Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 370 Someone
Finally, before nightfall, at Dean's suggestion, the caravan's owner announced that they would be setting up camp to rest.

Under the setting sun, Thales did his best to help the mercenaries with whatever he could, such as setting up tents, trying to make himself look less cumbersome, even though he was always clumsy since he had never done these things before. The only consolation was that the new quick-roping recruits weren't much better than him.

After half an hour of confusion and numerous mistakes, Thales and Quick Rope, an amateur and a novice, finally managed to set up three crooked tents for the mercenaries before the shift members returned.

Down the slope, the mercenaries' camp was set up together.

Thales could see that there was a significant gap between these soldiers who were paid to fight and the people they were supposed to protect.

As the merchants unloaded their goods, they subconsciously glanced at the mercenaries' weapons, as if afraid they might pounce at any moment. Even when setting up camp, they always kept a safe distance from the mercenaries, making the latter's tents stand out conspicuously. However, this fear of danger prevented these protected merchants from straying too far from the warriors, resulting in a comical situation: the mercenaries' tents were pitched in one spot, while the rest of the caravan's tents were arranged in a fan shape around them, maintaining a certain distance. The camels on the outer edge then formed another circle around them. If someone were to look at these tents from the sand dunes, they would surely think they resembled a seashell.

Exhausted and drenched in sweat, Thales and the still cheerful Quick Rope were the first to sit down by the tent, watching as McKee, Hubert, and Dean started a fire ahead, and then they all sat down in the camp.

“The nearest supply point shouldn’t be far. The weather has been good these past few months, and the water source hasn’t moved much. ‘Breeze’ is searching, so we should find it soon.” Louisa Dante, the mercenary leader who had returned from the front of the group, sat down comfortably in the camp and unfastened her weapons.

Dean nodded.

“Let’s all be on high alert and go to bed early tonight,” Dean said, stroking his smooth head and frowning as he pondered something. “I want to leave early tomorrow, just in case.”

Louisa raised an eyebrow: "No problem."

She turned to the other mercenaries: "Did you hear that?"

Hubert and McKee nodded without saying a word.

“Of course, as you wish,” Quickstrip responded quickly, his eyebrows dancing with excitement. “Is there anything else you need, Mrs. Dean?”

His response was a cold kick of sand from Louisa.

"Awooo, Captain! I was talking about 'Mrs.' Dean, it's the new nickname I gave him, not you!"

Quick Rope held his head pitifully.

Until Louisa, filled with rage, kicked a second handful of sand at him.

Thales watched Louisa and Dean's conversation with some doubt. As it stands, Dean holds a prominent position in the team, and even Louisa listens to his advice seriously and carefully, almost to the point of blindly following his every word.

Could it really be as Quick Rope said, that Louisa likes Dean, so...?

“But I’m still worried, Dean,” Old Hammer frowned, leading his horse into the camp and settling the sweltering mount down. “That little camp we’re talking about today…”

Dean sighed. "I know. I've already spoken to Tom Ding. I'll talk to him again."

Old Hammer frowned: "But do you know who Tomding is? How are we supposed to negotiate with him?"

Dean shook his head: "Think of something."

Thales casually massaged his aching legs and listened attentively to their conversation.

Just now.

"so……"

A slick voice came from behind.

The mercenaries and Thales turned their heads away.

What do you want to negotiate with me about?

A man with slicked-back hair and ornate clothing approached them, his belly protruding. His eyes darted around his cheeks, making him look like a little pig.

His steps were somewhat affected, like deliberately pacing on a stage.

“Sep, Sepp Tomding,” Dean sighed, speaking to the greasy, stiff-moving man. “We were just talking about you, our generous employer.”

What brings you to our camp?

“Oh, my hardworking warriors,” the caravan’s owner, Sepp Tomdin, said with a hint of arrogance, raising a clay pot high in his right hand and speaking in a stern tone, “it is a reward, of course.”

"A good knight will never let his horse go hungry, nor will a good general let his soldiers go hungry."

Thales frowned: if he wasn't mistaken, Tomding's deliberately pronounced accent seemed to be from Everstar City.

The mercenaries exchanged glances.

No one paid any attention to the caravan owner.

Tomdin's smile was a little stiff, and his raised arm was a little sore. He could only gently put down the earthenware pot and coughed to remind everyone: "This is wine from the Duchy of Sera, a small token of my appreciation to reward you for your hard work these past few days."

The mercenaries all looked at Dean.

“We’re still working, Sepp, we can’t drink.” The bald mercenary said politely but coldly.

Tom Ding's expression froze slightly.

“Very good, Dean. I will inform the people in the Baki camp about your dedication. You know, I am well acquainted with all the major caravans, and I will tell them that everyone in the Baki Dune camp should look for you when they want to hire mercenaries—and I will also mention your diligence to Baron Williams.”

"Wow," Quick Rope exclaimed dramatically, beaming with joy, "Thank you so much, Mr. Tom Ding, who knows so many important people."

Tom Ding's expression froze.

The caravan owner quickly recovered from his embarrassment, maintaining his faint smile as he looked at Thales: "Oh, boy, I'm glad to see you've recovered—what was your name again?"

Thales was slightly taken aback when his name was suddenly called out.

He gave an awkward smile. "Uh, thank you, Tomding... sir, I am... I am Wyatt."

Tomding sighed. "Ah, Wyman, a good name. You know, just a few days ago, I hesitated for a long time about whether or not to save you... You know, son, I, Tomding, am not a heartless bad man, but I have to look after this small caravan that is connected to more than a dozen families. Any decision I make could affect the livelihood and future of some family... To let a stranger die, or to put other loyal friends in danger? It is a difficult decision."

Tomding closed his eyes and shook his head slightly: "Alas, my great-grandfather was also a nobleman. He once served under the 'Wise King'—you may not know, he was a Star King—who often reminded my great-grandfather: as nobles, we not only bear responsibilities, but also have passion in our hearts."

"This phrase became our family motto, passed down from my great-grandfather to my grandfather. My grandfather often reminded my father, and my father often reminded me—to shoulder responsibility and cherish passion."

"So, I've decided in the end to keep you in my team, kid."

Tomdin looked at him seriously: "You have to thank His Majesty King Mindis III, my child, because of his admonition, I made this difficult decision, and you, who were in a predicament, were able to be reborn."

grateful……

Mindis III?
Thales pursed his lips, looking rather bewildered.

Looking at Tomding's calm expression, Thales' face twitched, and he nodded as if he understood: "Ha, ha, of course, haha, yes."

The person behind him made a vomiting gesture: "You and the king... you talk as if you're very close."

Tomding's ears perked up: "What?"

"It's nothing, Mr. Tomding!"

Quick-witted and beaming, she exclaimed, "As expected of someone from a noble family, you're awesome!"

Tom Ding smiled and nodded in satisfaction.

Louisa burst out laughing.

“So,” Dean sighed, interrupting the awkward conversation, “Sep, you don’t need to bribe us with alcohol. Just ask us directly: What brings you here?”

Tomding frowned slightly, seemingly displeased that he had been addressed by his first name. The greasy-haired businessman Tomding clasped his hands together, his chin held higher than his ears: "I'm considering what you said yesterday, Dean. What was that all about? What did you mean by 'go back'?"

The mercenaries frowned, their expressions filled with surprise and uncertainty.

Thales' curiosity was also piqued.

go back?

what happened?

“It means exactly what it says, Sepp,” Dean shrugged, seemingly unperturbed by what the other had said. “You saw the camp from this morning, and those corpses too. We should give up on going to the Tower of the End and avoid potential dangers; at least we should take a detour.”

Tomding's lips twitched slightly.

"give up?"

He took a deep breath.

“As far as I know, Dean, and as far as you can see, it’s just a small camp where a few sand bandits hide,” Tomding maintained his serious and arrogant demeanor, adopting an air of humble listening. “Is it necessary? This would seriously damage your reputation, and you know that for us, some goods have expiration dates…”

“You saw those camps, we all saw them,” Dean interrupted him bluntly. The bald mercenary glanced at his companions and frowned. “The people inside, whether they were sand bandits or not, they’re all dead—lying not far away, their bodies riddled with wounds from various weapons.”

The mercenaries' expressions turned grim, and Quick Rope even widened his eyes.

“This is not an isolated case. Along our journey from Fist Stone Land to Lizard Mouth, we have encountered this situation in no fewer than five places. It’s not just sand bandits; there are also small groups of unidentified individuals. I suspect that there are also caravans among them.”

Dean turned to Thales: “And you’ve met Wyatt, and according to him, there’s no one on the road down from the north, as if all the desert bandits and exiles had vanished overnight.”

Thales' heart skipped a beat.

All...disappeared...

Dean said calmly, "So... I sincerely suggest, no, I strongly suggest, Sepp, that we stop here."

Tom Ding took a deep breath, seemingly trying to maintain his last shred of composure.

The next second, Tom Ding suddenly looked up and slammed his fist into his own palm!
"I don't know!"

“Sand pirates, exiles… these scoundrels who wreak havoc on the region, these scum who obstruct trade routes, isn’t it good that they’re dead!” Tomdin tried his best to keep his face expressionless, as if that was more in line with his identity:
"We have one less thing to worry about, and I congratulate you, Big Dean, because their deaths have made your job much easier... Eliminating their threat, isn't that exactly why I hired you, hired professional bodyguards? What do you say, warriors bearing honor..."

Tomding turned to the others.

The mercenaries remained silent.

Dean sighed deeply, looking disappointed in Dean.

“No, you didn’t understand what I meant, Sepp,” the bald mercenary sighed. “The bodies of those sand bandits in the camp were all found not far outside the camp, which means they were killed when they were fleeing the camp in a hurry—they encountered an insurmountable enemy, so much so that they didn’t even have the thought of fighting back. After discovering the enemy, they could only run for their lives.”

"But they didn't escape."

Dean said solemnly, "Five camps, a total of forty-odd weapons in hand, experienced and ruthless sand bandits."

"Not a single one escaped."

Tom Ding was slightly taken aback.

Dean raised an eyebrow and said, "Listen to me, Sepp, turn back and find another way to ensure safety."

Mr. Tom Ding's expression remained unchanged, but the constant rubbing of his hands on the fabric of his clothes betrayed his mood.

"He didn't tell you, did he, about sending us straight back?" He turned to the female warrior: "Captain Dante, what do you say?"

Louisa smiled slightly.

“We’ll say whatever Dean says,” Louisa replied decisively. “He represents the whole team.”

Thales couldn't help but notice that the others looked perfectly normal, as if they were used to this scene.

Tom Ding could no longer maintain his composure; he rubbed his hair in anguish.

Thales then noticed that Tomding had thinning hair—he was bald.

The bald man gritted his teeth and said, "Dean, tell me, why should I risk being banished from Baki Dunes to make this trip?"

Dean shrugged.

"You want profits."

"Yes, profits!"

Tom Ding seemed to have found an outlet for his anger, raising his index finger and shouting fiercely, "Fuck profits!"

"So many eloquent and shrewd businessmen have perished in the desert, yet we still keep coming back, because this is the only thing that sustains us as we risk venturing into the desert: profit, profit!"

He stared intently, as if seeking consensus from everyone in his field of vision: "First, Exter and the Free Alliance are going to fight. Second, the Star People are going to blockade the desert. Do you know what that means? It means an entire supply line will be cut off—whether it's because the Northerners are going to war or the Star People are acting crazy, in short, the road from the Golden Corridor into Exter will be blocked, and the passage from the desert to the Star People will also be obstructed!"

Tomding seemed exasperated: "Do you know that soon, a sack of 200 ounces of hemp tobacco from the Long Isles, which sells for five Tormunds in the Stars, will fetch twenty Nekaru in the Northlands! Even after deducting the costs of bad currency and exchange, we'll still net nearly seventy to eighty Solon Kings! A bottle of fine wine from the Sera Hills, priced at forty-five Kellers in the Southern Market, can be sold for eighty Solon Silvers a little further to the Tower of the End; a strip of fine velvet from the shores of Sword Lake, which sells for twenty Tabisos in Ellenbia, can fetch dozens of Nekaru north of the desert! A barrel of Everlasting Oil, an Everlasting Lamp… all the goods you can imagine, if they come to the right place, will be profitable. And what's the reason for this? Market supply and demand! I bet the reputation of the Tomding family for generations that in the next month, goods from the south will be more expensive in the Northlands, and goods from the east will be sold out in the west—where else can you find such a good opportunity!"

"And now that we've come this far, you're suggesting I turn around, go back to Blade Fang Dunes, and let the Star People confiscate my goods?"

The mercenaries looked at each other in bewilderment.

“If necessary,” Dean shook his head unmoved, “it’s better to lose cargo than your head.”

"If you ask me, our biggest profit is this: if we move forward, our lives are worthless; if we turn back, at least we can still sell our lives."

Tom Ding stared intently at him, his eyes fixed on him.

But Dean simply looked back at him calmly.

It was as if what the other person had just said was just nonsense.

“As you said, Mr. Tomding,” Dean added, “it’s a difficult decision.”

Tom Ding deflated like a punctured balloon, his whole body slumped down.

Finally, Tom Ding let out a breath, his face drooping like a defeated rooster.

"Can someone tell me what exactly happened up ahead?"

"Is it so serious that I have to abandon the interests of the entire caravan?"

Dean shook his head: "I don't know."

"If I had to say, Sepp—there is someone."

"Someone?"

Dean nodded, his eyes extremely serious: "'Someone,' someone is in the desert where we are, and they are hunting down all living things in a planned, large-scale, efficient, and extensive manner."

"And even the sandstorm couldn't stop the killing."

"It's not far ahead of us."

(End of this chapter)