She knelt in the cage, her hands and feet bound by thick iron chains.
Her long silver hair cascaded from her shoulders, spreading across the floor, shining brightly in the dark cage.
She looked to be only fourteen or fifteen years old, with a petite build, wearing an old robe whose original color was unrecognizable.
On her exposed shoulder was a dark golden pattern, looking as if it had been branded into her skin, or perhaps had grown there naturally.
Her eyes were golden, like gemstones, yet they held none of the heat of a burning fire, instead appearing as cold and clear as glaciers in a frozen land.
Though something seemed to ripple beneath the ice, the surface remained dead silent, showing not a single trace of emotion.
She bore wounds, with a few faint scars on her arms and neck, yet she simply knelt there in silence.
Like an exquisite yet cold doll, she was placed carelessly in the cage, waiting to be sent to some unknown destination.
Only the occasional blink of her eyes revealed that she was not a doll, but a living person.
The man dragging the Dreadboar threw his prey onto the ground, clapped his hands, and walked straight toward the carriage.
A man dressed as a merchant immediately poked his head out of the carriage and spoke with a grim expression, “What took you so long?”
The man grinned, saying nonchalantly, “Hunted a Dreadboar. Adding a little extra to tonight's dinner for everyone.”
“What dinner?!” the merchant's voice instantly rose.
“At such a critical time, you still have the mind to hunt? The lord repeatedly warned us not to cause unnecessary complications! If anything goes wrong, can you take the responsibility?”
The man glanced back at the caravan, then turned back, still wearing that same grinning expression.
“Who would come to make trouble on such a hidden path? I just hunted some wild game, and didn't I come back quickly?”
“Just this once, let there be no next time.”
The merchant glared at him, forcing the curses at the tip of his tongue back down.
He took a deep breath, lowering his voice as he warned, “Absolutely nothing can go wrong. If a mistake happens, none of us will escape. You know the lord's methods best.”
The man nodded dismissively, saying impatiently, “Fine, fine, I get it, I get it.”
With that, he bent down to drag the Dreadboar, turning to walk toward the back.
The merchant watched his retreating back, his brow furrowing deeper as unease filled his heart.
The slave trader wanted to say a few more words, but just as the words reached his lips, an unusual sound suddenly came from ahead.
It was not the sound of wind blowing through leaves, nor of birds and beasts being startled into flight, but rather the dense sound of horse hooves, drawing closer from afar and growing clearer by the second.
The entire caravan instantly ground to a halt, all activity ceasing at once.
The few cloaked guards almost simultaneously placed their hands on their hilts and bowstrings, dispersing to take up positions and crouching low.
In the blink of an eye, they established a tight defensive perimeter around the carriages.
The man who had hunted the boar earlier lost all of his playful demeanor. A sharp arrow was already nocked on his longbow, the tip steadily aimed in the direction of the approaching hooves.
His entire body was tense, ready to strike at a moment's notice, his presence instantly growing dead silent.
The slave trader forced his words back down, gripping his reins tightly.
In his heart, he cursed the boar-hunting man's ancestors back eight generations, while secretly lamenting his own jinx of a mouth.
The sound of hooves drew closer and closer. Before long, seven or eight horses burst out of the dense forest.
The leading horse had a glossy, magnificent coat. The rider was wrapped in a dark cloak, with the hood pulled extremely low, obscuring most of their face and making their expression unreadable.
The slave trader squinted to inspect the rider for two seconds. Suddenly, his tense body relaxed like a deflated balloon, his shoulders slumping heavily.
“Our own people!” he shouted loudly to the guards, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and relief.
“It is Lord Peter of the Information House!”
Upon hearing this, the guards slowly put away their weapons, though they did not lower their guard completely, merely shifting from a tense combat stance to a state of alert.
The man who had hunted the boar also lowered his longbow, but he kept his arrow nocked on the string rather than returning it to his quiver, his eyes remaining warily locked forward.
Only when the seven or eight horses rushed close did the riders abruptly pull their reins. The hooves stomped on the gravel road, kicking up a small cloud of dust before gradually coming to a halt.
The leader slowly pulled back his hood, revealing a young face.
It was indeed Peter Warren.
His expression was exceptionally grim, with a lingering anxiety in his eyes and his brow covered in the dust of travel.
Clearly, he had traveled a long distance without stopping for even a single moment.
The slave trader immediately put on a flattering smile and quickly went up to greet him, opening his mouth to exchange pleasantries.
But Peter did not give him any chance to speak, asking in an urgent tone:
“Did you find the Gemstone?”
The slave trader's pleasantries instantly choked in his throat. Stunned for a moment, he hurriedly nodded and spoke respectfully.
“Yes, yes, we found it. It is right on the carriage.”
Hearing this, Peter's shoulders relaxed slightly, the anxiety in his brow easing a bit as he pressed, “Did anything happen on the road? Did anyone intercept you?”
“No, not at all,” the slave trader shook his head repeatedly, then asked tentatively, “The journey has been completely smooth. We only ran into your group, my lord.”
“Speaking of which, why weren't you waiting at the agreed location, my lord? Did some urgent matter arise?”
Peter did not answer his question. He simply dismounted, his heavy boots making a soft thud on the gravel road.
“Where is the Gemstone? Take me to see it.” His tone remained urgent.
The slave trader was not annoyed either, eagerly leading him toward the third carriage while gesturing.
“This way, please, my lord. The Gemstone is on this carriage.”
Walking to the side of the carriage, he reached out and lifted the thin cloth covering the cage, gesturing for Peter to inspect it.
Peter poked his head in to take a look. In the next second, his breath caught, and he froze in place as if turned to stone.
Long silver hair cascaded out of the cage, spreading across the dark wooden floor, dazzlingly bright.
The girl knelt in the center of the cage, her hands and feet firmly bound by cold iron chains. The dark golden pattern on her shoulder glowed faintly inside the cage.
Sensing his gaze, she slowly raised her head and locked eyes with him.
They were a pair of golden-red eyes, showing not the slightest trace of fear, nor any emotion he could read.
Yet beneath those pupils, something seemed to be quietly rippling, harboring an untold secret.
Peter's heart thumped violently; he could clearly hear the pounding sound from within his chest.
He had seen countless exceptionally beautiful people, yet none of them could compare to the girl before him. Even covered in wounds and dust, her extraordinary temperament was not obscured in the slightest.
To her, the filth and scars were like moonlight falling upon muddy water—they could not defile her even a fraction, nor could they shroud the serene clarity deep in her eyes.
He simply stood there, his gaze fixed on her, actually forgetting to look away.
The slave trader rubbed his hands together, cautiously leaning in with a flattering smile and lowering his voice.
His tone carried a hint of unspoken, knowing suggestiveness between men.
“My lord, this is the ‘Gemstone’ you were looking for,” he said obsequiously. “We had to expend quite a bit of effort to capture her.”
“Don't let her delicate appearance fool you; her strength is immense. These shackles were specially forged; ordinary ones couldn't possibly hold her.”
With that, he leaned even closer to Peter, whispering in a lower voice, his lips curling into a meaningful smirk full of greasy sleaziness.
“Could it be that you specifically sought her out, my lord, because you took a fancy to this stunning face?”
“When we first found her, as soon as we saw the mark on her shoulder, we were certain that she was definitely the ‘Gemstone’ the young master wanted. It matches the clues you provided perfectly. So...”
He did not finish his sentence, only letting out a couple of snickers, the sleaziness in his laughter completely undisguised.
Peter's face instantly darkened, his presence turning a few degrees colder.
“Shut up,” he said, his voice not loud, but carrying a bone-chilling cold. “The young master's plans are not for you to speculate on.”
“He has his own reasons for seeking her. We only need to quietly do our jobs.”
The slave trader shrank under his icy gaze, quickly lowering his head and bowing repeatedly.
“Yes, yes, you are absolutely right, my lord. It was my big mouth, I was foolish.”
Peter did not look at him again, turning his head to glance back into the cage.
By now, the girl had lowered her head, her long silver hair draping down to cover half of her face, still remaining completely silent.
From beginning to end, she had not uttered a single word, as if everything around her had nothing to do with her.
“She is indeed the one the young master is looking for,” Peter said, reaching out to cover the cage with the thin cloth again. He turned around and spoke in a flat tone to the slave trader.
“Once we return, what the young master promised you will not be a single coin short.”
Hearing this, the slave trader's eyes instantly lit up. The flattering smile on his face turned into genuine joy, and he bowed repeatedly.
“Thank you, my lord! Thank you! I will definitely do my utmost to escort you back safely!”
Peter paid no more attention to his flattery, mounting his horse and saying in a deep voice, “Move out.”
The caravan set off once more. However, with the addition of Peter's group of seven or eight people, their traveling speed actually slowed down.
The mountain path ahead grew narrower and more rugged. The wheels ground against the gravel, making creaking sounds, forcing the group to proceed with extreme caution.
Peter rode at the very front of the group, his brow furrowing tighter as the unease in his heart grew stronger.
“Can't we go any faster?” he couldn't help but look back, a trace of impatience in his voice.
The slave trader, riding a mule, followed behind the group with a troubled look on his face.
“My lord, we really cannot go any faster. This road was built specifically for secrecy. To avoid drawing attention, we must travel slowly.”
“If we wanted to go fast, we would have to take the main road. But with our caravan's situation, we cannot take the main road at all. Once we show ourselves, it will inevitably invite trouble.”
Peter fell silent. He knew the slave trader was telling the truth, yet the inexplicable unease in his heart could not be suppressed.
He looked back once more, glancing at the caravan behind him.
Three carriages, over a dozen guards, and the cage covered by the thin cloth that hid the silver-haired girl—every single element made him feel deeply unsettled.
“Everyone, stay on high alert,” he said, his voice not loud but carrying an unquestionable authority that rang clearly in everyone's ears.
“If even the slightest mistake occurs, you all know the consequences of the young master's wrath.”
No one dared to respond, and the entire caravan fell into silence.
Only the sound of wheels grinding over gravel echoed through the silent forest.
The caravan traveled for another half hour. The light in the forest grew increasingly dim, with the dense layers of leaves overhead blocking out almost all daylight.
Occasionally, wild birds fluttered their wings as they flew past, instantly vanishing back into the branches and leaves.
Peter rode at the very front, his eyes repeatedly scanning the bushes on both sides. Seeing no anomalies, his tense shoulders finally relaxed slightly.
Just then, a crisp twang of a bowstring came from behind.
Peter looked back to see the guard carrying the bow and arrows putting his longbow away, while a badger beast that had just been shot lay at the edge of the woods.
The guard laughed and whispered a few words to the person beside him, drawing chuckles from several others.
Peter's brow furrowed slightly. He said nothing more, slowly turning his head back. His gaze fell upon the path ahead once more, his vigilance not decreasing in the slightest.
The Mage, riding a mule close behind, held a fist-sized crystal in his palm. He glanced down at it and immediately called out a warning.
“My lord, the detection crystal has reacted. There are three or four monsters approaching from ahead.”
Peter waved his hand slightly, gesturing for the archers to prepare.
They had already encountered no less than ten groups of such minor monsters during this period, most of which were creatures that would flee in panic upon seeing humans.
The archers lazily nocked their arrows, waiting with relaxed expressions, none of them taking it to heart.
The footsteps in the forest drew closer and closer, coming from afar and growing increasingly distinct.
In the next second, those few monsters suddenly burst out from behind the bushes.
The moment Peter caught sight of their eyes, his heart skipped a beat.
Their eyes were a solid crimson, so bloodshot they looked as if they might bleed. Thick drool dripped from the corners of their mouths, and they ran with reckless abandon.
They were completely oblivious even when crashing into low trees. Even as branches lashed violently against their bodies, they acted as if they felt no pain, continuing to charge forward frantically.
“Fire!” Peter shouted sharply.
The archer's arrow flew in response, sinking precisely into the shoulder of the leading monster.
Yet the monster merely staggered slightly, without pausing for even a moment, continuing to roar as it charged forward.
A guard immediately stepped forward with his blade raised, slashing at another monster's neck. The blade embedded itself half an inch deep.
But instead of falling, the monster suddenly swung its claws, striking the guard hard on the chest. The blow sent him flying backward, crashing heavily onto the ground.
“What on earth is that?!” someone cried out in shock, their voice filled with disbelief.
The archer quickly fired two more arrows, which lodged firmly in the monster's body, yet it remained as energetic and fierce as ever.
Just then, Peter suddenly noticed a faint golden light shimmering from the monster's wounds.
Though the light was weak, it was exceptionally piercing in the dim forest.
The golden light flickered for only an instant, and the monster's wounds began to heal rapidly, knitting the torn flesh back together piece by piece.
Peter's heart sank completely. These monsters were by no means ordinary; they had clearly been tampered with.
He was just about to warn everyone to be careful, but it was already too late.
Arrows suddenly poured in from the woods on both sides in a dense, overwhelming barrage.
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