It had been three weeks since the trade caravan Aldric joined had set out on its journey. Their main direction was beyond Duskendale, heading toward the central regions, but since Duskendale was along the way, the caravan would naturally pass through it.
For Aldric, this arrangement was perfect. He didn't need to travel all the way with them—just until they reached the city he wanted.
Of course, he hadn't boarded for free. The caravan was a business at its core, and passengers were required to pay. Aldric had handed over spirit stones as the fee. It wasn't cheap, but he could afford it. Spirit stones were, after all, the universal currency.
One wouldn't be wrong to say they were the only true currency in the world. Gold, silver, and even precious minerals still had value, but most of that was only for bartering or for those too poor to ever handle spirit stones. For arcanists and merchants, spirit stones were what really mattered.
So Aldric paid with spirit stones and secured his place as a passenger in the middle section of the caravan, close enough to avoid danger, but far enough that he wasn't constantly under the eyes of the merchants.
The three weeks of travel had not been peaceful.
The Blood Fang Mountain region was infamous for its dangers. The caravan had already encountered multiple threats along the way. Sometimes it was wild beasts driven by hunger or instinct. Other times it was arcanists with ill intent—rogues or small bands who preyed on travelers for their belongings.
The first few days had already shown Aldric how harsh the world outside of his miserable past could be. Even with so many people traveling together, death was unavoidable.
But by far, the most common danger they faced were the wild beasts that gave this region its name.
The Blood Fang Tigers.
Aldric had seen them with his own eyes during one of the caravan's encounters.
They were predators that struck fear even into seasoned travelers. Their fur was a stark white, covered with crimson-red stripes that looked as though they had been painted with blood. Their claws and fangs were the same shade of red, making them appear as though they had been dipped into fresh wounds.
The name "Blood Fang" wasn't just because of the region where they lived. It was also because their appearance made them seem like beasts born from blood itself.
A fully matured Blood Fang Tiger stood at least four feet tall at the shoulder, even when moving on all fours. Some grew even larger, reaching six feet in height. And when they rose onto their hind legs, their size doubled, towering over most men like a nightmare made real.
Strength, speed, and ferocity—they possessed all three. Their claws could shred through steel, their fangs could crush bone with ease, and their powerful limbs made them agile hunters.
Aldric had seen firsthand what kind of destruction they caused. On the seventh day of the caravan's journey, a group of three tigers had ambushed the convoy. Two wagons had been overturned, and several guards had been ripped apart before the arcanists traveling with them had managed to push the beasts back.
The memory still lingered in Aldric's mind. The roars of the beasts, the screams of dying men, the sound of steel being torn apart. The smell of blood had filled the air for hours after the attack.
The caravan guards had burned the bodies of those killed, while the surviving beasts' corpses were butchered for materials. Their fangs and claws were valuable for crafting, and their pelts could fetch a high price. Nothing was wasted.
But no matter how valuable they were, Aldric understood the danger they represented. It was no wonder so many arcanists, mortals, and slaves had died to their claws and fangs over the years. The Blood Fang Tigers were the rulers of this region, and even arcanists had to treat them with caution.
During these three weeks, Aldric had kept a low profile. He didn't show off his abilities and avoided unnecessary attention. He had spoken occasionally with Lionel, Adrian, and Clet, but he didn't reveal much about himself. They, too, didn't pry too deeply.
Most of the time, Aldric spent his nights studying the engraved knowledge he had received from the artifact, memorizing details of crafting and strengthening his understanding of the Creation Path. He practiced shaping small objects in secret, things like knives, nails, or wooden tools. Nothing too large or flashy—just enough to build his control and familiarity.
But he also knew that eventually, he would have to reveal his strength. A caravan wasn't a place where someone could hide forever. When danger struck, those who stood idle would be noticed. And Aldric didn't want suspicion falling on him.
For now, though, he was content to keep watching and learning.
The caravan continued its march. Every day was filled with the sound of wagon wheels turning, merchants shouting, guards training, and animals being driven forward. The road stretched endlessly before them, winding through mountains and valleys, forests and rivers.
Sometimes they passed through small settlements, outposts where they could resupply and rest for a night. Other times they camped out in the wild, forming a defensive circle with wagons while guards kept watch through the night.
It was a hard life, filled with constant vigilance. Yet, compared to the hell Aldric had lived before, it felt almost comfortable. He had food, water, and a roof—albeit sometimes just canvas—over his head. For the first time, he wasn't treated as a worthless slave.
But Aldric didn't let himself grow careless. He knew this was only the beginning.
Blood Fang Tigers were only the most common danger. The deeper they traveled, the more powerful beasts would appear. And besides beasts, there were arcanists.
Men were often more dangerous than monsters.
Aldric had already witnessed a skirmish with a small band of rogue arcanists during the second week. The battle had been short but brutal. One of the caravan's mercenaries had been slain, but the rogues were wiped out. Their belongings were stripped and divided as spoils.
This world was cruel. Only strength mattered.
Aldric clenched his fists as he recalled that.
He had strength now. It wasn't enough to dominate or to stand at the top, but it was enough to protect himself. Enough to stop being trampled underfoot like a worm.
That alone gave him determination.
And so the caravan kept moving, pushing closer toward Duskendale. The dangers of the Blood Fang Mountains were far from over.
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