Warhorse

Having repelled the bandits, it was clear that continuing the journey today was out of the question. They decided to set up camp nearby, leaving the remaining tasks to others. Derek took this opportunity to provide his soldiers with some psychological reinforcement.

After a battle, many had lost their fear of war. The visible traces of their inexperience began to fade, with some even displaying extreme excitement and eagerness. Once the psychological debrief was completed, Derek checked his status panel.

As expected, all of his soldiers had gained a noticeable amount of experience, ranging from ten to twenty points. This was the progress brought about by their enhanced experience and improved mindset. For spearmen above level five, progress was usually minimal. By level seven or eight, it nearly stagnated. Thus, this sudden increase was significant.

However, Derek knew that such opportunities would become increasingly rare and less rewarding with each encounter.

He then checked his own stats:

Feng Derek

Class: Knight Level 7 (5/100)

Experience Pool: 0/100

Not bad, he had gained three points. His knight attendants had also reached level four. Additionally, there was an unexpected discovery.

Derek opened an icon at the bottom of the panel, revealing something that was clearly not human:

Warhorse (Pending Name)

Quality: Common (46/100)

Experience Pool: 0/100

"Warhorses can also join the panel?" Derek was instantly intrigued. If the arms trade was lucrative, then the warhorse trade was monopolistic. Prices varied greatly, and they were often unavailable even if one had the money. His own common horse cost over 10 gold coins. Properly trained warhorses easily started at dozens of gold coins.

Derek quickly pondered the criteria for a warhorse to be included in the panel. Was it the recent battle? Or obedience? Based on the example of soldiers being included in the panel, he believed the latter was more likely. However, if each horse required his personal attention to be added to the panel, the feature's utility would be greatly diminished.

Derek could only keep this in mind for now; even if it wasn't feasible, at least he could consistently train a few high-quality warhorses.

That evening, Vincent visited Derek quietly and promised an additional reward once they returned to the city. It wouldn't be much, but there would definitely be something. This was the norm; after all, hard work shouldn't go unrecognized. Principles are principles, and relationships are relationships—this is how things should be handled. At least Derek was satisfied, and future dealings would go more smoothly.

After a short stay, the caravan continued on its way. There weren't many bandit camps left, and they were nearing their return journey. Vincent prayed that no more incidents would occur. Despite the earlier attack, the caravan was still making a significant profit, especially on the return leg of the journey.

Mountain dwellers were xenophobic, and without the goat caravan's presence, Derek wouldn't have been able to enter the mountain villages easily. He also instructed his soldiers to avoid causing conflicts and to simply guard the caravan, quietly watching the mountain dwellers trade. It seemed that more than one village was involved, and some mountain dwellers had come from nearby areas.

Derek crossed his arms and scanned the area with sharp eyes, watching for any mountain dwellers with ill intentions.

"Can you lower the price of the medicine? We only have these rabbit skins," pleaded one mountain dweller.

"No way. These rabbit skins can only be used to make gloves and aren't worth much. The high-quality medicine is for my own use, and I won't sell it cheaply," Vincent retorted.

The argument caught Derek's attention. He turned to see Vincent arguing with a poorly dressed mountain dweller. Derek approached to prevent any conflict. Vincent, seeing Derek, became more assertive. Risky deals were acceptable, but losing money was not an option. Vincent might have seemed restrained in front of Derek, but he had no sympathy for these lowly mountain dwellers. Making him take a loss was like cutting off his flesh.

The mountain dweller seemed ready to fight but recoiled when he saw Derek, fear flickering in his eyes. He hesitated but then remembered his injured brother lying at home and stood firm.

"Sir, give me the medicine. Next time, I will bring you ten wild boar skins," the mountain dweller offered.

Ten wild boar skins were valuable, enough to make several pieces of leather armor. Vincent's eyes lit up, but seeing the man's shabby attire, he sneered. "Next time? You'd better not starve to death first. Get out of my way, or I'll show no mercy."

The mountain dweller's arm muscles tensed as if he were about to strike. At that moment, Derek stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Friend, you look familiar," Derek said.

The mountain dweller was startled, remembering where he was and just how formidable Derek was. He tried to struggle, but Derek held him firmly in place. The strength he prided himself on was useless under Derek's grip.

Derek was somewhat surprised too; the man was quite strong, stronger than most robust men. Ordinary mountain dwellers weren't usually as strong as oxen, and such natural strength was rare. However, Derek was more interested in another aspect.

"I don't know you. Let me go. This isn't a place for outsiders like you to cause trouble," the mountain dweller shouted, drawing the attention of many onlookers. Even with the backing of the goat caravan, causing trouble here required caution.

Derek ignored him and turned to his squire, Simon. "Fetch my medicine."

Simon quickly returned with a small bundle in his hands.

"Friend, I mean no harm. I'll take the ten wild boar skins. This is the medicine I prepared for myself, much better than what you find on the market, especially for… stab wounds," Derek said, staring into the man's eyes as if he could read his thoughts.

The mountain dweller instinctively looked away, unable to meet Derek's gaze. He wasn't sure if Derek recognized him, but his brother's life was on the line. He gritted his teeth and took the bundle.

"Outsider, I will prepare the ten wild boar skins for you."

"Good. I'll be waiting next time the caravan comes through. If I'm not here, you can give them to Vincent," Derek replied.

The mountain dweller took a few steps, then turned back with a determined look. "Knight, tell me your name."

"Feng Derek."

"My name is Wood. I will bring you the wild boar skins," the mountain dweller said before walking away.

Vincent approached with a regretful expression. "Sir Derek, your medicine will likely be wasted. These people… they don't have the knight's honor."

"No, I think he's a warrior and deserves a chance."

"What makes you say that?" Vincent asked curiously. Derek just smiled.

What made him say that? The few mountain bandits who dared to charge were the strongest fighters. If not for Derek's command, the caravan might have been overrun. Such a person among the mountain dwellers was a valuable asset worth recruiting. Derek's belongings were not easily given away.