Ghost Prince

Compared to the journey there, the caravan's return trip was much more peaceful. Forget Orcs and bandits—even apart from a few corpses beside the supply points, they had not encountered a single person. They had barely seen any animals, either.

But everyone knew why.

Whenever they thought of it, many of them felt their spirits sink.

As usual, the merchants kept their distance from Dant's Greatsword, staying at the rear with their eight empty camels. The furtive glances they cast over occasionally concealed resentment and unwillingness.

The few remaining Mercenaries led the way with weary steps, pulling two camels. Not one of their warhorses had survived. The only two camels they had were ones Dean had "borrowed" from the merchants in the name of safety after arguing with them—and even threatening them with his sword.

Dean and Mackey walked at the very front, dragging their exhausted bodies and gloomy spirits along the road home while occasionally discussing the location of the next supply point.

Old Hammer had not recovered from his injuries. He leaned half his weight against a camel and trudged forward, coughing painfully, looking as though he might fall at any moment. Louisa followed worriedly behind him, always ready to catch him if he fell. Kuaishang trailed behind them, sullen and preoccupied, having lost all interest in telling jokes or hawking his business.

The entire group's atmosphere was quiet and oppressive. Death and blood had worn away the Mercenaries' former easygoing cheer. After the ambush, battle, casualties, and extortion, it seemed that happy team would never return.

In such circumstances, the Prince could only remain silent. He tightened the crossbow behind his shoulder, straightened the scarf shielding his face from the sun, and consciously walked at the rear of the Mercenary group. After fighting alongside them against the