Someone

Finally, before night fell, the caravan master announced, at Dean's signal, that they would make camp and rest.

Under the setting sun, Tales did his best to help the mercenaries with whatever he could, such as pitching tents and trying not to look like dead weight. Since he had never done this before, he was always clumsy. The only consolation was that Kuaishang, who had just entered the trade, was no better than he was.

After half an hour of helpless fumbling and countless mistakes, Tales and Kuaishang—one an amateur and the other a beginner—finally managed to pitch three crooked tents for the mercenaries before the men returning from their shifts arrived.

Below the leeward slope, the mercenaries' camp was set up in one place.

Tales could tell that a considerable gap existed between these warriors who sold their lives for money and the people they were protecting.

As the merchants unloaded their goods, they kept glancing instinctively at the mercenaries' weapons, as though afraid they might pounce at any moment. Even when making camp, they stayed far away from the mercenaries, making the latter's tents stand out sharply. Yet their fear of danger also kept the protected merchants from straying too far from the warriors. Thus, a comical arrangement emerged: the mercenaries' tents stood together, while the other members of the caravan spread out in a fan around them at a certain distance. The camels on the perimeter formed another ring around everyone. Anyone looking down from the dunes would surely think the tents looked just like a shell.

Sweaty and exhausted, Tales sat down beside the tents with the still-excited Kuaishang. They watched Mackey, Hubert, and Dean light a fire up ahead before gradually settling down around the camp.

"The nearest resupply point shouldn't be far. The weather's