Several merchant caravans were camped outside the checkpoint, counting personnel and inspecting goods. Being stopped by soldiers was a major hassle—minor offenses meant fines, while serious ones could lead to seized cargo and massive losses. Experienced caravan leaders always double-checked their own people and supplies before inspection to avoid suspicious individuals or illegal items.

"Ordinary soldiers won’t hassle people in large groups," Captain Ina observed the caravans below, analyzing carefully. "And merchants who frequently pass these outposts rarely get thorough checks. Which caravan suits us best?"

"The food transport one?" Anan suggested after a pause. "They move daily with heavy loads. Inspections would be superficial."

"Good call," Captain Ina affirmed. "Weapon or Monstrous Beast material shipments get scrutinized heavily. Most down there carry food."

"Preferably one with many carriages," Anan added, warming to the idea. "Those are often patched-together groups. Strangers blend in easily."

Captain Ina nodded but turned her gaze to me, waiting for my opinion.

"See that portly leader in flashy robes?" I pointed to a man laughing with soldiers. "I saw him slip them a money pouch earlier. They’re old acquaintances. His caravan’s a mix of thirty-plus wagons—even has civilian travelers."

"Excellent choice," Captain Ina praised. Anan’s shoulders slumped; his detailed analysis hadn’t impressed her like my observation.

"And if you were leading this operation?" she pressed, as if testing me. My heart pounded with nervous excitement. Scanning the carriages, I locked onto a target.

"That one. A family of four just got out—two adults, two kids. Ordinary travelers. They haven’t returned to their carriage yet." I indicated a wagon where its owners sat by a campfire, sharing dinner. Plenty of time.

"Move." Captain Ina crouched low and sprinted forward. We mimicked her, reaching the carriage swiftly. Her speed and agility felt almost... professionally enhanced.

The pitch-black night shielded us. Travelers by the fire hummed tunes, oblivious. Their carriage’s magic lanterns were off—thankfully frugal. We slipped into blind spots and vaulted aboard.

The interior was spacious and plush. Wealthy owners, clearly. Two sleeping bags upfront, leather sofas on the sides. Minimal luggage—likely tourists.

"Activate toxin immunity," Captain Ina ordered while fiddling with a strange metal device.

We drew our Scepters from storage gear. Divine Art glowed softly over us. Toxin immunity was a standard Cleric support skill, but even we needed Scepters to channel Divine Power.

White light coalesced on our faces, forming a Divine sigil before fading. My mind sharpened—but then an intense itch flared across my back.

"A-ah...?" Mistflower and Anan gasped softly. Their retracted wings sprouted rapidly. Mine did too, but thankfully, my robe had a hidden slit for this.

"Oh! Right—" Captain Ina froze mid-reach, then smacked her forehead. "Didn’t I just warn you that Divine Power breaks disguises?"

We stared at her in silent accusation.

"What? Just take another pill!" she snapped, voice cracking. "You needed the skill anyway! I—I deliberately didn’t remind you. None of you remembered, did you?" Her flustered eyes betrayed zero conviction.

She yanked a black cloth over her flushed face and placed the device in the carriage’s center. Wisps of smoke curled out—a miniature incense burner.

"*Millet Dream*," she muttered, still hiding. "Expensive sleeping draught. Solo, I’d just cling to a carriage roof. But rookies..." She trailed off, clearly deflecting.

Even with toxin immunity, the smoke made me drowsy. This wasn’t just medicine—the burner’s eerie artistry hinted at equipment-enhanced toxicity. Captain Ina hadn’t activated immunity; her cloth must be anti-toxin gear.

Her stealth speed, toxin gear... She had Rogue or Assassin training. An Angel in such a role? I’d always imagined Angels as paragons of honor, not... underhanded operatives. I bit back my questions.

Footsteps approached outside. The owners were back.

We flattened on the floor. The door opened. The man lifted his children inside first—their weak immunity made them collapse instantly. Toxic mist billowed out, engulfing the parents before they could react.

As they swayed, Captain Ina yanked the man inside by his collar. I fumbled with the woman but hauled her up just in time. No witnesses.

We shut the door, shoved all four under the sofas, and sat atop them.

"They’ll wake remembering nothing," Captain Ina whispered. "Just a deep, tired sleep. And we’ll slip in unnoticed."