The caravan moved in a long, staggered line along the muddy road. Men clad in worn leather armor surrounded it, weapons hanging visibly at their sides. Some walked on foot, boots sinking into the soft earth, while others rode horses at a slow, measured pace. A few led their mounts beside them, reins loose but ready.
Two separate mercenary groups guarded the caravan, along with several lone sellswords. Each was assigned a specific section rather than operating as a single force. This arrangement was deliberate. Trust among mercenaries was a fragile thing—there had been too many incidents of escorts turning on those they were paid to protect, killing for coin or opportunity.
A single large group could easily conspire as one. But with multiple groups and independent mercenaries watching each other, betrayal became far more difficult. Every man knew he was being observed, and that knowledge alone was often enough to keep blades sheathed.
By coincidence, Kaisel had been placed in charge of Felix and Merlin's caravan.
He rode at a steady pace, posture rigid, eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. This was unfamiliar territory in every sense. He had no experience with escorting caravans, no knowledge of mercenary customs, and—more importantly—this was the first time he had ever left the duchy alone, surrounded entirely by strangers.
So he watched.
He watched the road, the trees, the shifting fog in the distance. He watched the mercenaries as well. Most of them glanced at him with strange, unreadable expressions—half curiosity, half wariness. Their gazes lingered longer than comfort allowed.
Felix, on the other hand, was clearly unsettled. As they traveled, he struggled with something unseen, repeatedly looking toward Kaisel before turning away to mutter under his breath. At times, Kaisel caught Lucy peeking at him as well, her eyes retreating the moment he noticed.
Kaisel didn't understand what any of it meant, and in the end, he chose to ignore it.
Kaisel's thoughts drifted elsewhere.
What am I going to do next?
He had no answer. In truth, he didn't even know what he was doing anymore. It felt less like a choice and more like an urge—an invisible pull forcing him to move, to act, without direction.
Was he doing the right thing?
Doubt crept into his mind. What Kaisel truly couldn't endure was doing nothing about his mother's death. Staying in the duchy, surrounded by comfort and silence, while no one sought justice—it felt unbearable. Rage had driven him to leave, to search for her killers.
Yet he had no leads. No names. No path to follow—only a birthmark etched into the face of a killer.
Then why had his grandfather agreed so easily to let him go?
The thought struck him suddenly.
…Regret?
Kaisel clenched his jaw.
What am I thinking?
A strange unease settled in his chest. He raised a hand to his forehead, pressing hard as if he could steady his thoughts. His mind churned in chaos, emotions colliding without order.
Something was wrong.
His thoughts were in turmoil.
"Are you having a headache?" a voice asked beside him.
It was Merlin, riding along the caravan. He studied the man before him, frowning slightly. Kaisel didn't look well—his breathing was uneven, and his eyes lacked their usual steadiness.
Kaisel snapped back to his senses and turned toward him.
"I'm fine," he said.
Merlin didn't press further.
They had been traveling for an entire day, stopping twice to rest and eat. By the time the light began to fade, dusk had settled over the road. The caravan halted near a small stream that widened into a shallow lake, and preparations for camp began.
Some set up tents, while others gathered wood and lit fires for cooking and warmth. The glow of flame slowly pushed back the encroaching darkness.
Merlin and Felix worked together to raise their tents, while their sister, Lucy, prepared dinner nearby. Each caravan was responsible for feeding its own guards, and Merlin's caravan had three under its protection.
One of them was Kaisel.
Kaisel was tying his horse to a tree when someone approached him.
"Hey, Mark. How's it going for your first escort mission?" Han asked.
Han had brown hair and looked slightly older than Kaisel's current disguise—around his mid-twenties, if one had to guess. His tone was relaxed, almost friendly.
"…It's okay, I guess," Kaisel replied after a brief pause.
Han was one of the other two mercenaries assigned to guard the caravan alongside him. They had gotten to know each other before departing from Lowden, sharing idle conversation during preparations. It was then that Han learned not only was this Kaisel's first escort job—it was his first mission as a mercenary at all.
Kaisel glanced around before speaking.
"Hey, Han… people keep looking at me strangely. Any idea why?"
Han stayed silent for a few seconds, then let out a short breath.
"Mark, buddy—have you ever looked in a mirror?"
Kaisel blinked.
"You look like a damned noble heir," Han continued, shaking his head. "Way too clean. Way too well-put-together. You're seriously handsome, you know that? No one in their right mind would believe you're a mercenary if you told them."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly.
"Some of them probably can't stand your face. Others are wondering if you're some noble hiding his identity, slumming it with sellswords for who knows what reasons ."
Well, Kaisel's current appearance did seem out of place. His face was strikingly handsome, defined by sharp features, brown hair, and brown eyes, and he stood tall among the others. He looked like a knight from a fairy tale—even though this was one.
.....
They sat near the campfire, a blackened pot hanging above the flames, something quietly simmering inside it. The fire crackled softly, its light flickering across their faces.
Merlin and his siblings sat on one side, while Kaisel and Hans were on the other, along with another mercenary nearby.
No one spoke.
The silence stretched on, growing heavier by the second. Embers popped in the fire, the only sound filling the gap. As the awkwardness settled in, Merlin finally decided to speak—choosing Mark, since he had already spoken with the other two.
"Uh… I forgot to ask your name," Merlin said hesitantly. "My name's Merlin."
"Mark," Kaisel replied.
"Oh—nice to meet you, Mark," Merlin said, forcing a small smile. He gestured toward the others. "This is my brother, Felix, and my sister, Lucy."
Kaisel simply nodded in acknowledgment.
And then… silence again.
Merlin found himself at a loss for words. Meeting the man his brother had stolen from made things uncomfortable, no matter how much time had passed.
Hans, however, couldn't stand it anymore. Around them, other camps were alive with murmurs—laughter, half-remembered tales, old men rambling on about nonsense and glory days.
"Why is everyone so quiet?" Hans finally said, breaking the stillness. "We're not on a battlefield, alright? This isn't even a dangerous area. There aren't any wild beasts around here—it's fine to talk."
He turned toward Merlin.
"You said you guys are performers, right? What kind of performances are we talking about?"
Merlin felt a quiet wave of relief wash over him. He smiled slightly before answering.
"We perform on small stages," he said. "Plays, mostly. We travel around the continent, moving from city to city."
He nodded faintly toward the other carts. "We're not alone—the other two belong to our troupe as well. We're not famous or anything, not like some grand band."
He paused, fingers tightening briefly in his lap before adding,"And I'm… also working on writing my own script. For a future act."
Hans nodded, interest flickering in his eyes.
"What kind of script is it?"
Merlin hesitated for a moment before answering.
"Um… it's about a man with multiple identities," he said slowly. "The same person—a killer, a wealthy merchant, a black magician, and a master thief. All of them are him."
He scratched the back of his head, lowering his voice slightly.
"I kind of got the idea from a famous book, you know… the one that suddenly appeared out of nowhere."
He leaned in a little, almost whispering.
"It's circulated in the black market. Called The Man of Thousand Faces ."
Merlin quickly added,
"Of course, I've never actually read it. I just overheard some people talking about it once."
Hans's expression changed immediately, curiosity fully awakened.
"Oh… I know that one," he said. "It's about a noble who suffers from some kind of unknown mental illness. He has multiple identities, but doesn't even realize it himself."
He let out a quiet chuckle.
"I heard it was banned across the Empire because the man in the book is a noble. That's why it only exists in the black market."
Hans leaned back slightly, lowering his voice as well."You know what's even stranger? No one ever found the author. No seal, no crest—nothing. Just a signature. Mr. Ywain."
After a pause, he laughed softly.
"And there's even a ridiculous rumor going around… that it was written by a ghost."
To be continued.