The Caravan

Baron Todd nodded, acknowledging the point. And indeed, the red dragon before him would never stoop to deceit. As the neglected thirteenth son of his house, he had meddled in power struggles at Northwind Keep and incurred his father's wrath, only to be enfeoffed to remote Sige Town. Rather than an enfeoffment, it was practically banishment. Adjacent to Storm Heights, this sparsely populated settlement lacked sufficient military strength; any external threat, whether giants or true dragons, meant utter disaster. It was far wiser to align himself with a powerful outsider nearby. He could preserve his position, cultivate his strength, and bide his time until an opportunity arose to break free, rival his brothers, and win his father's favor. With that in mind, Todd offered an obsequious smile. "I appreciate your candor, Lord Flying Flame. It is truly an honor to work with such a magnificent red dragon as yourself." Cassius gave a slight nod. "Remember this well, Lord Baron: recognizing Cinder Nest's absolute sovereignty over Storm Heights and offering reparations for your rash actions are the prerequisites and bedrock of our cooperation." "I shall keep it firmly in mind," Todd replied. A trace of amusement crept into Cassius's voice. "Then take your loyal subordinates and return to your manor. I expect to see what I asked for by tomorrow." "Yes, Lord Flying Flame." Baron Todd turned toward Hart, the deep-seated hatred for the butler's betrayal nearly impossible to suppress in his gaze. Yet with the red dragon towering before him, he dared not unleash his fury, managing only a forced, hollow smirk across his pale visage. Beads of sweat formed on Hart's forehead at the look. But realizing he now had the red dragon's backing, his life was secure. Better yet, serving as Cinder Nest's agent would allow him to hold leverage over the baron, so he offered a taunting smile in return. "Shall we depart, Lord Baron?" Those last two words were delivered through gritted teeth. Cassius watched the two scheming, mutually resentful figures walk away side by side, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction. His terms appeared "equal" on the surface, but held sinister designs beneath. Todd had likely realized as much, but had no room to refuse. Stationing troops and sharing trade oversight. Once both military authority and financial control of a region fell into Cassius's hands, Baron Todd would be reduced to nothing more than a puppet. And in his master plan, once the players arrived, even the baron would become completely expendable and easily cast aside. The red dragon stared at Baron Todd's gaunt, retreating figure. The baron had not become his thrall upon swearing the pact. He was a vampire spawn—a ravenous creation cursed with a vampire's bloodlust while bound to the will of its vampire sire. Whenever a vampire undertook the profane "Ascension Ritual" to become an Ascended Vampire free from sunlight's bane, all its spawn would serve as sacrifices, reduced to pools of blood. Only if a vampire permitted its spawn to drink its own blood would the spawn become a true vampire, liberated from its creator's dominion. Naturally, few vampires ever granted such a boon. In Cassius's past life, Duke Brad had attempted that very Ascension Ritual during a vampire questline. Fortunately, the players intervened—hundreds stormed the castle's subterranean depths in a chaotic blitz, putting an end to the crisis. *Tsk tsk...* *A vampire spawn desperately groveling for his master's approval.* *What a pitiful wretch.* Cassius's slit pupils flickered faintly in the dark before vanishing. *** Early the following morning. A sizable caravan heavily laden with goods rolled out of Sige Town. The townsfolk were long accustomed to passing caravans, though this one's guards wore heavy, face-concealing plate armor beneath dark hooded cloaks, their frames strikingly massive. Yet leading the procession was Hart, a familiar face who had vanished for days. If Hart was heading the convoy, it undoubtedly meant the baron had ordered it. And prying into the "Bloody Baron's" riches was an undeniably foolish notion. The townsfolk hastily reined in their inquisitive children, studiously averting their eyes from the caravan in terror of being rounded up for forced labor. Hart rode atop a steed in the middle of the procession. The towering guards marched on either flank, their breathing heavy and harsh. Although Hart could not see their faces, knowing they hailed from Cinder Nest made it easy to guess they were hobgoblins or bugbears. Yet he felt no panic; these monsters were precisely the guarantee keeping him alive. After returning to the manor last night, a furious Baron Todd had leveled countless threats and foul curses against him, yet never dared make an attempt on his life. Hart saw through the baron's empty bluster. Baron Todd dared not cross the red dragon. That was Hart's firm conclusion. The cargo carried by this caravan consisted of suits of armor, weapons, and twenty exceedingly rare spell scrolls—more than enough proof of Baron Todd's desperation to curry favor. Rather than a trade, it resembled a tribute. Hart let out a breath. Winter in Anzeta was unforgiving. As a plume of white vapor puffed from his lips, he bundled his thick fur coat tighter. Snow continued to fall without pause. The heavily loaded wagons pressed deep ruts into the virgin snow, reducing the large caravan to a creeping line of black specks against the white expanse. "*Awoooo—*" A strange cry drifted down from the snow-covered slopes. Drawn-out and shrill, it sounded like a mournful wail. The guards driving the wagons took it for the howling wind and paid it little heed. Hart, however, was experienced. He pricked up his ears, listened intently, and snapped to high alert. "Stay on guard! That's no howling wind!" Hart bellowed. Up on the distant slope, several white-furred figures darted across the snowy terrain like phantoms, hurtling toward the caravan while letting out ghastly, wailing shrieks. "Yetis!" Hart recognized the monsters instantly. Such burly brutes prowled mountain summits, perpetually hunting for fresh meat. Even in a fierce blizzard, yetis would track the scent of prey through the bitter cold and blinding wind. Hart's heart sank into despair. Running into yetis during a snowstorm was the worst possible scenario; the slightest mistake meant utter slaughter. He was on the verge of shouting for everyone to flee when he noticed the "guards" ripping off the black cloaks covering them. Standing nearly two meters tall, these guards were massive and muscular, with sharp tusks jutting from their mouths and cloudy yellow eyes burning with bloodlust and a savage thirst for battle. Their crimson hide stood out starkly against the white snow, covered in sparse, hardened scales. Hobgoblins. The finest warriors under Duoluo's command. "I almost forgot..." Hart murmured in dazed astonishment. "We've got monsters on our side too."