The impatient Flaming Fist soldiers finally noticed something unusual.
A fully armed caravan was hurriedly approaching from the wilderness to the northeast. From a distance, its banners appeared to bear the embroidered claw of a black hand. Sharp-eyed scouts estimated that the caravan had more than forty people in total—a sizable force.
The mining district also sent several people forward. After the two groups met and appeared to discuss something, they led the caravan toward the district's exit.
Watching the Nashkel miners load iron ore crate by crate onto the transport wagons under the overseers' supervision, the Flaming Fist soldiers grew anxious. However, with Amnish soldiers guarding the mining district, they couldn't go forward and demand an explanation.
Skar and the others were still wondering when a mercenary group they had never seen before had appeared. "Has any of you seen this mercenary group's banner before?"
Everyone shook their heads. Zhang Yuan, who knew the truth, had already determined that the Iron Throne was behind this incident and had hired the Black Claw Mercenary Group to carry it out. Yet he could only keep his mouth shut. As an outsider who had been in Baldur's Gate for less than a month, what reason did he have for knowing so much confidential information?
Besides, what good would telling them do? Even setting aside whether his companions would believe him, could they really force a sale in front of the Amnish army and the Nashkel people?
If they really left the Iron Throne with that leverage, the Iron Throne would laugh itself to death even if it lost this shipment of ore.
Depressed, Zhang Yuan could only pack up with everyone else, break camp, and set off.
Of course, they weren't actually slinking back to Baldur's Gate. The dissatisfied members of the Flaming Fist insisted on finding out who these people were and whether they were truly connected to the previous robberies.
They trailed far behind the Black Claw caravan. Fortunately, the wagons were loaded with ore. It was impossible to expect fully laden transport wagons to have anything to do with speed.
The caravan slowly left Nashkel territory. After they bid farewell to the winding rivers and the smoke rising from the fields, the scenery gradually changed. The billowing dust, desolate cliffs, and wastelands all clearly revealed their situation.
Skar took out a map and estimated their progress, his expression turning solemn. "If my calculations are correct, we're already southwest of Firewine Bridge. Not only do ogre bands roam this area, but the kobold warbands from Firewine Bridge also come here from time to time to prey on travelers."
Steve, beside him, thought of something else. "This is all uninhabited wilderness and wasteland. Why did that mercenary group avoid the Coast Road to the west and take a detour through here instead? The only civilized town along this route is the halfling settlement of Valley Town. Are they planning to spend an entire month in this godforsaken wilderness?"
The Flaming Fist weren't the only ones confused. The Nashkel official responsible for the transport caravan was even more puzzled.
Just half a month earlier, this mercenary group called Black Claw had come to negotiate, claiming to bring goodwill from the Iron Throne.
At the time, the successive robberies of trade caravans had already caused Nashkel's powerful figures tremendous distress. Unable to find a way to recover their losses, they had still chosen to meet with Black Claw, even though the group's timing was undeniably strange.
However, the Iron Throne's influence and authority in the ore and blacksmithing industries were truly extraordinary. Though it was inferior to the Seven Suns Merchant Alliance controlled by Grand Duke Belth, it was not far behind.
Moreover, the leader who brought authorization documents, a man named Togos Kosan, had been exceptionally persuasive. Or perhaps the hefty advance payment had simply been too convincing.
In short, Nashkel's mayor, Bai Lang, had ultimately decided to end their cooperation with the Seven Suns Merchant Alliance, which had caused them enormous losses, and instead begin dealing with the Iron Throne's subordinates.
Everything had proceeded smoothly until the caravan left Nashkel territory. First, the Black Claw mercenaries had driven the entire caravan into this desolate region, claiming they were avoiding highway bandits. Then they adopted a lazy attitude, stopping and starting as though they were on a picnic rather than transporting goods. The mercenary captain also kept gazing toward a certain place, as if waiting for something.
While the Nashkel delegation was growing increasingly uneasy, their worst fears finally became reality.
A huge group of goblin bandits emerged from behind a distant barren hill and charged straight toward the caravan without the slightest hesitation. The previous tragedy had already left the Nashkel ore merchants terrified, yet they had still failed to escape this time.
They screamed in terror and desperately urged the Black Claw mercenaries to form a defensive line. Several of the more panic-stricken men had even begun fleeing.
What chilled the Nashkel people's hearts happened next. The Black Claw mercenaries not only refused to meet the enemy in battle, but instead drew their bows and shot several of the fleeing men. Then, abandoning their earlier courtesy, they turned toward the trembling quails with feral grins.
There was no longer any doubt. The so-called bandits and the mercenaries before them were part of the same group. The previous bloody attacks had likely been carried out by these people as well.
They could only regret having trusted the Iron Throne. No one had expected its ambitions to reach this extent. They had thought the Iron Throne merely wanted to abandon the Seven Suns Alliance and operate independently to seize a larger share. Now it seemed that the Iron Throne had never intended to compete through ordinary means. It planned to uproot the alliance completely.
The Nashkel people sprawled on the ground, having already abandoned all hope. Their opponents had never intended to leave any survivors.
No miracle occurred. The Black Claw mercenaries, who had suddenly turned against them, joined forces with the goblin bandits inside and out, leaving not a single survivor. They casually tossed aside the bodies, climbed onto the transport wagons, and prepared to set off again.
In the distance, the Flaming Fist stared in stunned silence. The change had happened far too quickly. Before they could react, the battle—or rather, the massacre—was already over.
Once they had calmed down, the others merely glanced at the enemy's numbers and abandoned any thought of charging in to die. More than forty Black Claw mercenaries plus nearly a hundred hobgoblins from the Hobgoblin Warband—a force of that size could already rival a small army in the Sword Coast region.
Even Skar could only grit his teeth and signal the soldiers to remain hidden. Their only option now was to abandon a direct assault and try to follow the bandits to their base. At the very least, they could capture a few prisoners and interrogate them for information.
However, their opponents gave the Flaming Fist no such opportunity. The seasoned and cunning Black Claw leader dispatched several teams to patrol and scout during the retreat. On top of that, the hobgoblins watched them menacingly with bows in hand, making it impossible for the Flaming Fist soldiers even to approach.
As he watched the enemy leave safely, Skar angrily hammered the ground before him. Then he rose to his feet. "Inform the scouts to abandon the pursuit. We're returning to Baldur's Gate."
Only then did Zhang Yuan realize that his first important mission would probably end in failure.
Everyone was gloomy along the way. In the Flaming Fist squad of more than thirty people, hardly a word was spoken. Even Zhang Yuan, who had already sensed that this might happen, was somewhat dazed after witnessing that massacre.
Even though he had personally slit the throats of several monsters, seeing his fellow humans slaughtered like animals was still difficult to accept.
Skar was the first to speak. He forced a faint smile onto his face. "We haven't failed completely. The ore was stolen, but that was Nashkel's choice, not something taken from us. Besides, we've learned something about those cunning bandits. Our intelligence will be important to Baldur's Gate."
That was what he said, but failure was still failure. Could they really receive praise after returning to Baldur's Gate empty-handed? As for the so-called intelligence, that was merely something they said to comfort themselves. They had only seen one banner and a group of hobgoblins. What was so important about that?
The soldiers could all see this, and almost none of them reacted. Only Bard, the old drunkard, continued gulping down his liquor. A terrible silence enveloped the entire group.
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