Chapter 309: Chapter 232 The Magur Incident (Part 1)
The vast wilderness, with undulating mountains, had a narrow road winding through it like a long snake.
The Magur Trade Route.
This was an ancient trade route, carved out by countless merchants over thousands of years. It used to be the vital link between the Rackman Duchy and the Boske Duchy, and the essential path for the flow of goods and materials. The road surface bore the marks of the passing years.
“Notify the front to move faster!”
“If we can’t deliver the goods on time this time, the higher-ups will certainly hold us accountable.”
The rough voice of a middle-aged man came from the most luxurious passenger carriage, which bore an emblem of flame and a vertical pupil.
...
A caravan of hundreds of carts was hurrying along the ancient road, laden with goods from the Ashen Kingdom. Hundreds of fully armed Goblin Soldiers guarded the caravan on both sides—this was the “Free Trade Caravan” led by Hart, representing the official large-scale trade caravan of the Ashen Kingdom.
This caravan was notorious in the Northern countries, yet it attracted countless lower-class citizens. They dumped a massive amount of cheap goods, making the Scania People willingly hand over their gold and silver, having never seen such fine merchandise before.
“Whew—”
The cold wind howled past, lifting the carriage curtain.
Inside the luxurious carriage, Count Hart couldn’t help but exhale a breath of sulfur-flavored hot air. As a nobleman with scorching Dragon Blood in his veins, he despised this frigid, biting wind weather.
“Damn it, it’s the Northern freak wind again.”
“When His Majesty unifies Anzeta, I must find a way to go south to do business. The weather here is absolutely dreadful.”
Hart rubbed his scale-covered chin, muttering to himself.
At the front of the caravan, Old John was leading the wagons along the road, his thin body shivering in the wind. He couldn’t help but wrap himself tighter in his cotton coat, protecting his weathered old bones.
“King of Ashen, bless us…”
“Hopefully, everything goes smoothly this time as well.”
Staring at the endless trade route, Old John mumbled under his breath.
In the mouths of merchants, the kingdom’s majesty seemed to have some divine power, capable of bestowing luck upon them. Otherwise, how could they have made a fortune in just a few years, pushing other Northern country merchants to the brink of despair?
Over time, drivers like Old John got used to praying while traveling. It wasn’t out of devout faith but just a habitual request for safety.
Old John also came from a serf background.
However, in his twenties, he was sold to a caravan as a traveling merchant’s slave. Later, that caravan was captured by the kingdom’s army, and the caravan leader was executed as a public display.
But Old John was quite fortunate. Not only did he gain his freedom, but he also got a job as a driver because he was familiar with the trade routes.
“Old man, how much longer until we get there?”
A girl’s head suddenly poked out of the wagon, looking about eight or nine years old, with the kingdom’s newly popular braids, appearing clever and mischievous.
“Misha, haven’t I told you to stay put in the wagon?”
John’s face turned serious, gently tapping the girl’s head with the short stick on his whip.
“Hmph, just forget it if you don’t want to tell me.”
The girl rubbed her head, angrily retreating into the wagon.
She was originally a “commodity” in the Northern noble’s slave caravan, later rescued and adopted by John, who named her “Misha.” Since Old John had no children, he treated the girl like his own granddaughter, using his meager salary to pay for her education.
But Misha was always disobedient, sneaking into the caravan hidden among the goods, giving Old John quite a headache.
Old John drove the horse while muttering:
“I have told you countless times; being a merchant is no child’s play. Bandits and monsters on the road can claim your life!”
“With the kingdom’s elite guarding us, do we still need to worry about safety? Hehe, since I’m already here, let me see the sights and keep you company.”
“Sigh…”
Old John let out a long sigh, shaking his head. This mischievous girl always left him feeling helpless yet inadvertently moved.
He looked at the distant road, frowning slightly.
“Today’s Magur Trade Route seems a bit strange…”
“It’s eerily quiet.”
The experienced John noticed at once that something was wrong. Magur was considered one of the busiest trade routes in the North. Usually, other caravans would pass along this route, but today, they were alone.
“I hope it’s just a coincidence.”
Old John thought.
He was but a lowly driver, without the authority to decide the caravan’s actions. Everything had to follow Lord Hart’s orders.
After all, in the Anzeta Great Wilderness, apart from mindless beasts, no one would dare provoke the Ashen Kingdom’s caravan, and beasts usually posed no threat.
The horses in the caravan became restless, and Old John’s brow furrowed tightly, his lips moving.
“Wait, is this…”
The ground was trembling.
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A series of rapid, thunderous hoofbeats sounded.
Old John hastily turned his head—
Countless cavalrymen were charging down from the top of the hill, galloping wildly across the land. The gleaming armor and glistening spear tips formed a steel torrent in the wilderness, with lion banners fluttering in the wind.
“For the Boske Duchy!”
“For the Northern Order!”
Such cries echoed from afar.
They were the Northern elite cavalry, the personal guards of the Boske Family!
“Enemy attack!”
“It’s the Boske Duchy!”
“Who gave them the guts to do this? They’re declaring war on the kingdom!”
“Damn it, this must have been premeditated!”
The caravan erupted into chaos, with people shouting and cursing, making John’s head spin.
Old John turned to look at the wagon behind him. Despite his sweat-drenched face, he struggled to maintain calmness as he whispered to the wagon, “Misha, promise me, don’t come out.”
“Remember, no matter what happens, do not come out!”
But before he could finish, he was roughly pulled away by a Goblin Soldier.
After a brief moment of chaos, the caravan hastily prepared for battle under Hart’s command, and as part of the caravan, Old John was also dragged to assist in the fighting.
Hart personally came to the front lines, cursing at the approaching cavalry: “Shoot them full of holes for me!”
“Bang! Bang! Bang!”
The Goblin Soldiers raised their spears, firing a series of lead bullets, taking down dozens of Ironclad Cavalry in a flash.
This had always been an invincible tactic, allowing them to dominate the North, but now it revealed unavoidable flaws.
Because there were simply too many cavalrymen, and they were almost all Boske’s elite, while the Goblins lacked cover. These cavalrymen charged without fear, quickly trampling over their fallen comrades to close in, piercing the Goblins’ chests with spears and decapitating them with broadswords.
But the Goblins switched to spears and bayonets, cutting down horse legs or piercing the knights on horseback.
The cries of “For the Ashen Kingdom” and “For the Boske Duchy” echoed incessantly.
The brutal slaughter had begun.
The sound of gunfire, the noise of spear tips piercing flesh, hoofbeats, wails, and roars interwove on this battlefield, composing a blood-scented symphony.