Chapter 19
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: Caravan Guard
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Two days later, I headed to the west gate early in the morning. Getting up early is always a pain, but the thought of visiting another city for the first time in this other world had me surprisingly excited. I didn't feel my usual exhaustion at all.
Preparations for the five-day journey were all finished yesterday.
I'd returned the books, stocked my pouch with rations that should last five days if rationed carefully, and filled my canteen to the brim with water. Since I'd have to camp outdoors for at least four nights, I'd even shelled out 20 copper for a worn cloak that reached down to my thighs.
—Flutter.
I twisted my body sharply and flung the cloak open with flair. Not bad—it had some real style.
Truth be told, cloaks aren't meant for show. They're practical travel gear, doubling as blankets.
They block the wind when worn and can be flipped over for sleeping. No real armor value, but in a pinch, you could wrap one around your arm as a makeshift shield. Most importantly, striding around in one made me look every bit the adventurer.
That was the clincher. Atmosphere is key. What you wear changes your whole vibe. The stares would shift from grubby barbarian to mysterious foreigner adventurer, right?
"Heh heh heh."
I flapped the cloak wildly all the way to the west gate. There were about three or four wagons waiting—probably the Abnel Caravan's headed for Isvant.
As I poked around, a middle-aged man in a fancy green hat with a feather approached. The hat screamed "in charge."
"You there?"
"From the Abnel Caravan?"
He looked official, so I greeted him and pulled the wooden tag from my pouch. The one I'd gotten from the Adventurer's Guild the day before yesterday—for a whopping 10 copper. Paying 10 copper in referral fees just to earn 60? Those guild bastards were straight-up highway robbers.
Fucking pricks. Logically, a 6-copper commission on 60 would be fair. But hey, that's how they make their coin.
"That's our caravan's mark. An adventurer here for guard duty? Welcome aboard."
"Yes, sir. Nice to meet you."
"What's your name?"
"Katt."
He checked my name off his list. His eyes flicked to my hair for a second—probably noting the black locks, telltale sign of barbarian blood. They stood out.
"Eh, shouldn't be an issue. Wait here till the wagons roll out. Sun's rising soon; we'll head off then. One heads-up: if you bail midway or fall behind from exhaustion, no pay."
But as a merchant, he didn't seem too hung up on it. Merchants were pragmatic moneymakers—smart, cultured types.
Way better people-skills than those entitled mages.
"Understood. That's only fair."
"If you're wounded in combat and can't continue, we'll haul you to the city in a wagon and pay the full five days. So if trouble hits, fight like your life depends on it. We'll cover healing costs too."
"You got it. I'll give it my all."
He nodded and turned away. Sorry to disappoint, but I wasn't planning to risk my neck.
Guarding wagons meant protecting them from bandits.
Why protect them? Because they're loaded with valuables. Seeing a wagon full of loot in the mountains stirs the heart—Damn, should I just kill 'em all and take it?—that kind of brilliant impulse.
That's why murderers, bandits, monsters might strike. Greed makes humans and beasts the same. Normal folks stop at thoughts, but this world's full of crazies. Armed thugs with bad intentions? High odds.
I didn't know local security details, but escorts wouldn't be needed without some fights expected.
Even modern Earth has teen muggers in alleys. Mountains here? Forget about it.
"Hmm..."
I'd seen captured bandits executed in the arena a few times. Their existence was fact. And monsters in the wilds? Inevitable. No bandits? Then beasts.
"No one I know?"
I circled the wagons.
More adventurers trickled in—about ten total. Holy shit. At 50 copper each, that's 5 silver for the group.
Unbelievable sum. Shelling out 5 silver for guards? Safer than Fort Knox. Ten heads? What could go wrong?
The adventurers eyed each other warily. I scanned for familiars but saw none to chat with. Ten was too many to know everyone. Two faces rang vague bells, but that was it—no real info.
"Abnel Caravan to Isvant, rolling out!"
The lead driver's shout kicked off the three wagons. Adventurers took positions along the sides, matching pace. I smartly grabbed the rear. Rear's always safer than the front. Leading sucks.
We passed the gate onto the maintained highway. Roads between cities were decent, but five days in? Probably shit midway.
Picnic stroll now, grueling later. No sweat. Who am I? Ex-army sergeant. That hellish march training was muscle memory now.
March master here. Nothing easier than walking.
"Jongno or Myeongdong?"
I hummed cheerfully. Tune: Teacher Seol's Compass.
No bloodshed? Free money for strolling. Side trip bonus. Health and cash—win-win. I forced positivity.
Good terms in Isvant? Fresh start. Excitement bubbled. Distance from that Winia? My gut cancer felt stage 1 cured.
Heart light as air.
Murphy's Law: Disaster strikes when relaxed.
"Break time!"
Noontime, no chats, straight walking till rest. Caravan staff perked up, feeding horses water and feed, faces dragging. Us adventurers? Plop or sprawl.
Not regulars—no whipping for 10 copper a day. Our job: guard. Not chores. Contract said zilch on that.
Thinking it over, adventurers were cheap disposable arrow-sponges in these gigs. Real muscle? The caravan's armed guards tagging along—properly equipped. They looked like they'd sliced men before. Trustworthy scars. We buy time; they finish.
Anyway, break time.
I sat, sipped water. Don't chug—dunno next source. Swish, savor, slow swallow. Guzzle and sweat it out.
Chewing rations for fuel, felt prickly stares.
"Hm?"
Someone gawking. Manly trait: never dodge stares. Locked eyes. Small build—starved kid? Pitied him.
No sharing grub, though. Then he approached.
This punk... begging scraps?
"Hello? Nice to meet you."
"...Who're you?"
Felt familiar, but nope—total stranger.
I looked up properly. Glinting golden hair, slim face with androgynous vibes. What the hell? No reason for this guy to approach.
"Name's Jairo."
"Uh... Katt. Got business?"
I asked dubiously. Too pretty for a dude—annoying. Sword at hip: fellow adventurer. Jairo grinned.
"Interested in religion?"
"Pardon?"
"Got a faith?"
"Huh? What?"
Felt like a Korean street corner. Hammer to the head. No wagons, I'd think home. Know the way to church? Nostalgic smog wafting.
"Your face says no."
"..."
"Rough world. No faith? Hear me out..."
"Fuck off. Don't need it."
Cut him dead.
Hot girl? Maybe listened for kicks. Dude? Pass. Manly trait: Men are fertilizer.
Nearly lost break to this zealot.
Shoo-shoo. He stuck.
"Katt, right? You seem nice—that's why the offer. Just listen..."
"No, you priest? Churchgoer? Not interested—try that sprawled guy."
Pointed subtly at opposite sprawler for deflection. Why ignore?
"...It's 'cause you seem nice. Great opportunity. Just hear me? Not a priest."
Still smiling, pushing faith. Earring: religious symbol? Not priest—confusing.
Won't budge. Other motives? Cult vibe, 100% luring me.
Time to bullshit him away.
"This guy... eyeing my ass?"
"Misunderstanding."
"Bullshit! Scram!"
I raged, hurling nonsense eviction. He rooted like street tree. What drove him? Zero interest in cults.
"Something about you hit me. Don't be harsh—could've listened by now."
"Break's ending soon, dipshit? And you hit me the same way: pure garbage."