Early morning.

  The sky still hung in deep gray-blue, the sun had not yet risen. The air was cold and still, carrying the characteristic damp mist from the nearby river, coating grass blades and tree leaves along the roadside with a thin layer of dew.

  Inside the forest, ancient tree trunks stood motionless like black stone pillars, enveloped in an ethereal fog drifting from the river surface. The gentle murmur of flowing water was the only sound breaking the near-absolute silence of early dawn. The dirt road beside the camp remained damp and cold, marked by wagon tracks and by the bustle of people preparing to continue their journey.

  The Night Hawk squad stood ready. Tents had been packed efficiently, all equipment bundled neatly. Ten Striders had they had been reclaimed after being sent back with the caravan the previous night. Everyone had eaten a quick breakfast and completed their weapons and equipment checks. Mercenary discipline showed clearly: no complaints, no wasted movement—only intense focus and readiness for another day of travel.

  Vesper stood at the front line, his gaze, sharp as a blade, was fixed on the fog-shrouded road ahead. Finn was exchanging brief words with the caravan guard captain while other members moved to their positions. Now they only awaited the final signal.

  Soon after, the entire caravan set out in the dim dawn light. They needed to depart at this hour for two reasons: first, to avoid the harsh midday heat, and second, to maximize travel time. This was the standard departure window for caravans, large or small.

  Theo and Liam maintained their usual positions with their usual duties, though Theo was slightly busier. He had to handle scouting duties as well—though naturally, that was Al's job, his Pidgey companion. Theo only needed to pay attention to Al's flight patterns; it wouldn't consume much time. The morning passed in a rush, but the entire group moved forward steadily, each step demonstrating the determination and effort of the two recruits.

  Noon arrived quickly. Today, the group decided on a two-hour rest to let the animals recover their strength. This adjustment depended on weather conditions, used yesterday's leftover meat especially given today's brutal heat.

  As with yesterday, with Shadow and Al's help, Theo took advantage of this time to hunt quickly and leftover meat from yesterday to cook a small pot of soup with foraged wild vegetables. It was a simple broth—clear, refreshing, and soothing against the harsh heat, nothing complicated. While Theo cooked, Liam worked continuously, rapidly processing four large chickens (each weighing up to 12 kg) and three giant rabbits (about 20 kg each), yielding nearly 70 kg of preliminarily cleaned meat. The animals in this world were truly enormous, Theo reflected.

  This meat was immediately salt-cured and transferred to the supply wagons, where the best shade could be utilized. Theo silently hoped the meat quality wouldn't deteriorate this time; he recalled that yesterday's overly hasty preparation had made the grilled meat less delicious than he'd imagined. This time he needed to ensure everything was better preserved.

  He divided it into four clear portions: two meat-heavy portions for himself and Liam, and two other portions for Rowan and Sable.

  The remaining Night Hawk members would be well taken care of by Finn for today's lunch. For them, Theo promised dinner. After finishing preparations, Theo quickly brought two portions of soup to the main wagon area to find Rowan and Sable.

  When she receiving the two bowls of soup from Theo, Rowan smiled so wide that her eyes crinkled, thanking Theo once more. She carefully held the two steaming bowls and walked straight to the wagon's end to find Sable for lunch together.

  Finn, standing nearby, looked at Theo with resentment—his gaze was full of sullen indignation at being passed over. Theo pretended not to notice, turning his head and walking slightly faster, avoiding his teammate's wordless interrogation.

  The noon break ended quickly, and the caravan wasted no more time before setting out again.

  This afternoon, Theo decided not to practice archery anymore. He realized one morning session was enough for his muscles to memorize what he'd trained. Instead, he wanted to perfect his footwork so speed would no longer be a weakness. Thus, the plan would adjust slightly: afternoons focused on movement techniques, evenings on "mental force detection."

  This was Theo's strategic adjustment after applying yesterday's exercises. He found it very logical and scientific, comprehensively improving his skillset. Theo was quite confident about it.

  ...

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  And so, travel in this era proceeded slowly and steadily, nothing like Theo's imagination of encountering monsters, bandits, or even betrayal from employers. Everything remained peaceful as the group passed the twelfth day.

  By now, Theo had trained to the final part of Phase 2 in his archery training plan. Six hours passed, and Theo finally completed the turning draw exercise. He gasped for breath, his lungs rasping against the air like bellows.

  G's mischievous voice sounded in his head: "1,106 turning draws, host! Today broke yesterday's record by 26—truly commendable."

  This exercise was genuinely torturous. It demanded not just strength, endurance, and technique, but cardiovascular power as well. To perfect it, he'd tried many methods, and ultimately, high-intensity interval training proved the optimal choice. Theo started with 20 repetitions per set (2 seconds each), resting 1 minute before continuing, then gradually increasing each day. It was truly hell—he couldn't believe he'd maintained it continuously for the past six days.

  Theo's entire body felt loose, his back and waist almost numb, all his muscles seemingly in rebellion, sending only one signal to his brain: "Protest this tyranny! We need rest! Strike! Strike!"

  He was so exhausted he wanted to lie on the ground and give up, letting the day pass, letting the clouds drift by. But ultimately, scraping together his last remaining willpower, Theo limped after the wagon train, walking while trying to breathe, hoping the idiots inside his body would calm down and continue working.

  This effort proved effective. Theo gradually regained his breathing, and his body began to settle, accepting its overworked condition.

  Liam, though seeing his friend's death-like appearance initially worried, gradually grew accustomed to it. In fact, Liam even developed a curious urge to ask Theo to redesign his own exercises for a taste—presumably to test just how terrible this "hell tour" was. But when he caught Ronan's cold, sharp glance, Liam immediately shut down, continuing with the new movements Ronan had taught.

  Indeed, Liam had increased from three movements to six, still the same: executing strikes while walking. The bigger difference was that the Zaravand short maul now had added weights, including on the hammer face, making Liam's training quite a challenge as well.

  In no time, noon had arrived—rest time before the scorching heat.

  But suddenly, a sharp whistle sounded above Theo's head. Al! Something was happening. Based on the rhythm, this was the signal indicating multiple targets approaching.

  Theo shouted loudly to Ronan and Vesper ahead: "Vesper, Ronan! Multiple hostiles!"

  As he called out, he quickly grabbed equipment from Shadow (his companion) walking beside him. He focused on Al's flight altitude. Simultaneously, the Pidgey lowered its flight level and stopped at a certain distance, both observing the enemy and signaling the implicit distance code. G immediately spoke up seamlessly, not a second delayed: "Enemy distance approximately 4 km, direction Southwest."

  Theo immediately spun back around, shouting over the wind: "Ves, Southwest! Nearly 1 Lea (about 5 km)!"

  After that, Vesper pulled out a whistle and blew one long note. Vesper's long, sharp whistle was a clear signal for the Night Hawk squad: defensive formation, anchor to the caravan.

  Vesper needed to say nothing more. Finn immediately notified the two caravan masters and instructed them to arrange the wagons properly. With extensive experience, the caravan masters complied unconditionally, urgently ordering people to arrange the horse-drawn wagons and Rockback carts in a circle, quickly creating a temporary fortification. The caravan's escort team also moved into position: three archers stood in the center for covering fire, and the remaining five warriors distributed evenly to protect goods and livestock.

  Meanwhile, Night Hawk had established combat positions according to perfect assignments:

  Boris and Torvin immediately advanced forward, using two solid shields to form a barrier wall, creating an anchor point for the front line. Sable was in mobile combat status, ready to fill any gap. Finn and Theo immediately moved to ranged damage positions, handling fire suppression from behind. Rowan stood at an advantageous position as the primary magical threat, ready to unleash area damage if enemies clustered.

  Vesper held the central command position, while Ronan and Liam—the two most dangerous spearheads—only needed to display their skills on the "stage" to maximum effect. Outside the fortification, Ryel had vanished, ready to guerrilla, provide intelligence, and misdirect the enemy.

  Total time to complete the formation: two minutes. Vesper commanded very calmly, everything proceeding smoothly thanks to him knowing the enemy position quite early.

  Before long, a non-lethal arrow flew in, thudding into the ground near Night Hawk's position. This was Ryel's notification. Finn quickly retrieved and examined it—on the worn leather slip were written exactly three words: "Goblins with wolves."

  Vesper's gaze sharpened, the long scar on his face contracting to make his expression even more fierce. Just one glance at the signal and he'd calculated the wolf pack's speed.

  "Quarter Sol!" He issued a decisive order. "Theo, continuous position reports!"

  "All units, listen up! Quarter Sol (1 Sol~1 hour) until enemy contact! To positions!" Vesper's roar echoed. A quarter Sol—about an hour by Cassian Starwhisp the astrologer's calculation—was more than enough for death to sharpen its scythe. The atmosphere in the merchant caravan immediately tightened like a bowstring.

  Tension enveloped the entire caravan. Combat was always the part no one wanted, though naturally there were exceptions.

  Torvin and Liam were grinning broadly. After the long peaceful journey and training, Torvin just wanted to loosen his stiff joints a bit, while Liam was eager to know how far his training results had progressed.

  Blood rushing to their faces, Torvin gripped his double-bladed war hammer and struck it rhythmically against his large shield—like a battle ritual. Boris responded with the same rhythm. As Theo had guessed, they might be from the same country or tribe.

  Liam was different. He simply loosened his muscles, focusing on steady breathing. Liam was preparing for the violent eruption about to come.

  The remaining members showed little difference from normal—no worry, no trembling. Truly elite indeed—the gap compared to the caravan's guards was stark.

  Theo narrowed his eyes. This was a golden opportunity to harvest accurate intelligence about the entire squad's combat power. He looked forward eagerly to the upcoming performance. He also regulated his breathing, even drinking some of his specially made electrolyte solution to restore energy after this morning's grueling training session.