her suspicion:

Ralven wasn't telling them everything.

The air here pulsed with residual magic. Old, fractured power embedded into the stone like forgotten scars.

Not unlike the corrupted ruins she had cleansed before.

After several hours of quiet travel, the narrow path widened into a natural plateau. Ralven raised a hand from his covered cart.

"We will camp here for the night."

The caravan slowly came to a halt. The mercenaries moved quickly, unhitching the oxen and securing a defensive ring around the wagons. Small cooking fires were lit while guards posted a watch on the perimeter.

Teresa remained standing near the edge of the plateau, scanning the surrounding cliffs as dusk settled. The sky turned a soft violet, and cooler winds whispered down from the higher ridges.

Ralven approached her quietly.

"You're cautious," he said with a pleasant tone.

"There is cause," Teresa replied.

Ralven's smile remained fixed. "An admirable quality. It's served you well, I suspect."

"You underestimate how often caution fails."

Ralven chuckled softly. "You remind me of certain old mercenaries I've worked with. But you are sharper. Efficient. Dispassionate."

He paused, studying her face, searching for a crack in her composure.

"You've adapted remarkably well to Earthland, given... your unique origins."

Teresa did not react.

"I've heard whispers from certain circles," Ralven continued. "Rumors of a lone swordswoman—not native to this world—wielding strength, unlike anything Earthland has seen before."

"You listen to dangerous circles," Teresa said softly.

"That's my profession," Ralven said smoothly. "But I'm not your enemy."

"Not yet," she corrected quietly.

Ralven's expression flickered briefly, but the smile returned.

"You sense more than you speak, Teresa."

"I sense enough."

Her eyes drifted to the lead wagon where the artifact remained secured.

"That relic draws attention," she said. "Not simply from wild beasts."

Ralven nodded. "True. Its nature attracts certain... less disciplined hunters."

"Smugglers."

"Competitors," he corrected politely. "Some with no respect for trade boundaries."

"You mean poachers," Teresa said bluntly.

Ralven's smile thinned. "Semantics."

The wind shifted.

Teresa's senses sharpened instantly.

Movement—faint, distant.

Subtle, but deliberate.

They were being watched.

Without speaking further, Teresa turned and walked the perimeter, scanning the cliffs. The mercenaries watched her movements warily but offered no interference.

The Yoki inside her remained steady, but her sensory instincts worked far beyond what Earthland mages would recognize.

She detected faint energy pulses—not corrupted like the runed lizard, but active.

Several individuals.

Multiple positions.

Coordinated.

Not animals.

Human.

Or close enough.

As the last light faded behind the peaks, Ralven called out to the camp:

"Double guard shifts tonight. We are not alone in these hills."

The mercenaries obeyed immediately, forming tighter circles around the wagons.

Teresa stood quietly near the outer ring, her gaze fixed on the darkness beyond.

The first real threat hadn't even begun yet.

The hours passed slowly as night fully took hold.

Teresa remained perfectly still, standing guard as the camp settled into murmurs. The only sound was the occasional crackle of firewood and the soft snorts of resting oxen.

Even now, she felt their watchers.

Waiting.

Testing.

Sometime after midnight, a faint click reached her ears—the distinctive metallic snap of crossbow levers being drawn.

Multiple.

Hidden among the high rocks.

Then silence again.

The first strike was imminent.

She calmly summoned her Claymore from Requip in a soft ripple of light. The wide blade settled smoothly into her right hand, its weight familiar, perfect.

The black Fairy Tail emblem on her cloak swayed gently behind her as she shifted her stance.

Still no movement from the mercenaries—they hadn't noticed yet.

Only she sensed what was coming.

Then the first bolt flew.

A black-fletched crossbow quarrel streaked through the air, aimed directly at one of the rear guards. Teresa's body moved before conscious thought—a blur of silver as she intercepted the bolt with a clean upward swing, slicing it mid-flight.

The mercenaries jerked in alarm as several more bolts followed.

"Ambush!" one shouted.

Figures emerged from the high rocks—black-clad hunters descending rapidly along thin ropes, their faces masked by simple fabric veils.

Poachers.

Organized, trained, and heavily armed.

Teresa moved instantly.

She closed the distance to the first attacker before his feet touched the ground. Her Claymore swept horizontally, cleaving through his torso in a single clean motion. He fell without sound.

The second assailant landed behind her, swinging twin daggers laced with poison enchantments—but she sidestepped with ease, rotating her body and bringing the wide blade down diagonally.

Another clean strike.

Two down.

The remaining attackers spread out, targeting the mercenaries.

The hired guards held their formation, returning fire with crossbows of their own. Several poachers fell quickly under concentrated bolts, but more followed.

Ralven remained behind the wagons, watching silently.

Not surprised.

Another attacker leaped toward Teresa from the shadows, wielding a curved enchanted blade. His speed was impressive—nearly Earthland S-class. But his technique was reckless.

Teresa ducked low, pivoting under his slash, then rose with a vertical arc that split him from hip to shoulder.

Her faint smile remained unchanged.

The assault lasted less than five minutes.

Efficient, brutal, precise.

When the final poacher fell, bleeding into the dust, silence reclaimed the plateau once more.

Only six mercenaries and Teresa remained standing.

Ralven finally emerged fully from his protective cart, his voice calm. "Impressive."

Teresa did not sheath her sword yet.

"They knew your route."

Ralven nodded without apology. "Competitors. They prefer acquisition over negotiation."

"You expected this."

"I calculated the probability." He smiled faintly. "That's why I hired Fairy Tail."

Teresa studied him in cold silence.

He had gambled with every life in this caravan—including his own—expecting that she would eliminate the threat.

"The job continues tomorrow," Ralven said as though nothing unusual had happened. "We are almost through the worst stretch."

Teresa lowered her blade slightly but remained alert.

This man played dangerous games.

And the artifact still pulsed softly within its crate.

The worst, she suspected, had not yet arrived.