The forest felt quiet… too quiet.
Trevor stepped down from the cart with a grumble, brushing off his coat. His boots hit the dirt road as he looked around, already annoyed. But when he saw the mercenary guards—men known for their loud mouths and rough ways—standing frozen with wide eyes and stiff postures, the irritation drained from his face.
His brows furrowed as he followed their gazes.
From the dark, misty trail ahead, figures on horseback emerged slowly—ten, maybe fifteen of them. Clad in worn but well-maintained armor, their silver and black plate shimmered faintly under the slivers of sunlight breaking through the dense forest canopy. Dust stirred beneath their hooves, and each step echoed louder than it should've.
The armored men didn't speak. They spread out in silence, forming a half-circle around the caravan. Their horses snorted, iron shoes crunching against the gravel road.
Trevor's confusion deepened. "Are they… guard ... .But their appearances look like bandits?"
