14: Chapter 14 Caravan Escort Mission

Richard's punch landed squarely on the bridge of his nose, producing a crisp sound of fracturing bone.

The young man's head snapped back, his nosebleed forming a red arc in the air, and he stumbled back three or four steps, knocking over an empty table behind him.

Before he could even stand up, Richard had already stepped over the overturned table, grabbed him by the collar with his left hand, hauled him off the ground, and slammed his right fist solidly into his stomach.

The young man groaned, doubling over like a shrimp, and promptly vomited whatever he had just eaten onto the floor.

"You ungrateful bastard, you really deserved a beating!"

Richard released his collar, letting him slide to the floor, and shook the blood off his fist.

The young man curled up on the floor, clutching his stomach and coughing for a long while before struggling to climb to his feet.

"You—you just wait!"

The young man's nose bridge was crooked, his speech thick with nasal congestion, and blood dripped into his mouth, making him look like a ridiculous clown.

"Cough, cough... What kind of shitty adventurer are you? Just wait until I call the Blood Hand Gang, you're dead!"

Clutching his nose, he scrambled out of the tavern gate, leaving a trail of blood drops on the floor.

The sailors and gamblers in the tavern watched the whole spectacle, and a few even whistled.

The two figures in black cloaks in the corner raised their heads, but after a single glance, they lowered them again.

Richard returned to the table and sat down, picked up his mug, and took a gulp, only to find it had been knocked over in the chaos, spilling most of the ale.

He didn't care, finished the remaining half, and set the mug on the table.

"I really couldn't help it; that ungrateful little bastard definitely had it coming."

Richard said to the others, feeling annoyed.

Cecilia sighed: "Sigh, that jerk is part of the Blood Hand Gang after all; I'm worried about the trouble it might cause... But whatever, someone who just joined the gang like him doesn't have any real backing; he's just making empty threats."

Liam's hand holding the mug was still shaking, his eyes full of admiration. He downed his entire mug of ale and whispered: "Well done, Richard."

Val strode back and plopped down on the bench next to Richard.

Her eyes were wide, and without saying a word, she leaned over and planted a firm kiss on Richard's left cheek.

Then she kissed his right, and the third time, she went straight for his mouth, startling Richard into leaning back.

"That was so satisfying! You've really got guts!"

Val let him go and slapped him on the shoulder, shaking the mug in his hand.

Richard instinctively touched his lips, where the bitter taste of ale and a faint, fresh fragrance still lingered.

He glanced at her, but the girl was already boisterously calling the bartender for another round, completely unaware of what she had just done.

The group had no appetite for the meal, so they all went back to rest for the night.

The next day at the Adventurers Guild hall, the group began discussing the next commission to accept.

"My sword is mortgaged for fifty gold coins; the redemption fee plus storage fees will cost another two, and it's due in twenty days," Cecilia said.

"I just checked; there's an escort mission to Blackstone City, ten gold coins per person. We can take local missions once we get there. If you're willing to lend me the money, we should be able to scrape together the fifty gold coins."

Val and Liam naturally said it was no problem, and Richard nodded as well. He was willing to lend Cecilia the ten gold coins; he had enough money on hand.

Blackstone City was inland from Blackwater City, about five or six days' journey away.

This route followed the old imperial stone road eastward, bypassed the western edge of the Black Forest, and crossed two hills that weren't too high before reaching the mining region where Blackstone City was located.

Because it was inland, it was far from the constant harassment and raids by murlocs along the coastline.

The probability of encountering large monsters on this route was relatively low, so the Adventurers Guild usually rated this mission as Beginner level.

This time, the employer was an elderly, fat merchant named Hoffman, whose head was bald except for a ring of white hair above his ears, and his laugh sounded like a goose honking.

His caravan consisted of five supply-laden wagons and two pack horses, and besides the four adventurers, he had hired several attendants and a coachman.

He also kept an old, fat hound that slept on the floorboard of the first wagon all day; it was hard to tell what purpose it served.

Hoffman, the employer, was quite the chatterbox.

He hadn't been sitting on the wagon for even an hour before he started telling stories about his "legendary experiences" from his youth.

How he raced a crazed winter wolf on the northern snowfields, and how he scared off three opportunist smugglers in Pirate Bay with nothing but a cheese knife.

How he found a long-lost dwarf golden cup in an abandoned ancient tomb—though, as it turned out later, it was a fake.

Hoffman's favorite story was about how, in his youth, he followed an adventure party deep into the Dragonspine Mountains and encountered an adult red dragon; everyone died, and he was the only one who survived.

"That dragon's wingspan was longer than the harbor pier!" Hoffman gestured with his two fat arms.

"With one breath of fire, half the mountain turned red! I was hiding behind a big tree at the time—"

"Wouldn't the big tree have been burned by the fire too?" Richard, walking beside the wagon, chimed in casually.

Hoffman continued without changing his expression: "Uh, I misspoke; I was hiding behind a giant boulder."

Val, walking at the front of the group, laughed so hard she almost choked on her own saliva after hearing this.

Liam sat on the back of the last wagon, swinging his legs, the corners of his mouth curling up for the first time in a while.

The first few days of the journey went very smoothly.

The farmland on both sides of the main road gradually turned into shrubbery on the hills, which then transitioned into increasingly dense coniferous forests.

When camping at night, they could hear wolves howling in the distance, but they never came close.

One Old Coachman mentioned that he had been driving this route for decades, and even goblins found it too cold this season, likely hiding underground.

On the afternoon of the second day, the caravan reached the edge of the Black Forest.

The pine trees in this forest grew tall and dense, their canopies blocking out the sky, and the sunlight that filtered down was obscured by layers of needles.

The heavy rain began near dusk.

At first, it was just a few scattered drops of coldness falling on their faces, but immediately after, thunder and lightning struck the sky, and gray-black clouds churned and pressed down.

The rain poured down in torrents, drumming loudly on the wagon covers.

In just half an hour, the trade road turned into a muddy, wretched river.

With every revolution, the wheels had to be forced out of the mud, and the pack horses' hooves made wet, dull thuds as they pulled them out.