The road back was kinder than the path in. The air no longer felt heavy, and for the first time in days, the wagons rolled without the constant dread of battle hanging over them. The guards spoke more freely, even laughing at small jokes, while the laborers worked with lighter steps. Victory had loosened the tension, and it showed in everyone's faces.

Boro's spirits were no different. He rode closer to Arden, and after a moment he stretched out a hand. "The flask, if you don't mind."

Arden took it from his pouch and passed it over without ceremony. The faint crimson glow inside still pulsed, the essence of the Crimson Aether Lotus steady within. Boro stared at it as though holding treasure beyond measure.

"You've done me a favor I can't repay," he said, his voice firm though his eyes betrayed gratitude.

Arden tilted his head. "You could start by telling me how you plan to use it. A herb like that doesn't sit around in a jar."

Boro chuckled, shaking his head. "You never waste time, do you? Always thinking two steps ahead." He leaned back slightly before continuing. "There's someone waiting in Luminaria City, a senior of the Luminaria Order. With their craft, this Lotus can be refined into seven elixirs. Each one worth more than gold stacked to the ceiling. I'll sell three, and the other four… go to you."

Rael let out a low whistle from where he was walking. "Four? That's generous."

Nyra's eyes narrowed, studying Boro's face for any hint of deceit, but his tone was earnest.

Arden simply smiled. "Generous or smart, I'll take it." He shook his hand once, sealing the deal without another word.

Boro exhaled as though a weight had lifted. "Then it's settled."

The wagons pressed on, and their camp reorganized quickly at each stop. Beasts that lurked along the way rarely had a chance to cause trouble; the guards, sharper under Arden's guidance, intercepted most before they came close. Arden's party only stirred when a larger pack appeared or when something stronger forced its way onto the path, but those clashes ended as quickly as they began.

The return had taken on a rhythm of calm efficiency. Until, a few hours after breaking camp, Arden's stride slowed. His gaze swept the trees and rocks that flanked the road.

"Quiet down," he said, his voice carrying without needing to be raised.

The laughter from earlier fell into silence. The guards tightened their grips on their weapons, their eyes darting about, unsure of what he had seen.

Arden's tone was even, almost casual, but every word was weighted. "We're not alone. Bandits. A few scattered to the east, more waiting ahead. Surrounding."

Boro's face drained of color. "Bandits? Here?"

"Here, and watching us," Arden replied. He walked alongside the lead wagon, his hand resting lightly on his blade. "Protect the herbs first. Guard the wagons. Anyone not fighting, stay close to the center."

Rael cracked his knuckles, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Been a while since I've had a proper brawl."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Arden said calmly, his eyes still scanning the treeline. "We fight on our terms, not theirs."

Zephyra gave a low rumble, her ears tilting toward the forest. "I smell them." Her flames flickered faintly, restrained but ready.

Nyra moved to the rear of the wagons, her voice steady as she addressed the guards. "Listen carefully to him. Don't scatter. Hold the line."

The group adjusted, weapons drawn and breaths held. Yet no enemy appeared just yet. Only the rustle of leaves, the whisper of wind, and the tightening silence of a storm waiting to break.

Arden's gaze never wavered. "They'll show themselves soon enough," he said softly.

And with that, the air grew heavier, the calm of the journey shattered by the unseen threat pressing in from all sides.

The silence did not last long. From the shade of the trees, a group of men emerged, rough armor patched with scraps of leather and metal, eyes gleaming with hunger. At their head walked a scarred man with a crooked grin, the kind of grin that carried more arrogance than strength.

"Well, well," he called out, dragging his sword lazily across a stone, sparks falling at his feet. "You lot look well-fed, wagons heavy too. Why don't we save everyone some trouble and you hand it all over? Herbs, goods, coin, everything. Walk away breathing, or… we take it ourselves."

The guards shifted nervously, glancing at Boro, but Arden stepped forward before anyone could answer. His expression was calm, almost bored, though his presence weighed heavier with each step.

"You picked the wrong wagons," he said evenly, his hand resting on his blade. "Best turn around while you still have legs to walk."

The bandit leader barked a laugh, a few of his men joining in. "Big words for a masked stray. Boys, show them how we deal with stubborn fools." He raised his arm, signaling the ambush.

From the trees and rocks, arrows whistled laced with varying elements, blades flashed, and hidden men lunged at the wagons. But none of it went unseen.

Arden's eyes narrowed. His aura burst forth, pressing down like a storm. The air thickened, and for a heartbeat the bandits faltered mid-stride, their bodies stiffening under the weight of it. To the guards it felt like the ground itself was shaking, like the very forest bent to him.

"Now," he murmured.

Rael shot forward in a crackle of lightning, smashing into the first wave before they touched the wagons. Nyra's wind spun into sharp currents, deflecting arrows mid-flight, the shards of ice she conjured cutting them down from the air. Zephyra let out a guttural growl, fire bursting across the treeline in sudden arcs, forcing hidden figures into the open.

The bandit leader snarled. "What are you waiting for? Kill them!"

But even as the fight broke out, Arden's gaze stayed on him. He stepped through the clash with precise movements, his blade cutting down a charging bandit in one stroke. His aura still pressed down, each swing of his sword carrying weight enough to break the morale of those who met it.

Then he saw it, the dark ink curling along the leader's neck, half-hidden beneath his collar. A tattoo, the same sigil he had seen before. Recognition sharpened in his eyes.

"So it's you," he said quietly, though his words carried. His grip on his sword tightened. "The same lot again."

The bandit leader frowned, realizing that his mark had been noticed. Arden's aura surged once more, colder, heavier, wrapping around the battlefield like a cage. The bandits felt it in their bones, the certainty that the man before them was not prey, but a hunter who had already chosen them as his kill.

"Your ambush ends here," Arden said, his voice low but clear.

The ground itself seemed to echo it.

A/N:

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