Bachmann was curious. Who was this woman’s husband? There was no way such a woman would be alone out here. Perhaps some circumstance had separated them.

There seemed to be something to his assumptions; perhaps all three had been fleeing. But the moment he saw the woman’s husband, he dismissed the idea that they had fled anything. That man would never run. His bearing was both arrogant and languorous, naturally commanding.

He also looked incredibly strong. His muscles were as powerful as a wild animal’s, and in a moment Bachmann realized that man would conquer any battlefield. The thought came to his mind at once, and he said it aloud.

“Kurkan…?”

There was no other explanation. Yet the Kurkans had features that clearly set them apart from humans: dark skin, dark hair, with vivid eyes and tattoos on their bodies. Yet this man’s eyes were a normal dark brown, and he had no visible tattoos. He could not be a Kurkan.

Nor was he a normal man.

On impulse, Bachmann offered to allow the man and his family to travel with the caravan, but was rejected. What arrogance! Bachmann’s pride was wounded, but he had also felt an instinctive fear. As a merchant, his instincts were well-developed.

Do not cross this man.

Bachmann had warned they would regret it, before the strangers left the oasis.

“Father, what if they meet robbers?” Hutan had asked, when they had set out once more into the desert. “One man alone will not be able to defeat them.”

“You are right. Even if he is strong, he cannot face the robbers alone,” Bachmann replied. “When they come upon him, he will regret his choice, with many tears.”

“Surely…”

“Why do ask? Did you want to help them?”

“I’m worried about the little boy…”

Bachmann smiled.

“When the time comes, they will pay us for our aid.”

Encountering robbers was common, and Bachmann had carefully prepared security for their journey. Being certain of their ability to survive robbers, it would be easy to be generous, and promise Hutan to help the strangers.

But when the attack came one night, it was entirely different than he expected.

The robbers had learned of the caravan, and planned their attack in advance. Not only had they recruited additional attackers, they had even placed spies among the mercenaries protecting the caravan. Some of the very people Bachmann had hired to protect him had used false identities, and shared information about the caravan with the robbers.

All of their planned defenses and all of their weaknesses had been revealed.

The robbers had defeated them effortlessly.

Bachmann grimaced helplessly as he watched the robbers looting the expensive treasures from his train. He had survived many disasters and still somehow come out on top. Perhaps he was the arrogant one.

He had always believed he would survive, no matter what. He never expected to meet his end at the hands of desert thugs. But now he was bound with rope, on his knees, with nothing to do but lament his fate.

“There is no time for this!” One of the false mercenaries shouted. “Where are they? You have to find them right now!”

His companions were busy looting the wagons.

“We saw three more people in the oasis! That bitch’s face is worth more than this whole caravan!”

The men were vulgar, talking about the lady, and the robbers, who were only interested in money, were listening.

Bachmann’s face paled. The traitorous mercenary had also seen the woman.

“The boy was almost as pretty as his mother,” another mercenary called. “He would definitely fetch a high price. But I’ve never seen a b!tch like that one.”