A military force disguised as bandits—this was not unheard of.
It was an effective and brutal strategy.
Ordinary adventurers, unless they had reached the rank of Grand Knight, were powerless against a trained army.
A single volley of arrows could turn an entire band of mercenaries into human pincushions.
An organized army was simply on a different level—trained, disciplined, and deadly.
And worse—within their ranks, there would undoubtedly be true warriors, men who had ascended to the ranks of Grand Knights.
The fact that this army dared to raid a caravan in Dragonspine Highlands meant only one thing—they were confident in their strength.
"No one makes a move without my order."
The voice was calm, authoritative.
Roque Dormer, the caravan's owner, the man with the most at stake, had spoken.
Every guard, every adventurer in his employ—they were here because of him.
And Roque knew the truth.
There was only one way out of this.
Negotiation.
