Every head turned toward Klaus.

  Ulon blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Wow," he said, folding his arms. "Straight to business."

  "Klaus!" Maddy hissed sharply from beside the wagon. Her fingers tightened around the wooden rail, knuckles pale, but she didn't move closer. Concern flickered in her eyes—half for the Kultians, half for whatever trouble Klaus was deliberately stirring.

  The Kulitian leader narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

  Klaus shrugged lightly, as if asked why the sky was blue. He lifted one hand and flicked his wrist.

  Space rippled.

  With a dull thud, five massive wooden barrels full of water appeared on the rocky ground, followed by three enormous cured pork legs wrapped in cloth, their rich, salty scent immediately cutting through the dusty air. Ten salted biscuit bundles tightly bound with paper landed neatly beside them, along with few small red vials that clinked softly as they settled.

  Even the wind seemed to pause.

  Klaus said casually. "This is enough for several days. A week, if you don't eat like Ulon."

  "Hey," Ulon protested.

  "And a few health regeneration vials," Klaus continued, nodding toward the wounded Kultians. "For those who need them. I just want gold in exchange."

  A hush fell over the clearing.

  Kiel leaned out from near the wagon wheel, eyes sparkling with interest. "Oh," he said brightly, "are we negotiating now?"

  "Quiet," Maddy snapped, grabbing his boot and yanking him back. "This is not a market stall."

  Shane said nothing. He watched the Kultian leader closely, eyes sharp, mind turning. He also noticed what Klaus clearly intended others to notice: the children staring at the pork legs, eyes wide, throats bobbing as they swallowed. One boy clutched his mother's sleeve unconsciously. Several elders deliberately turned their heads away, jaws clenched, pretending not to smell the food.

  The man frowned deeply. "What is the meaning of this?"

  Klaus smiled—not kindly, not cruelly. Amused. Almost gentle, in a way that made it worse.

  "A trade," he said. "You've been in the wilderness for a long time. Food and water don't last forever out here. I'm not trying to offend you. I'm being considerate."

  From the wagon, Maddy scoffed under her breath. "Considerate, my ass."

  Petra leaned closer to her, voice hesitant but earnest. "Is… is Mr. Klaus cheating them?"

  Kiel tilted his head. "I don't think so. Maybe he found something."

  "You still believe him?" Maddy muttered.

  Both Petra and Kiel nodded immediately.

  Shalotte never gave any attention to the commotion. He carefully checked every part of the wagon, even the tiny nails on the side, never been safe in his eyes.

  Maddy pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. "I need new companions," she murmured, but didn't argue further.

  The Kulitian leader studied the supplies again, jaw tightening. "Aren't you worried," he said slowly, "that we might simply rob you? You're outnumbered."

  Behind him, several men shifted, hands sliding more firmly onto their weapons. The tension sharpened, thin as wire.

  Klaus didn't even blink.

  "You know we're here to kill the monster that hunts you," he replied calmly. "Do you really think numbers mean anything to us?"

  Silence.

  The man's expression didn't change—but something in his eyes did. Recognition. He knew it. These people weren't bluffing. They could wipe his group out if they wished.

  He opened his mouth, likely to refuse—

  "Is this enough, mister?"

  A young woman stepped forward before anyone could stop her.

  She couldn't have been much older than Kiel—perhaps a year or two at most. Her crimson hair was tied back tightly, though loose strands clung to her cheeks, damp with sweat and dust. Exhaustion weighed on her posture, shoulders slightly hunched from weeks of travel, yet her eyes were steady and unflinching. In both hands, she held a golden bracelet—delicately crafted, its surface engraved with fine, flowing patterns. Small, multicolored gems were embedded along its curve, catching the light even beneath the dull sky.

  A ripple ran through the Kultians.

  Whispers stirred. A few sharp intakes of breath followed. Someone muttered her name.

  "Anaya"

  Before Klaus could even lean forward, the man barked, "What are you doing, Anaya?!"

  His voice cracked through the clearing, raw with anger and fear. He stepped toward her, eyes blazing.

  "That's the only thing your mother left," he continued, jaw clenched. "Do you understand that?"

  Anaya didn't flinch.

  "I'm saving us, father," she said simply.

  Her calm only seemed to fuel his fury.

  "Saving us?" he snapped. "They're here for gold. Men like this are full of greed. Once he takes one thing, he'll take everything we have left."

  Behind Klaus, Ulon raised an eyebrow and pointed at him lazily. "We don't know him."

  "I don't know him either," Klaus added smoothly.

  The leader rounded fully on his daughter, his voice dropping into something colder.

  "Go back to the wagon," he ordered. "And take that with you."

  Klaus exhaled softly. The sound barely carried, but it cut through the tension like a blade.

  "Your pride will be the death of your people."

  The words landed hard.

  The man spun on him, hand flying instinctively to his sword. "What did you say?"

  Klaus met his gaze without a trace of alarm. His posture remained loose, almost casual, hands still in his pockets.

  "I said we're both greedy," he replied evenly. "Just in different ways."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "I don't care about wealth," the man shot back.

  "No," Klaus agreed at once. "You care about comfort."

  The man froze.

  Around them, the clearing seemed to tighten. The wind slipped between the rocks, stirring dust and loose leaves, but no one moved. Even Ulon had gone quiet, arms crossed now, grin faded into something more attentive. Maddy leaned against the wagon rail, brows knit, ready to step in if things turned ugly. Petra stood rigid, scythe close to her body, eyes darting between the man's sword and Klaus's unreadable expression. Kiel watched with wide eyes, excitement dulled by confusion. And there was Shalotte, oblivious to what was happening, keeping himself in his tiny world.

  "Contentment ends where greed begins," Klaus continued calmly. "You could've stayed in Pedleton. Life there would've been hard, but safe enough against the Varkeshian Authority. Yet, it wasn't enough for you. Crowvale is richer. More opportunities. So you led your people down this road instead."

  He tilted his head slightly. "Isn't that greed?"

  The man's jaw worked as if chewing the words.

  The clearing felt smaller now. Heavier.

  "Is it greed," he demanded, voice rising, "to want the best for my kin?"

  Klaus didn't answer right away.

  His gaze drifted—not to the man, but beyond him. To the children clinging to their mothers' clothes. To the wounded men sitting stiffly, pretending not to ache. To the exhausted faces etched with hunger, fear, and stubborn hope.

  "Isn't it?" Klaus said softly. "You already know the answer… How many lives have been taken—or will be taken—for what you believe is best?"

  No one spoke.

  Shane finally stepped forward, boots crunching against stone. His presence was steady, grounding, like an anchor dropped into turbulent water.

  “Enough,” he said calmly. Not a command—just a line drawn. “No one here is your enemy. Not today.”

  The man’s shoulders sagged, just a fraction. The fight drained out of him in a single breath.

  Anaya was still standing there, the bracelet trembling slightly in her hands. She reached out and touched her father’s arm.

  “Maybe,” she said quietly, “just maybe… you can let it slide. And consider their offer, father.”

  The man stared at the ground for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

  Anaya stepped forward and held the bracelet out toward Klaus. “Good mister,” she said, voice careful but hopeful, “please check if this is enough.”

  Klaus took the bracelet, turning it over in his fingers. He examined it—or at least pretended to. In truth, jewelry meant little to him beyond its weight in coin. He clicked his tongue thoughtfully.

  “It’s dull-looking,” he said at last. “The price might be acceptable. Barely.”

  Anaya’s face paled. Her father’s hand tightened on his sword again.

  “Is it… not enough?” she asked quickly. “Please wait. I can find more.”

  “Greedy bastard,” the man muttered.

  Klaus ignored the comment but raised a hand to stop Anaya. “No need,” he said. “I’ll take it as collateral. You can pay me in gold coins later.”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean—”

  “When you reach Crowvale,” Klaus continued, “pay me in gold. I’ll return this… junk to you.”

  The words were harsh. Deliberately so. But Anaya didn’t bristle. She understood.

  Her shoulders relaxed, and she bowed slightly. “Thank you, good mister.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Klaus replied, already turning away. “I’d rather have gold than this unappealing bracelet anyway.”

  For a brief moment, Anaya simply watched his retreating back. Then, despite everything—the insult, the tension, the danger—she smiled faintly.

  “I’ll thank you anyway.”

  Klaus lifted one hand without looking back, giving a lazy wave as he headed toward the wagon. “The supplies are yours now.”

  The tension in the clearing loosened, though it didn’t vanish entirely. The Kultians approached the barrels cautiously, as if half-expecting them to disappear. Children peeked from behind their mothers’ legs, eyes wide at the sight of cured meat and sealed water. A few elders whispered prayers under their breath.

  Shalotte jogged from the wagon, nearly tripping over a protruding stone before catching himself on his staff. He cleared his throat, straightened his robe, and raised his voice.

  “B-Boss! Everything’s fine!” he called. “No damage, Molly's fine, too. We can proceed.”

  Maddy shot him a look. “You don’t have to shout like the world’s ending.”

  “I—I was just being thorough,” Shalotte muttered, ears reddening.

  Shane nodded once, then turned toward the Kulitian leader. His posture remained composed, hands resting calmly at his sides.

  “I would like to apologize on behalf of my subordinate,” Shane said evenly. “He may be rude, but he meant no harm.”

  The man snorted. “He’s the one who should apologize, not you.”

  Shane smiled faintly—not offended, not defensive. “He’s my responsibility. It’s my duty to handle my members.”

  The man’s stern expression cracked just a little. “Then give him a good beating for once.”

  Ulon’s head snapped up. “I volunteer!” he said brightly, thumping a fist into his palm. “I’ve been meaning to stretch.”

  Shane didn’t even glance at him. “You will do no such thing.”

  “A shame,” Ulon sighed.

  “With that said,” Shane continued, “since everything is resolved, we’ll be taking our leave. I hope we meet again under better circumstances next time.”

  The Kulitian leader studied him for a moment, then nodded. “There will be a next time.”

  Both groups began to disperse—Shane toward the wagon, the man back toward his people. Dust crunched beneath their boots, the uneasy quiet returning like a held breath.

  Then Shane paused.

  “I almost forgot.”

  He turned back and raised his hand. A faint shimmer rippled in the air, and with a soft thud, a wooden barrel appeared beside the Kultians’ camp. Alongside it lay a neatly bundled stack of hay.

  The man narrowed his eyes. “What’s this?”

  “A gift,” Shane replied. “You may ration your portions, but your desert horses can’t. They need to eat, too.”

  The leader frowned. “You’re not asking for anything in return?”

  “I lack nothing,” Shane said simply. “It’s a gift.”

  He hesitated, then added, “One more thing. If you plan on waiting for us, move your camp away from this open plain.”

  The man crossed his arms. “And how are we supposed to know when you return? Or we were waiting?”

  “Send scouts,” Shane said. “This place may be quiet now, but that won’t last forever. Staying here only puts your people at risk.”

  The man exhaled slowly, then bowed his head. “I understand. Thank you.”

  Shane didn’t turn back. He lifted one hand in acknowledgment and continued toward the wagon.

  “Alright,” he said once he reached the group. “Everyone in. We’re leaving.”

  Kiel hopped up first, boots thudding against the wagon’s side. He nearly slipped, arms windmilling before he hauled himself onto the roof with a laugh. “Aw, already? I was hoping something else would explode.”

  Maddy, while climbing inside the wagon, shot a warning to him, “You’re hoping for the wrong things,” she scolded. “Sit properly before you break your neck.”

  Kiel just grinned and sprawled out, clearly enjoying the open space.

  Petra climbed up more carefully, glancing back once at the Kultians before settling beside Shalotte. Klaus leaned, arms folded, expression unreadable as always.

  Shane stretched one arm skyward. A shadow passed overhead as Zevy descended in a sharp arc, landing lightly on his forearm. Shane fed the hawk a small pellet.

  “Go on, Zevy,” he murmured. “Fly.”

  The hawk took off, circling high above the barren land.

  Shane sat beside Ulon on the driver’s bench and leaned forward slightly. “Ready, Molly?”

  The massive rhinoceros let out a soft snort, hooves shifting. Then, with a steady lurch, she began to move.

  Kiel sat sideways near the edge, legs dangling, pretending not to stare—failing miserably.

  He looked back.

  The Kultians were already moving. Cautious at first, then faster, urgency creeping into their limbs as reality set in. Men strained as they lifted the barrels together, boots digging into the dirt. Someone laughed in disbelief when the weight proved real. Another knelt immediately, prying open a lid just enough to confirm the contents before slamming it shut again, as it might vanish.

  Near one of the wagons, Anaya knelt beside a torn sack. She opened a bundle and broke apart salted biscuits with practiced hands, passing the pieces to the children clustered around her. Their faces lit up the moment the food touched their palms. They munched eagerly, crumbs dusting their lips, eyes wide and shining—as if they were tasting something impossibly precious.

  One boy hugged his biscuit to his chest before biting it, chewing slowly, reverently. A girl laughed, high and breathless, when another tried to steal hers.

  Kiel swallowed.

  “They look like it’s the best thing they’ve ever eaten,” he murmured.

  Maddy, sitting inside, looked back. Her usual sharp retort didn’t come. She only sighed, fingers tightening around the bench.

  Ulon glanced back as well, grin fading just a notch. “Salt does that,” he said lightly. “Makes even dirt taste like a feast when you’ve had none.”

  Petra leaned forward, hands folded around her scythe’s shaft. Her eyes lingered on the children longer than anyone else’s. “They’re happy,” she said softly. “At least… right now.”

  Klaus remained silent, eyes half-lidded, watching the scene with an expression that gave nothing away.

  Kiel hesitated, then spoke again, quieter this time.

  “Can they survive?”

  The question hung there, fragile as glass.

  The wagon rolled on. Wind swept across the barren land, carrying with it distant laughter, the clatter of wood, the low murmur of exhausted relief.

  Shane didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed forward, fixed on the road ahead—the canyon, the beasts, the dangers yet to come. Then he said, measured and honest,

  “They can survive today.”

  Kiel frowned. “That’s not what I asked.”

  Shane glanced at him briefly, eyes steady. “Survival isn’t a promise. It’s a series of chances.” He looked ahead again. “We gave them one.”

  Behind them, Anaya wiped crumbs from a child’s face and pressed another biscuit into small hands. The children laughed again, louder this time, chasing one another between wagons like the world wasn’t ending just beyond the horizon.

  Kiel turned forward as the wagon gained speed.

  He didn’t smile—but he didn’t look away anymore, either.

  Klaus, who was beside him, said, "Stop worrying about them. We already gave them what they needed."

  Kiel looked at him, "The supply?"

  Klaus lay his back, "No. Hope."