Endless wheatfields, narrow paths threading the grain, long runs of shacks flanking the far road, and, farther still, a castle hugging the hills.

That grand, pastoral sweep was Fulin’s first impression upon reaching the Golden Bay City region.

She stood where the road from Mubay City pierced the northern fringe of the Demon Realm Forest—the southern edge of Golden Bay’s reach. In the morning she’d been near Mubay; by afternoon she was here. A trek that should be a hundred kilometers and two days for a coachman took her four hours.

“You did great, huh?” Fulin slid down from the big catlike quadruped, palm soft on its head. It leaned in and nuzzled back.

“Meow!” Packs weighed it down but never dulled its spring. It played with Fulin as they walked, light as wind. “Haha—this tongue—tickles!”

Sometimes it licked her cheek; sometimes it bounced with her on its back. A clear, childlike smile lit her face, as if joy really could be that simple.

Then the light thinned. Her guard rose as habitation drew near. Breath sank; will clicked. She triggered her Dual Incarnation and folded into Lance Morrison.

Per instructions, the big cat posed as Lance’s trained pack beast and followed “him” toward human ground.

Once masked, the pair took the path through the wheat. They hadn’t gone far before a band of mercenaries stopped them, no surprise at all.

Lance—Fulin in guise—scanned them. Five men. Clothes ragged, bodies hard. Their chainmail and blades were new. The scar-faced one wore a private badge shaped like a noble crest.

No doubt—local nobles’ hyenas. They were here to take a toll.

Scarface stepped up. “Origin. Destination?”

Lance played it straight. “South of Mubay City, Springwater Town in the Marquis’s fief. Headed for Chishui Town on Golden Bay City’s outskirts.”

Hearing “Mubay” and seeing the youth alone, Scarface frowned at first.

Then he saw the rare pack beast, bigger than a horse. The short, decorated dagger at the boy’s waist. And the long, oilcloth-wrapped rod slung across his back—screaming priceless.

They priced him fast. At least fifty gold coins. A fat catch.

Eyes narrowed; smiles soured. Scarface flicked a sign. Four men closed in. He laid it on thick. “Young traveler, since you’re from Mubay, you know the rules, right?”

Lance didn’t flinch. He measured their distance and answered plain, “I know. Travelers pay a toll. How much?”

“Heh. Good. That makes this easy.” Scarface’s right hand settled on a short axe. He raised one finger with his left. “One gold coin. Not a copper less.”

Of course it wouldn’t stop at one. He was testing for cash.

The other four matched his move. Five armed men ringed a red-haired youth—classic roadside robbery. With anyone else alone, they might win.

But they’d picked Lance. They were wrong.

“One gold coin, yeah?” Lance flicked out a coin, pinched between forefinger and thumb, letting it dance in the light.

“This—!” That was the golden gleam of Arcane Silver. Some had never seen a gold coin. The color, the cut, the Sun Knight relief—no mistake. Real gold.

Eyes lit up; saliva almost spilled.

Scarface’s gaze bulged. His grin went predatory. “Sorry, you know how it is. Mubay’s rough, Golden Bay too. The boys are strapped. Traveler, you get me?”

“I get it. In Golden Bay, unless you’re noble, a tenant farmer makes twelve silver coins a year. Only a sworn knight earns a gold coin. You charging one gold coin for a single toll—doesn’t that beat a knight’s pay?” Lance said it flat, calling their theft.

Silence fell; their ugly eyes turned mean. Scarface moved first; malice broke.

“Less talk. Leave your road money if you want to live!” He bared his teeth, snatched up his axe, and chopped at Lance.

Lance stayed calm. The Sirius Sword sang out, and he swung once.

Whoosh—wind tore. For men of mere flesh, a half‑rank Charge Knight was too fast.

Before they saw the blade, Scarface’s headless body crumpled.

Fulin-as-Lance planted a boot on the corpse’s back and looked down, cold as iron. “Leave your road money if you want to live, right?”

The four went soft as wet straw.

“Help!” One lost his nerve and ran.

Lance flared his Battle Aura, lifted the fallen short axe with it, and whipped the blade low. “Don’t rush off.”

“Ah!” Steel bit his calf. His leg failed, and he pitched into the wheat.

The last three saw the youth’s hands and minds cleared. They dropped to their knees with a thud. “Sir Knight, we were wrong! Please spare us!”

Lance didn’t answer first. He tossed three gold coins before them. “You haven’t done anything unusual. You wanted money; I pay. But this has to be a fair trade.”

“We—we…” They stared at each other. The one in the middle moved fastest and pocketed the coins. “Thank you, Sir Knight. This is a very good deal! Right, you two?”

Three gold coins—two hundred ten thousand yuan—was a fortune. But three coins are still three coins; you can’t slice them clean.

So if you split now, there’s enough for three, and only three.

The other two looked at him, then at each other, and woke up.

They each took a coin, ignored the friend bleeding in the wheat, and chimed in, “Exactly! This deal’s great for the three of us.”

Their choice left Fulin a shade hollow. She breathed, thought, and let it pass. Lance went on, “Good. I’ll say it again. I’m a traveler and don’t know this area well. Tell me what you know, and the trade is done.”

“Understood, Traveler.” The three nodded, accepting the title, and rushed to serve. One brought wine and scrolls. One tended the big cat and fed it the corpse. The sharp one knelt on one knee and gave his report.

Fulin-as-Lance listened and nodded.

They were mercenaries kept by Count Karl nearby. They hadn’t started dirty, but tenant farmers and freemen kept getting conscripted by the Vanilla Duke and sent to the front. At harvest, hands ran thin.

Fields in Karl’s fief went to weeds. Yields fell. Count Karl tightened his belt. Wages dropped, and some hirelings took risks.

“Seems it’s hard on you, too.” Lance offered the line.

“It is. It’s the Vanilla Duke’s fault—” The keen one glanced around, nervous. The other two focused on pampering the rare beast, so he went on, “You just can’t ship plowmen to the front. If bellies go empty, who fights? And the war between the Celestial Spirit and the Dark Spirit—what’s it got to do with us humans?”

The picture was tangled. Fulin felt real curiosity. She knew the Vanilla Duke had the reach to rule the trade capital, Golden Bay City. His hand couldn’t be simple; he had to grasp this truth.

Yet he left many active mercenaries unused and seized tenant farmers and freemen vital to production. Not knowing the full story, Fulin held her tongue.

She pocketed the intel and had Lance ask for more.

“Understood!” The man continued.

“Got it.” With his report and her road hearsay, she finally held a local’s map in her head and a rough sense of Golden Bay City’s southern belt.

Three gold coins well spent. Satisfaction warmed Fulin quietly.

At dusk, as they parted, the mercenary remembered. “Traveler, almost forgot—if you need a place to stay and don’t know anyone, as a stranger I don’t recommend stopping nearby.”

“Why?” Lance asked bluntly.

“Because…” He scratched his head, words stumbling, then offered, “Anyway—head north. Leave Karl’s fief for the George fief. That’s a good place. It’s far, but your rare beast runs fast. Take my word.”

It made sense. He had no reason to lie. But Lance looked at the big cat. It had run all day and showed a little wear. They’d pampered it, but it needed rest. So Lance said, “Sound advice. But this guy’s tired. Truly no lodging nearby?”

The mercenary gave a thin smile.

He looked west at the sun, swollen and red, then pointed ahead and admitted, voice small, “If you can make do for a night, two kilometers ahead is Horseback Town. Stay there. With your skill, you should be fine—I guess.”