Chapter 99

Chapter 99

***

Traveling a long distance was a truly grueling and exhausting ordeal.

Walking for a long time was hard enough, but they also had to endure the drastic temperature changes between day and night, uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, thirst, and hunger—all at the same time.

They had no map. They didn't know how far it was. Therefore, they didn't know how long it would take.

It was an era where many naive rural folks believed that leaving their village meant certain death. The vast majority of the population never ventured beyond the place they were born.

Consequently, setting out on a long journey was inherently a matter of risking one's life.

In such an environment, children grew up fast. They rarely cried, and they didn't whine. Subconsciously, they knew that doing so might result in them genuinely being abandoned.

They understood perfectly well that the adults' patience was as dried up as a riverbed during a drought. And they also knew that if they simply waited for the water to rise a little, the adults would naturally extend a helping hand.

Patience was a suit of armor even a six-year-old child had to wear.

Hartmann's son, Roy, walked without a single complaint. Even when he was tired, he never showed it.

In fact, he eagerly wished to grow up quickly so he could carry his older sister's share of the load, and eventually his mother's, and ultimately his father's. It was merely frustrating that time didn't pass faster.

By following the adults, they naturally learned certain things. Open areas must be crossed as quickly as possible, they should only stick to the edges of forests, and although mountain passes were physically demanding, they were relatively safer from mounted bandits.

That was why they were currently trudging over a difficult mountain pass. Naturally, the oxcart's wheels clattered far more violently than usual.

Then, with a loud CRACK, a wheel came off entirely. The people watched in shock, while the ox, oblivious to the broken cart, dragged it along the ground for a short distance before stopping.

"Whoa, whoa."

"Damn it."

The procession halted. It's going to take a long time to fix, right? Roy thought he might finally get to rest. Thank you, ox, for giving us a break. The ox was an animal with very pretty eyes.

The adults' expressions were grim. This wasn't a matter of simply reattaching a fallen wheel; the axle itself had snapped. Honestly, it was a miracle it had held out this long.

"Throw away what you need to throw away."

Bremen said, looking at the heap of household goods.

"These are my assets. I can't throw them away."

Geyser retorted with a frown, sounding visibly annoyed. His tone heavily implied, 'Who the hell are you to tell me to throw away my property?'

Bremen hadn't lived to his old age for nothing; he wasn't easily agitated.

"You won't starve to death just because you're missing a few pieces of furniture. Since it's come to this, I recommend using them as firewood. Once we go a little further, we can set up camp."

"......"

"If you don't wanna throw them away, make your kids carry them instead of the ox."

One of the young men in the group scoffed sarcastically. He was a man with no family who stuck closely to his two friends of similar age.

Geyser hesitated, unable to make a decision. Hartmann, who had been quietly watching from a distance, approached him.

"Do you have anything you absolutely must take? I will help you."

The load Hartmann was currently bearing was by no means light. Yet, he was offering to shoulder some of Geyser's burden if there were truly essential items.

"......"

Geyser remained silent before calling his three daughters and his son over. Ultimately, he decided to abandon all the furniture and only kept absolute necessities for survival—a tin pot, a ladle, bowls, sacks of grain, salt, tents, and blankets.

He loaded those back onto the ox and decided to carry the rest himself.

"Lend me your axe for a moment."

Hartmann handed over his woodcutting axe, and Geyser began attempting to chop up the furniture he had grown so attached to over the years. However, swinging an axe is surprisingly difficult if you aren't used to it, and he struggled to chop the wood properly.

As Geyser fruitlessly wasted his energy, panting heavily, Hartmann silently took the axe back. With a single, precise strike for each piece, he flawlessly split everything along the wood grain.

THWACK! CHOP! CRACK! SPLIT!

He then tied the chopped wood together with a rope, exactly like firewood, and hoisted it atop his own bundled pack. Once on his back, the towering pile of belongings reached far above his head.

"Seems we've got another ox right here."

Bremen remarked with a chuckle. Hartmann looked like the very textbook definition of a stoic, powerful man.

The group resumed their journey. They trudged up the mountain pass one grueling step at a time, finding it far more difficult than flat terrain.

Bremen had suggested finding a place to camp nearby, yet they walked for another two hours even after crossing the ridge.

It wasn't until late afternoon, when the sun had dipped considerably, that Bremen finally called for a rest at the foot of the mountain. No matter how strong he was, Hartmann gratefully set down his massive load and massaged his shoulders.

Seeing this, Roy quickly ran over and began massaging his father's shoulders. Truthfully, it didn't do much physically, but his son's endearing gesture brought a natural smile to Hartmann's face.

"That hits the spot."

The women gathered firewood, started a fire, and set up the pots and pans to prepare a meal.

Here, a stark difference emerged between those with families and those without. Those with families had assigned roles and a sense of belonging within their own boundaries.

An unwed mother without a husband found situations like this incredibly awkward. During the day, she could simply blend in while walking, but at night, her isolation became glaringly obvious.

It shouldn't have been a big deal, but she lacked the simple comforts others took for granted. It made her feel intimidated and ashamed for no real reason.

Consequently, she would take inadequately milled grain to a secluded spot where no one could see her, soak it in water, and quietly eat alone.

It was closer to merely filling her stomach than arguably having a meal. And then, she would nurse her baby boy. She was eighteen years old.

She was about to do the same this evening when someone called out to her.

"Ma'am, please come over here and eat."

Assuming they couldn't possibly be calling her, Dalia didn't react.

"Ma'am. Ma'am."

Realizing belatedly that someone was addressing her, she turned her head and saw Hartmann's wife, Elia.

"Yes? Me?"

"Yes, ma'am. The soup is warm. Please, come have some."

Dalia blinked repeatedly, an expression of sheer bewilderment on her face. Having rarely experienced such kindness in her entire life, she couldn't compute what was happening.

In the end, Elia had to stand up, gently take her hand, and lead her over.

As an utterly dumbfounded Dalia took a seat by the campfire, Roy asked:

"What's the baby's name?"

"......Huh? Oh, Liche. It's Liche."

"Does it mean he'll be rich?"

Roy's sister, Becca, asked.

"No... It means he should be a dignified person..."

Dalia answered shyly. She knew full well that the word 'dignity' hardly suited a prostitute. But still, it was a mother's heartfelt wish for her son to be different.

"That's a beautiful name."

"What might your name be, ma'am?"

"Ah, I'm Dalia."

It was a quintessentially stereotypical name for a prostitute. But the Hartmann family, oblivious to such matters, simply thought it was an exotic and pretty name.

Elia ladled soup from the pot and handed it to Dalia. In truth, it was more like watery gruel than actual soup.

Dalia took the wooden bowl with both hands. After cautiously observing the others for a moment, she took a small sip. It was warm. As that warmth spread through her, a single tear escaped her eye before she could stop it.

"Let's eat together from now on."

Elia offered warmly. A lump formed in Dalia's throat, and no matter how much she wanted to answer, the words wouldn't come out. She feared she would break into loud sobs if she tried to speak.

Knowing this, the Hartmann family didn't try to force further conversation.

The other travelers simply watched quietly as the Hartmann family extended kindness to the unwed former prostitute.

While it tugged at their heartstrings as well, in such a harsh and unforgiving world, they merely dismissed it as a fleeting occurrence.

Dusk settled, and night took over completely. People began setting up their sleeping spots within their small groups, and the men prepared to take turns keeping watch as agreed upon.

But then, the sound of someone approaching from the darkness reached their ears.

Initially tense, they assumed it was just another traveler upon realizing it was only the footsteps of a single person. But it wasn't. It was a man wearing a leather coat with a sword strapped to his waist.

Far from being intimidated by the group's numbers, he stared them down with outright insolence. Shifting his weight onto one leg casually, he spoke nonchalantly.

"It's you lots, ain't it? The ones who killed Bilky."

"......"

Faced with the stranger's provocative demeanor, some cowered while others tensed up.

"We don't know anyone by that name."

Bremen replied.

"Listen here, old man. We already know everything there is to know. The bastard who killed Bilky is right here in your group."

It seemed 'Bilky' was the man Hartmann had killed the previous night. One might wonder how he knew, but in truth, asking around town made it easy to find out.

Very few people were unaware that the man carrying a woodcutting axe had followed Bremen.

"I said we don't know him. Don't go making false accusations. We have six men here. If you intend to pick a fight, you'll have to accept some casualties on your end too."

At that, the stranger smirked.

"Looks like this old man has completely lost his touch. But don't jump on your own conclusions just yet. I'm just here to make a very reasonable offer. Hand over the bastard who killed Bilky, or hand over one of the women, or hand over a cow. We'll pretend nothing happened. You got three choices? Offers like this don't come around often. Take your pick."

"And if we refuse?"

"Something very unfortunate is gonna happen the moment the sun comes up tomorrow."

It wasn't a proposal; it was a sheer threat. Hartmann, who had stayed silent, could hold back no longer. He stood up and spoke. Setting aside whether it was a smart move or not, his very nature simply couldn't tolerate injustice.

"I killed him because he tried to lay his hands on my family. Why exactly should I have to strike a deal with you over that?"

The bandit stared blankly at Hartmann and his family before answering his question.

"Your wife and kids are still drawing breath, and our comrade is dead. So I reckon this deal is an incredibly merciful arrangement."

"Did he have a daughter?"

"What?"

"I asked if that man Bilky had a daughter."

"Who knows? Could've popped out a bastard somewhere."

"Then a deal was never possible from the very beginning. Not unless his daughter was subjected to the exact same thing."

"......Hmm, is that how it plays out? Whatever. Point is, you got 'till tomorrow morning. Think it over real carefully now."

In an era where concepts of fairness and justice were poorly established, fighting with words was pointless.

The bandit vanished back into the darkness. A heavy, anxious silence descended upon the group. The only sound was the crackle of the campfire.

Bremen, their guide and de facto leader, was the first to break the silence.

"I'll tell you this right now, we aren't handing anyone over."

"How are we supposed to stop them?"

"Because I made a promise to every single person here. That I would guide you safely to the Eastern Frontier."

"What are you talking about? You aimin' to get us all killed?"

"It should be obvious without me spelling it out that the lumberjack is the strongest fighter here. If we hand him over, we become weaker, and there's no way they'll leave a weakened group alone. Don't go trusting bandits to keep their word. Secondly, we can't hand over a woman either. As I just said, I made a promise to everyone here. I suppose the cheapest price to pay would be a cow."

"Don't speak such complete dogshit!"

Geyser roared furiously in the quiet night. It was understandable, considering a single cow was worth more than a human life in this era. It was the greatest fortune a commoner could ever hoard.

"Why don't we just hand over that whore?"

One of the three young men who always stuck together suggested. Dalia instantly recoiled in sheer terror.

"I-I already paid! I definitely paid my share."

"Is there anyone here who didn't pay? But you're the most useless one out of all of us. That money you paid was literally just for the guide. It's not a protection fee. Do you even have the coin to resupply along the way? You planning on mooching off us the entire trip?"

"M-Money, I can... I can somehow get money."

"Gonna sell your body when we hit the next city? Yeah, right, a dog can't stop eating shit. Why the hell is a fucking whore tagging along with us anyway!"

"Watch your mouth!"

Elia shrieked fiercely. The reason she was standing up for Dalia so vehemently was because she had witnessed Dalia caring for her son with genuine responsibility over the past few days. As a fellow mother, she couldn't tolerate it.

If you looked at it objectively, Hartmann was the one who ought to bear responsibility for the current situation. Yet, no one suggested handing him over.

Why? Because right now, a strong adult male was the most crucial asset the group possessed. Frankly, robust men were highly sought after everywhere these days, given how frequently they died in wars and other conflicts.

Ultimately, when crisis strikes, a group's first instinct is always to sacrifice the weakest. It's difficult to label it objectively good or bad; it is simply human nature.

However, despite that inherent nature, there are always those who overcome it. Such people are called heroes.

"Where is that shepherd named Ricky?"

A young, childish voice piped up amidst the adults' bickering. It was Roy.

A few frowned, wondering why a brat was interrupting, and clicked their tongues, muttering about poor upbringing.

But Bremen listened attentively to Roy's words.

"Shh! Wait! Everyone quiet down!"

The heated midnight argument died down instantly. Bremen began mentally calculating their current location and the distance to the area where he knew the shepherd tended his flock.

Because shepherds roamed across vast territories, it was very difficult to run into one unless you went directly to their home. And Bremen had only bumped into him by chance in the past; he didn't actually know where he lived.

But he believed this was their only hope. Because Bremen was determined not to abandon a single person under his charge, no matter what.

"Prepare to move out. If we travel through the night, we just might run into that shepherd."

"No, fuck, what the hell is..."

Geyser couldn't believe they were staking their absolute last sliver of hope on some unknown shepherd. All they had to do was hand over a single whore and they'd be done with it!

But starting with the Hartmann family, they quickly agreed with Bremen's plan and began frantically packing their belongings. Naturally, Dalia followed suit, and since Hartmann was ostensibly the most reliable fighter, the three young men decided to tag along as well.

"F-Father..."

One of Geyser's daughters called out to him timidly. Geyser spat out a string of curses as he begrudgingly started packing his things too.

Walking through the dead of night without a wink of sleep was a grueling ordeal beyond words. Even knowing the danger of being spotted, they had no choice but to light torches to see the path ahead.

They hadn't walked for more than a few hours before the children started to flag. In response, Hartmann discarded several items and hoisted the children onto his back. He even threw away their precious food provisions. Survival took precedence above all else.

Elia also shed her household goods to carry someone else's child, while Dalia carried her son in front and strapped another child to her back.

One might ask why they didn't put the children on the oxen, but the oxen were already completely burdened with heavy loads.

It was a grueling night march that would test even seasoned soldiers, and unfortunately, the bandits followed them. As expected, they had been waiting nearby. Had the group handed over a cow or a woman, the bandits might have just attacked them anyway.

Perhaps deterred by the darkness, the bandits didn't attack immediately; they simply maintained a constant distance and stalked their prey. This placed an immense physical and mental strain on those being hunted.

Curses slipped from their lips uncontrollably. After a certain point, exhaustion overpowered everything, and they just walked blindly, losing all sense of time.

Eventually, their legs moved entirely on their own even as they dozed off while walking. They'd close their eyes for a second, and when they opened them, an unfamiliar landscape would appear before them.

And finally, the dark night gradually gave way to the breaking dawn.

Just as the surroundings became faintly visible, the bandits in pursuit suddenly surged forward, drastically increasing their speed.

Shocked, Hartmann hurriedly transferred the son he had been carrying to his daughter.

"No matter what happens, you protect your brother!"

"Father!"

His daughter cried out desperately, but Hartmann turned around, axe in hand, to face over a dozen charging bandits.

Becca stood paralyzed, unsure of what to do. At that moment, Dalia grabbed her tightly and dragged her away.

"Let go of me! Father!"

But right now, worrying about her father was secondary to worrying about her own survival. The bandits, recognizing Hartmann as a formidable opponent, merely engaged him to keep him tied down while avoiding a direct clash.

The rest of the bandits continued chasing the fleeing travelers. Only then did Becca scramble away in a blind panic. Her younger brother, rudely awakened from his sleep, gripped his sister's hand tightly as they sprinted across the fields.

"Wait! I surrender! Surrennnnder!"

Someone's shout of surrender echoed. It sounded like one of the three young men who had stuck together.

"You can't take my cows! You bastards!"

Sure enough, the bandits' primary target was the livestock. Geyser fought fiercely to protect his cows until the very end, ultimately taking a blade. Did he die? Or was he just injured? There was no way to tell.

Hartmann, abandoning his rear guard position after realizing the bandits were mostly ignoring him, sprinted desperately to stop the ones trying to steal the oxen, wildly swinging his heavy axe.

But the bandits simply dropped the reins and backed off quickly, refusing to engage him directly. These bastards were clearly seasoned professionals at highway robbery.

The day grew brighter, painting the sky a deep shade of blue.

The panicked oxen stampeded wildly, easily outpacing the humans. At this point, the bandits seemed confused, unable to decide whether they should prioritize chasing the fleeing people or trying to catch the oxen.

This hesitation disrupted their organized pursuit. They chased chaotically in all directions, and tragically, the furthest behind were Becca and Roy. The bandits' grasping hands drew agonizingly close to the siblings.

Witnessing this, Hartmann, desperately swinging his axe, screamed with a voice that sounded like his heart was tearing apart.

"Roy! Becca!"

Roy glanced back as he ran. The most terrifying hands in the world were inches away.

But right then, he tripped on a rogue stone, practically launching himself through the air before plummeting toward the ground.

Right before his face smashed into the dirt, someone effortlessly caught him. Was it his sister? No, the firm grip supporting him felt far too strong for it to be his sister.

The bandit reaching for Roy froze mid-stride. His footsteps drew to a halt.

The person who had caught Roy gently helped the boy stand upright. In the distance, Roy could see a small flock of sheep grazing.

Looking up, he saw a young man with blonde hair, dressed in shabby clothes and holding a shepherd's crook.

The others had also stopped running to look back. Specifically, they were staring at the shepherd.

"Close your eyes, kiddo."

The shepherd instructed Roy, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the bandit.

Roy obediently closed his eyes. In this incredibly tense moment, despite gasping for air, he inexplicably felt a profound sense of peace wash over him.

The bandits, who had been chasing them furiously, were taken aback by the sudden appearance of a shepherd. They brandished their weapons menacingly, but they couldn't just keep their distance and poke at him like they had with Hartmann.

Because the shepherd moved like the wind, closing the distance in the blink of an eye.

WHOOSH!

The sound of a wooden stick slicing through the air echoed, and the head of the bandit who had been reaching for Roy was cleanly lopped off.

With his eyes squeezed shut, Roy heard a heavy thud hit the ground, followed by the sound of a body collapsing. There was no final scream.

The people, who had been locked in a desperate chase moments prior, stood frozen like statues, staring at the shepherd. And at the headless corpse.

He wasn't merely a shepherd who was good at fighting; he possessed skills bordering on pure magic. This realization left the onlookers completely dumbfounded. They couldn't believe their own eyes.

However, time hadn't actually stopped, as evidenced by the sun slowly rising higher into the sky.