Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The goods themselves weren't anything rare, but they were valuable now, given the scarcity in the region. Rackenshore and its surrounding villages had been plagued by bandit raids for weeks, making it difficult for any merchant to move goods safely.

At the front of the caravan sat a young merchant, his hands tightly gripping the reins of his horse. His name was Edrick. He was new to the trade, barely a year into his venture, but already he was feeling the crushing weight of the market's unforgiving demands. His face was tense, a mixture of worry and determination etched into his features.

This caravan, this load of goods, was his last gamble—a desperate play to save his business from collapsing.

Edrick glanced over his shoulder, watching the carts behind him with growing anxiety. The goods were cheaply bought from a city that had no choice but to sell at a low price, their coffers drained by bandit raids and the ongoing conflict in the region. The plan had seemed perfect at first—acquire the goods for next to nothing, transport them back, and sell them for a tidy profit to those in need.

But now, as he rode through the sparse countryside, the reality of the situation weighed on him heavily. He had barely any budget left after purchasing the goods, and that meant cutting costs where he could—including hiring protection. He had only managed to scrape together enough coins for a few guards, and even then, they weren't the most experienced.

The group of guards rode beside the carts, their eyes scanning the horizon nervously. They were well aware of the dangers that lurked on these roads. Bandit activity had surged in recent weeks, and the routes between towns had become treacherous. Every rustle of leaves, every distant sound, set them on edge.

Edrick bit his lip, his mind racing with thoughts of what could go wrong. If the caravan was attacked, his goods would be lost. Worse, if he failed to deliver them, his business would collapse entirely. Everything he had worked for would vanish.

"I can't fail," he muttered under his breath, trying to reassure himself. "I have to make this work. I have to."

The road ahead wound through a dense stretch of forest, and Edrick's stomach tightened as they approached it. The forest was known to be a prime spot for ambushes, a place where bandits could hide and strike without warning. He glanced at the lead guard, a gruff man named Garvin, who met his gaze with a stern nod. They both knew this was the riskiest part of the journey.

As the caravan entered the shadowed path between the trees, the tension grew thicker. Edrick could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he kept a close watch on the treeline, his hand never far from the small dagger at his waist. He prayed they would make it through unscathed, but deep down, he knew that this gamble might cost him everything.

The wind rustled the branches, and for a moment, all was quiet. Too quiet.

The silence before the storm.

Just as the caravan moved deeper into the forest, the unsettling silence was broken by a sharp whistle from the treetops. In an instant, shadows shifted among the foliage, and before Edrick could fully grasp what was happening, bandits poured out from both sides of the path, weapons glinting in the dappled sunlight.

They moved quickly and with practiced precision, surrounding the caravan in a deadly semicircle.

"Bandits!" one of the guards shouted, drawing his sword as the others readied themselves for battle. Edrick's heart raced, panic clawing at his throat. This was exactly what he had feared.

Garvin, the lead guard, snarled as he raised his weapon. "Stay back, Edrick. We'll handle this!"

For a brief moment, hope flickered in Edrick's chest as the guards charged toward the approaching bandits. Steel clashed against steel, and the forest erupted into the chaotic sounds of battle. But something about it felt… off.

Then it happened.

Garvin, instead of striking down the nearest bandit, lowered his sword with a cold smirk. The other guards followed suit, stepping back as the bandits closed in around Edrick. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

They weren't fighting. They were part of the attack.

"You really thought we'd risk our necks for the pocket change you offered?" Garvin sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're dumber than I thought, Edrick. No one takes on a suicide job like this without a better offer on the table."

The other guards laughed, their eyes glinting with mockery as they dropped all pretense of loyalty. One of them, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek, casually strolled over to one of the carts, kicking a sack of grain over as if it was worthless.

Edrick's mouth went dry. "You... you were with them all along?" he stammered, his mind spinning as the full weight of the betrayal sank in.

Garvin chuckled darkly, wiping the blade of his sword on his sleeve as he looked down at the terrified merchant. "Of course we were. You made it easy for us. Desperate, green, and too eager to believe you had a chance."

One of the bandits, a hulking brute with a wild beard, stepped forward, grinning. "Thanks for doing all the hard work for us, Mister Edrick."

Edrick's knees buckled as fear coursed through him. Everything he had worked for—all the risk, all the planning—was slipping away right before his eyes. He tried to muster some sort of response, but his voice failed him, the enormity of the situation paralyzing him.

"Don't look so sad," Garvin jeered, stepping closer. "You're not the first merchant we've bled dry, and you won't be the last. You were just easier than most."

The bandits closed in on the caravan, laughing and jeering as they began to ransack the goods, tossing crates and sacks onto their own carts. Edrick could only watch helplessly, his last gamble crumbling before him as the reality of his doomed venture became all too clear.

At least, that was how it was supposed to be.

Just as the bandits began ransacking the goods, their laughter and jeers filling the air, a sudden gust of wind blew through the trees. It was subtle at first, but then came the soft sound of footsteps—too soft, too deliberate. Garvin paused mid-laugh, his senses prickling as if something was off. He turned his head toward the treeline just in time to see a shadowy figure step into the clearing.

The young man with the scar on his right eye.

Before anyone could react, he moved with a speed that defied reason. In one fluid motion, his blade flashed, catching the sunlight for the briefest of moments before it descended.

SLASH!

The first bandit's body was bisected cleanly, his expression frozen in shock as his torso slid apart from his legs. Blood sprayed across the ground as the young man moved like a specter through the clearing, his long, thin estoc cutting down the remaining bandits with surgical precision.

SWOOSH!

Another bandit's head rolled to the ground, followed by the sickening sound of bodies crumpling. The chaos lasted mere seconds—one breath and it was over. Where there had been a jeering gang of bandits, now only a few twitching corpses remained, their blood pooling on the dirt road.

The young man stood in the middle of the slaughter, his expression calm, as if none of it had required any effort. His eyes scanned the clearing, cold and calculating, before locking onto the one bandit he had deliberately left alive. It was Garvin, who had fallen back in sheer terror, his face drained of color as he stared up at the young man with wide, trembling eyes.

The young man took a step closer, his blade still dripping with blood, and tilted his head ever so slightly. "Where is Loren?" His voice was low and cold, every word laced with dangerous intent.

Garvin's lips quivered, but despite the terror coursing through him, he remained silent. His loyalty, misplaced as it may have been, kept him from betraying his leader. He looked like a cornered animal, too scared to move yet too stubborn to answer.

The young man let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head in mild frustration. "Why are you all so loyal to someone like him?" he muttered, almost to himself. "It's a shame."

He raised his estoc, preparing to finish Garvin, the blade gleaming with lethal precision.

But just as he was about to strike, an axe came hurtling through the air. It flew with incredible speed, cutting through the space where his head had been only moments before. The young man tilted his head slightly to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade as it whizzed past him, embedding itself in a tree behind.

The young man's eyes narrowed slightly, turning in the direction from which the axe had been thrown. His calm demeanor remained intact, but there was a faint spark of intrigue in his gaze.

"Well," he murmured, "it seems I do not need to wait for too long."