Margur Incident (I)

In the vast wilderness, amidst the undulating mountains, there is a narrow road, like a long snake.

Magur Trade Route.

This is a historic trade route, traversed by countless merchants over the millennia. It was once a vital passage between the Lakman Duchy and the Bosque Duchy, and an essential route for the exchange of goods and the transport of supplies. The road surface is filled with traces of the past.

"Tell those ahead to hurry up!"

"If we can't deliver on time this time, we'll be in trouble with our superiors."

The rough voice of a middle-aged man came from the most luxurious passenger carriage, which had a crest of flames and vertical pupils on the front.

A caravan of hundreds of carriages was hurrying along the ancient road, laden with goods from the Embers of the Burned Kingdom. Hundreds of fully armed Hobgoblin soldiers stood guard on both sides of the caravan. This was the "Free Trade Caravan" led by Hart, a large-scale caravan representing the official government of the Embers of the Burned Kingdom.

This caravan was notorious throughout the the North countries, yet it attracted countless ordinary citizens who flocked to it. They dumped large quantities of cheap goods, making the Scania People, who had never seen good products before, willingly hand over their gold and silver.

"Call--"

A cold wind howled past, lifting the car curtain.

Inside the luxurious carriage, Earl Hart couldn't help but exhale a breath of Sulfur Scent air. As a nobleman with fiery dragon blood flowing through his veins, he loathed this kind of cold, biting weather.

"Damn it, it's that weird wind from the the North again."

"Once His Majesty unifies Anzeta, I'll have to find a way to go south to do business; the weather here is absolutely terrible."

Hart stroked his scaly chin and muttered to himself.

At the head of the caravan, old John was leading the wagons along the road. The wind made his thin body shiver, and he couldn't help but wrap his cotton coat tighter to protect his weathered old bones.

"Embers of the Burned King."

"I hope everything goes smoothly this time too."

Looking at the seemingly endless trade route, old John muttered to himself.

According to the merchants, the king of the kingdom seemed to possess some kind of divine power that could bestow good fortune upon them; otherwise, how could they have made a fortune in just a few short years and squeezed out merchants from other countries in the the North, leaving them miserable? Over time, grooms like old John also got into the habit of praying before their journeys, not out of any particular piety, but simply out of habit for a safe trip.

Old John was also born a serf.

However, when he was in his twenties, he was sold into a caravan and became a slave to the traveling merchants. Later, the caravan was captured by the kingdom's army, and the caravan leader was beheaded and his head displayed to the public.

Old John was lucky; he not only gained his freedom but also got a job as a groom because of his familiarity with the trade routes.

"Old man, how much longer until we get there?"

A girl's head suddenly popped out from the carriage. She looked about eight or nine years old and had the new braids that were popular in the kingdom. She looked mischievous and clever.

"Misha, didn't I tell you to stay in the carriage?"

John, with a serious expression, gently tapped the girl's head with the short stick on his riding crop.

"Hmph, fine, if you're not going to tell me, then so be it."

The girl touched her head and sullenly shrank back into the carriage.

She was originally a "commodity" in a slave caravan of Northern Nobles, but was later rescued and adopted by John, who named her "Misha". Old John had no children, so he treated this girl as his own granddaughter, using all his meager wages to support her education.

However, Misha was always disobedient. She secretly hid in the cargo and infiltrated the caravan, which gave old John a lot of headaches.

Old John urged the horse on, muttering to himself:

"I told you long ago, traveling as a merchant is no child's play; bandits and monsters on the road could kill you!"

"With the kingdom's elite protecting us, do we need to worry about safety? Hehe, since I'm already here, let me see what's going on and keep you company."

"Well"

Old John sighed and shook his head. This mischievous girl always left him feeling helpless, yet he was also unintentionally moved.

He gazed at the road in the distance, his brows furrowed slightly.

"The Magur Trade Route seems a bit strange today."

"It's too quiet."

The experienced John immediately noticed something amiss. Magul was one of the busiest trade routes in the the North, and usually other caravans would travel along it, but today they were the only ones.

"I hope it's just a coincidence."

Old John thought to himself.

He was just a lowly groom and had no right to decide the caravan's actions; he could only follow Lord Hart's arrangements.

After all, in the Anzeta Great Wasteland, apart from those mindless beasts, no one would be foolish enough to provoke the caravan of the Embers of the Burned Kingdom, and the beasts usually do not pose any threat.

The horses in the caravan became restless, and old John frowned, his lips trembling.

"Wait, what is this?"

It turned out that the ground was shaking.

A series of rapid, thunderous hoofbeats rang out.

Old John turned his head in a panic—

Countless cavalrymen charged down from the highest point of the hillside, galloping freely across the land. Their gleaming armor and the cold glint of their spear tips formed a steel torrent across the wilderness, while lion banners fluttered in the wind.

"For the Bosque Duchy!"

"For the order of the the North!"

Such cries echoed from afar.

Those were the most elite cavalry of the the North, the personal guard of the Bosk Family! "Enemy attack!"

"They're from the Bosque Duchy!"

"Who gave them the audacity to declare war on the kingdom!"

"Damn it, this has probably been planned for a long time!"

The caravan was thrown into chaos, with shouts and curses mingling together, making John feel dizzy.

Old John turned to look at the carriage behind him. Despite being drenched in sweat, he tried his best to remain calm and whispered to the carriage, "Misha, promise me you won't come out."

"Remember, no matter what happens, don't come out!"

But before he could finish speaking, he was rudely dragged away by the Hobgoblin soldiers.

After a brief period of chaos, the caravan, under Hart's command, hastily engaged in battle, and Old John, as a member of the caravan, was also pulled in to fight alongside them.

Hart himself came to the front lines, pointed at the approaching cavalry in the distance, and cursed, "Shoot them into sieves!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The Hobgoblin soldiers raised their spears and fired lead Lead Bullet, quickly felling dozens of armored cavalrymen in the distance.

This tactic, which was originally invincible and could practically dominate the entire the North, has now revealed unavoidable weaknesses.

Because there were simply too many cavalrymen, and they were almost all of Bosque's elite troops, while the Hobgoblin had no cover, these cavalrymen charged fearlessly, quickly stepping over the corpses of their comrades to reach them, piercing the Hobgoblin ' chests with their spears and beheading them with their sabers.

The Hobgoblin also switched to spears and bayonets, severing the horses' legs or impaling the riders on their backs.

The cries of "For the Embers of the Burned Kingdom!" and "For the Bosque Duchy!" echoed endlessly.

The brutal battle began.

The sounds of gunfire, spears piercing flesh, horses' hooves, wails, and roars mingled on the battlefield, creating a blood-soaked melody.