The initial chaos was a confusion of sound and shadow. There were no enemies immediately visible in our vicinity, so we abandoned the safety of the rear carriage and sprinted toward the head of the caravan where the merchant was frantically gesturing. The road at this particular stretch of the mountainside was treacherous; it folded sharply against the cliff face, creating a blind corner that obscured the path ahead until you were right upon the bend. As we rounded the curve, the reality of our situation slammed into us.

  It was a scene of frantic violence and desperate yelling. A group of bandits had successfully ambushed a smaller caravan—one significantly less defended than our own. My mind whirled as I assessed the violence. I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of irony. This was only my second major trip outside the city walls, and for the second time, I was staring down the business end of a bandit raid. I wondered briefly if I was cursed with terrible luck or blessed with a magnet for experience points. The last time this happened, I had walked away with a heavy purse and several new jobs. This time, however, the scale was far more daunting.

  “Kaelen, what do you think?” the merchant asked. He didn't turn his head, his eyes locked on the unfolding skirmish with a mixture of terror and calculation.

  Kaelen stepped forward, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword. “Sir, we are close to Velshara. There is a high probability that the other caravan has already triggered an alarm or sent word to the city. Either these bandits are incredibly stupid, or they are confident they can butcher everyone and vanish before the city guards arrive.”

  I had heard rumors of magical artifacts—alarm stones or signal flares—that could transmit a distress call to the nearest garrison, though I lacked the specific details on how they functioned. Kaelen’s analysis was grim, yet logical.

  “Okay, then,” the merchant said, a predatory glint appearing in his eyes. He began to snicker, a greedy, wheezing sound. “Let’s help them. I am sure they will be more than happy to receive our assistance when they realize their enemies outnumber them. And, more importantly, we will be happy to receive some 'gifts of satisfaction' for our bravery.”

  Kaelen didn't miss a beat. “With all due respect, sir, our agreement was to protect your caravan until we reached Darsalan. You cannot simply order us to throw ourselves into someone else's fight and risk our lives for a side-hustle.”

  I felt a surge of genuine respect for Kaelen at that moment. He had transitioned instantly from a friendly, laid-back guard to a hard-nosed leader who prioritized the safety of his men. He wasn't just speaking for his own party; he was acting as the voice for all fourteen of us. The second, less friendly party remained silent, their silence serving as a tacit agreement with Kaelen’s rebuttal.

  “Tch! Come on now,” the merchant countered, waving a hand dismissively. “I know what the contract says. I will share a portion of whatever reward we receive with all of you. But look at the bigger picture! Do you really think those savages will just let us pass once they’ve finished with the small fry? Once they taste blood and loot, they’ll set their sights on us. Their numbers will still be higher than ours, and they’ll be emboldened by their victory.”

  The merchant had a point, however greedy his motivations were. The smaller caravan appeared to have only ten defenders remaining, while the bandits numbered approximately twenty-five. If they succeeded in wiping out the first group, we would be the next logical target. This situation felt eerily similar to my previous encounter on the road, only the stakes had been multiplied.

  “What do you think?” Kaelen asked, turning to address the group. The weight of the decision shifted to us.

  “It’s fine by me, as long as the pay is right,” I said. Most of the others murmured in agreement.

  “If there’s truly no way to avoid the fight, then we should strike now,” Selvia added, though her voice wavered slightly. “But if we can bypass them, we shouldn’t go looking for unnecessary distress.”

  Her caution didn't sound like cowardice to me; it sounded like common sense. In a battle of this scale, someone was going to die. Even in the best-case scenario, the probability of us losing a man or two was high. But after weighing the risks, the consensus was clear: joining the fray now, while the bandits were still occupied, was our best tactical advantage. Fifteen of us, including the merchant, surged forward toward the battlefield. The servants were left behind to guard our carriages, huddled in fear against the mountain rock.

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  By the time we reached the perimeter of the fight, the defenders of the smaller caravan had been whittled down to seven. The bandits had lost only one man. They had clearly been caught off guard by the sheer irregularity and ferocity of the attackers.

  Our two parties moved with professional synchronicity. We dived into the battle from the wings, like a cavalry charge hitting the flanks. Selvia and Boskar immediately rushed toward the cluster of injured guards, their hands already glowing with the light of restorative arts. The sight of fresh reinforcements brought an immediate change to the defenders; despair was replaced by a joyous, frantic energy. Those who were healed by Selvia’s skills stood up and rejoined the fight instantly, their morale bolstered by the arrival of a priestess.

  Before I threw myself into the thick of it, I decided to take a final precaution. I had four unused system points sitting in my reserve. While the others were debating our entry, I had accessed the Player Window and funneled them into my strength stat from 7 to 8 which made it reached to 11,728 thanks to the stat boosts of my jobs.

  I felt the familiar, bone-deep hum of power as my stats updated. My physical capability was now well beyond the realm of normal men. It was time to see whether that strength value of 11,728 could turn the tide of a fight.

  “Namo, stay close,” I commanded. “We protect each other’s backs. Don't wander off.”

  “Yes, master,” he replied, his voice flat but focused. He braced his iron shield, his eyes scanning the chaos for threats.

  I delved into the melee, my steel sword becoming a blur of silver. I didn't hold back. I slashed through the nearest bandits, my strikes carrying so much force that even those who managed to intercept the blade with their own weapons were sent staggering, their balance shattered by the sheer difference in power. Those who failed to block were simply carved open.

  “Wow, Han!” Kaelen yelled from a few yards away as he parried a spear thrust. “You’re even better than I expected. That 'Lone Wolf' reputation isn't just talk, is it?”

  I’d be a liar if I said I didn't feel a prickle of pride at the compliment. With our intervention, the numbers were nearly even: twenty-two defenders against twenty-four bandits. But we had the advantage of organization and, more importantly, a backline of healers. We were preventing permanent losses while steadily chipping away at the enemy’s numbers.

  For a moment, I was certain of our victory. The bandits were just random thugs, and their morale should have been crumbling as their comrades fell. But something felt wrong. They didn't look afraid. They fought with a cold, detached efficiency, seemingly immune to the deaths of the men beside them. I realized too late that I had misread the situation.

  The confidence we felt was shattered in a single, agonizing moment. It began with a cry from Tarwin, our eagle-eyed archer.

  “New enemies! They’re coming from behind! We're being flanked!”

  Tarwin’s voice was strained to the breaking point. As expected, he was the first to see the trap closing. Before we could even process his warning, a second disaster struck. An arrow whistled through the air, finding a gap in our formation and burying itself in Selvia’s shoulder while she was in the middle of treating Omarin.

  The composure of our group evaporated. Selvia was our lifeline; as long as she could cycle her healing skills and replenish her mana with potions, we were functionally immortal in a war of attrition. But now, our healer was down. The injury wasn't immediately lethal, but the psychological impact was devastating. Selvia, despite her firm personality, was still an inexperienced priestess who had never seen a real battlefield. The moment the arrow pierced her skin, she spiraled into a blind panic, her focus shattering and her ability to channel skills vanishing in a haze of terror.

  She had been right—she needed experience before returning to the temple. But this wasn't a training exercise; this was a war zone. I looked back toward our caravan and my heart sank. A fresh group of twenty bandits was charging toward us from the direction of our own carriages. They had planned this from the start, using the first caravan as bait to draw our guards into the open.

  I saw one of our servants try to leap from a carriage and run, only to be cut down mid-stride by a bandit’s blade. It was a cold, efficient execution. I realized then that they weren't interested in hostages or parley. They were here to butcher every living soul and take everything.

  Dread engulfed the line. We were now twenty-two defenders surrounded by forty-four bandits. Our coordination began to crumble as we were squeezed from both sides. The "battle" had officially ended; the massacre had begun.

  I abandoned all thoughts of a measured defense. I let out a low, guttural growl and threw myself into a rampage. If I didn't kill them faster than they could kill us, we would all be dead. Every second felt like an eternity as I became a whirlwind of steel and blood, desperately trying to balance the scales. The mountain road, once a place of beautiful views, was now a slaughterhouse, and we were the only ones who could save ourselves from those nasty bandits.

  [Edited]