Seeing Henwell grab his weapon, everyone around quickly draws their own, ready to face whatever danger might be coming.

  Papaste looks tense and asks, “Buddy, what exactly did you see just now?”

  Henwell points toward the distance. “Someone’s lying in wait over there, probably a trap.”

  Papaste pulls out a telescope too, but it’s a Lumir-made replica.

  It looks more ornate than the Peace Haven original but doesn’t perform as well.

  He raises it and scans the direction Henwell indicated, searching for anything unusual.

  After a while, Papaste lowers the telescope. “Buddy, I don’t see anything at all!”

  Henwell smiles but doesn’t bother expining further.

  Meanwhile, the guides ahead are talking with stewards from the medium and rge caravans.

  Soon, Mbatu returns, looking troubled. He says to Henwell, “Sir, the other leaders want you to join the negotiation team to talk with the people ahead.”

  ”When we’re out on the road, the goal is peace of mind, avoiding conflict whenever possible, making money through goodwill, not fighting. The other leaders promise you won’t come empty-handed; there’ll be a satisfactory reward afterward.”

  Henwell hangs the Bow of Retribution on Windchaser’s back, nods lightly, and follows Mbatu.

  Papaste tries to follow but is stopped by his caravan steward’s sharp rebuke.

  Feeling a bit resentful, Papaste calls after Henwell’s retreating figure, “Buddy, don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your horses and belongings!”

  Henwell turns his back and waves at him, acknowledging the promise.

  Papaste eyes the listless Night Charger curiously. “What a magnificent horse! That head alone is as big as a camel’s.”

  Night Charger tilts his head at him, then closes his eyes again to rest.

  Papaste wants to get closer for a better look but is stopped by his guards.

  Night Charger feels disappointed, it had been ready to snap at this curious, foolish kid the moment he came near.

  Just as Night Charger is brewing mischief, Henwell arrives at the front of the group.

  By now, dozens of guards from various caravans have gathered, all armored up and ready, weapons in hand, prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.

  The caravan leaders one after another thank Henwell, and the guards show no signs of defiance or resentment.

  After all, everyone here is making a living on the edge, no one wants unnecessary trouble, and certainly no one holds hostility toward Henwell.

  These are grown adults with their own reasons, not foolish NPCs from some story.

  Besides, the guards who have traveled far and wide with the caravans have sharp eyes; they can clearly tell Henwell is no ordinary man.

  Even the less perceptive can recognize the quality of Henwell’s armor and warhorses.

  Soon, a caravan representative and two guides lead Henwell and others forward.

  After about three hundred meters, the group stops.

  They stand before a small sand dune that looks ordinary at first gnce.

  But to the guides who have spent years in the desert, something feels off.

  This dune’s orientation is different from those around it.

  Sand dunes in the desert form according to the wind’s direction; their shapes and positions follow certain patterns.

  So there is a logic to it.

  But this dune nearby breaks that pattern.

  At first gnce, it seems normal, but a closer look at the surroundings reveals the dune’s shape and pcement are oddly out of pce.

  The lead guide, a man nearing sixty with a strong, commanding voice, calls out.

  “Greetings to the leaders ahead. We pass through your nd and ask for safe passage. Also, we’ve lost our way, please come forth and guide us. We promise generous reward.”

  After he finishes, there’s silence for a long moment.

  The caravan representative sighs. “Looks like we’ve run into hungry ghosts, determined to fight us for fortune here.”

  Hearing this, all the guards stiffen, gripping their weapons tightly, their expressions turning serious.

  Just as everyone braces for a fight, a hole suddenly appears in the small sand dune.

  Three people emerge—a man, a woman, and a child about seven or eight years old.

  The old guide signals for everyone to stay calm. “They’ve shown themselves; now there’s something to talk about. One person from the caravan, come with me and bring some coin.”

  The caravan representative, showing some courage, prepares to go along.

  Before leaving, he turns to Henwell. “Sir, would you accompany us? I’ll pay you fifty gold coins out of my own pocket.”

  Henwell, not really interested in the money, agrees out of curiosity, he wants to see how these bandits manage to hide beneath the dune.

  After a while, the three dismount and head down the dune into a shallow depression.

  The two groups stand about ten meters apart.

  Henwell sees clearly that the other side really is two adults and a child.

  The old guide exchanges some words in a code-like manner, then the caravan representative pulls out a pouch with just under a hundred gold coins.

  The guide hands it over. “Thank you for the directions. Consider this money for the children’s water. If we pass through Desert Edge Vilge again, I promise to host you.”

  The man from the dune studies the group for a moment.

  His gaze lingers on Henwell, noting his armor, and a flicker of caution crosses his eyes.

  Henwell stays silent the whole time, already understanding how these people hide beneath the dune.

  The dune is artificially made, covering an ancient ruin.

  Sand has piled on top, which expins the odd terrain.

  Henwell is intrigued by these desert dwellers.

  They bear delicate pale gold tattoos, intricate and totem-like in design.

  But he decides not to pry further, he can ask the old guide ter.

  This elder seems to know quite a bit about the desert residents.

  After paying the toll, the caravan resumes its journey.

  Henwell and the others wait near the ruined dune until the caravan has fully passed, then follow behind.

  Back with the group, Papaste asks curiously, “What does all that mean? They’re really not bandits?”

  Mbatu expins, “They’re desert dwellers—sometimes residents, sometimes bandits. If we hadn’t noticed the oddity, we might have been ambushed. They can’t take all of us, but they’d still cause losses.”

  ”Since we spotted them first, they sent out the woman and child, that means no more violence. We can’t call them desert bandits or pay for safe passage; we just give a little coin to have them guide us.”