### CHAPTER 138
A sharp wind, cutting like a blade, swept across the frost-covered land.
Tyron frowned as he felt the small snow particles floating in the air harshly scrape his cheeks. When the white mist cleared, the view of the Argand forest filled his eyes once again.
He held the reins of his horse and scanned the gray-shaded path beneath his lowered hood with a sharp gaze. At the entrance of the quiet forest path, where silence reigned, subtle particles of frost floated slowly, reflecting a faint light.
Tyron could not determine what it was that had caught his attention in that scene, which seemed peaceful at first glance. Scanning his surroundings with narrowed eyes, he turned his gaze over his shoulder.
Roel, the leader of the massive merchant guild that controlled the East and the North, and his men followed him slowly in a single file line. Tyron closely observed their pale faces, which looked a bit fatigued due to the long journey, and then checked the two baggage carriages at the rear of the caravan, as well as the eight soldiers among his own men stationed around them.
After finally ensuring that everything was in order, Tyron guided his horse to continue the march along the path. At that exact moment, a rustling sound came from up ahead. Tyron instinctively understood that it was not the sound of the wind and drew his sword immediately. Simultaneously, an arrow shot out from among the trees.
"Ambush!" Tyron shouted after barely deflecting the arrow, and all the warriors drew their swords.
However, the enemies were one step ahead. Dozens of attackers erupted from the ground covered by a thick layer of dry leaves, throwing lassos around the legs of the horses they rode. The terrified animals reared violently and let out loud neighs.
Tyron squeezed his thighs to avoid falling from the saddle and tilted his longsword out of pure instinct. With the sound of cutting flesh, warm blood splattered across his face. Through his blurred vision, he saw the attacker, who wore a helmet made from an animal skull over his face, retreat while clutching his bloodied arm.
'People of Zaram?'
Tyron frowned with a grim face and pursued the retreating man, giving his horse a sharp prod. But this time, a long spear extended from the left. Tyron pulled the reins violently, barely managing to prevent his horse's body from being impaled.
His agitated warhorse, Ilaj, raised its front legs high after snapping the rope tightening its ankle. Moments later, the skull of the man who had attacked him was crushed beneath the horse's massive hoof like a tender gourd. The enemies who witnessed the scene retreated.
Tyron seized the opportunity, turned his horse's head, and checked the rear. The northern merchants clung to their saddles and fought against the enemies after drawing their swords. However, it was impossible for people without military training to respond correctly to an ambush. Soon, one of the merchants fell from his horse at the hands of a Zaram man.
Realizing that it was the leader of the Silver Alliance guild, Tyron hurried his horse's pace and swung his long blade diagonally. The longsword, which extended like an eagle's wing, severed the head of the enemy approaching his protected target in a single slash. After crushing the bleeding body with his horse's hoof, Tyron turned his head to eliminate the next enemy.
But the attackers had already moved away and were hiding among the trees. The thieves vanished quickly, so Tyron shouted to his men through gritted teeth:
"Do not pursue them! Reorganize the ranks and take a defensive position around the baggage carriages!"
His men surrounded the carriages immediately. However, the enemies showed no intention of launching a second attack. Tyron looked around the forest, which was as silent as a graveyard, dismounted from his saddle, and helped the man lying on the ground to his feet. Fortunately, he was not seriously injured; the man let out a groan and stood up staggeringly.
"Damn it, what bad luck!"
"Get ready and remount your horse quickly! We must leave this forest as soon as possible."
The man with dark brown hair, an unusual color for the inhabitants of Balto, muttered something and climbed into the saddle. After ensuring the man was capable of riding, Tyron approached Ilaj once more. Just as he was about to mount, something suddenly appeared near him.
Tyron rolled on the ground by instinct. Thanks to that, he barely managed to dodge the blade that flew toward his flank, but he could not avoid the attack that followed. Tyron received a punch to the stomach before he could correct his posture, causing him to let out a cry of pain and fall to the ground.
A man with golden eyes wearing animal skins approached him like a storm and raised his crescent-shaped sword. Tyron, sensing his imminent death, tensed his entire body.
At that instant, a long spear emerged from the attacker's chest.
"Aggh!"
The golden-eyed man vomited blood and turned to look behind himself. Tyron shifted his gaze reflexively to follow and saw a blonde man who shone with paleness, riding a gray warhorse. His eyes widened fully.
The man, whose face was so incredibly cold that he did not seem like a living person, raised the spear with a single hand. At that moment, the body of the attacker, pierced through the stomach, rose like an impaled fish and soared through the air, tracing a wide circle. The axe blade of the halberd, swung with terrifying speed, cut three Zaram men deployed around him at the waist.
It was a monstrous strength, difficult to believe even after witnessing it several times.
"Why are you standing there dazed? Take a defensive position immediately."
The man who mercilessly threw the corpse hanging from the tip of his spear to the ground dictated his instructions in a tone devoid of any emotion. Only then did Tyron regain his senses and stand up in a hurry. However, the enemies had already lost the will to fight and were retreating rapidly.
Varkas nodded to the warriors following him:
"Pursue them immediately."
As soon as the order was issued, dozens of riders plunged among the trees. The ruler of the East, who observed the scene with an expressionless face, looked back at him. Tyron, who barely regained his composure, hurried to salute.
"Thanks to you I have saved my life, Your Highness the Duke."
"You were lucky, Drakan. If we were not conducting an inspection after receiving the report about the positioning of a band of thieves in the Argand forest, you would have suffered a great misfortune."
The response came from Darren du Sherkan, who served as the assistant to the Duke of the East, and not from the Duke himself. Darren brought his horse out from among the trees and looked at the corpses lying on the ground.
"I didn't think the Zaram men would dare to prowl even near Kalmor."
Darren made a sound expressing annoyance, then turned his head toward the ruler of the East and asked:
"Shouldn't we begin an extermination operation before the cold wave arrives?"
"...It is not the right time. For now, we will limit ourselves to expanding the reconnaissance network and controlling the paths."
The man who handed his bloodied spear to his servant shifted his gaze toward the paralyzed northern merchants. All of them had expressions as if they had seen a ghost. The ruler of the East guided his horse toward them and greeted them in a polite tone that did not fit the situation.
"Welcome to Kalmor. I am sorry you faced such an unfortunate incident on your first day."
"Oh, no, Your Highness the Duke! These things always happen when leading a caravan," the merchant bowed politely. He seemed to have recognized Varkas's identity immediately, as befitted the leader of a massive guild. The man praised him with great skill, "But it is truly an amazing skill. The reputation of the strongest spear-bearer on the continent is not an exaggeration at all. If I hadn't seen your majesty with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. How can such a slender body possess such brutal strength...!"
"Let's leave the flattery for later. The priority now is to leave the forest."
The tempered voice, lacking any enthusiasm, cut off the merchant's praises abruptly. The northerner bowed immediately without showing any embarrassment.
"Of course! I will follow Your Highness in silence."
The northerner signaled his men, who organized the ranks immediately. Varkas contemplated the scene with a penetrating gaze and then turned his horse's head. Tyron rode to his left, examining the surroundings carefully for any possible ambush. Fortunately, they managed to reach the entrance of the forest without any major incident occurring.
While Tyron sighed in relief for a moment, Varkas suddenly pulled out a bow while guiding his horse in an upright posture.
'Did an enemy appear?'
Tyron drew his sword immediately. Varkas fixed his gaze on the deeply shaded forest and drew the bowstring. Next, a whistling sound and a sharp screech were heard.
Tyron looked at Varkas with a puzzled face, not understanding what had happened. At that instant, a hunting dog that followed them in silence—as if it were not there—dashed like the wind and returned carrying something in its muzzle.
"...A moon pheasant?" Tyron blinked with astonished eyes.
The large hunting dog proudly presented the bird pierced by the arrow to its master. Varkas dismounted from his horse, took the bird from the dog's muzzle, and tied its legs to a leather strap hanging from the horse's saddle. Only then could Tyron see three or four brown moon birds hanging near the horse's rump.
Darren explained to him with a sorry face upon seeing that Tyron looked confused:
"Her Highness the Duchess likes moon pheasant meat. It seems to be what she eats with the most ease because it has less odor."