His bronze-grade undead stood beside him, wrapped in leather armor, face hidden beneath a hood and mask. To anyone else, it looked like a quiet bodyguard who simply didn't talk.
One of the merchants, a plump man dressed in fine robes, approached him with an eager smile.
"Sir Aiden," the man said warmly, "you've already proven your strength. Why not ride in my main carriage? It's far more comfortable than sitting with the guards."
Aiden shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass."
The merchant hesitated. "Are you sure? The road isn't exactly gentle."
"I'm more comfortable with the escorts," Aiden replied simply.
Seeing that Aiden wouldn't change his mind, the merchant could only nod. "Very well."
Aiden walked past the main carriage, where soft cushions and silk curtains swayed gently in the breeze, and headed instead toward the rear wagons. The escort carriage was plain and sturdy, built for practicality rather than comfort. Several guards were already seated inside, sharpening blades or chatting quietly among themselves.
When Aiden climbed in, the conversation faltered for a moment. A few of the escorts glanced at him, more on his undead, recognition flickering in their eyes.
"That's them," someone whispered. "The one who wiped out the bandits."
Aiden ignored the murmurs and took a seat near the edge of the carriage. His undead seat next to him, unmoving, as if carved from stone.
As the caravan began to move, wheels creaking and hooves thudding against the road, Aiden leaned back and watched the town slowly fade into the distance.
Two days on the road.
Plenty of time to rest, observe, and prepare.
---
The caravan rolled steadily along the dirt road, the wheels creaking in a slow, familiar rhythm. Dust rose beneath the hooves of the horses, drifting through the air and settling on armor and cloaks alike. Aiden sat quietly near the back, his bronze-grade undead beside him, silent as ever.
As the road stretched on, idle conversations filled the air.
Two escorts riding ahead spoke in low voices, thinking no one else was listening.
"I heard the Golden Sun Ji Clan was finally wiped out," one of them said.
The other sighed. "Yeah… it's a damn shame. This region was slowly getting better under the Ji Clan's rule. Now those clans will just tear it apart and divide it among themselves."
Aiden's gaze hardened slightly.
Golden Sun Ji Clan.
He heard the name clearly.
For a moment, he waited for something, anger, grief, sadness. After all, this body once belonged to a young master of that very clan. He had inherited its memories, its past, its fall.
But there was nothing.
No ache in his chest. No rage boiling in his blood.
Only a distant sense of obligation.
"So this is how it feels", he thought calmly. "It wasn't my life… not really."
Still, the thought of revenge lingered. Not because of emotion, but because it felt like a debt left behind. A responsibility tied to the body he now inhabited.
Then reality weighed down on him.
Right now, he was nothing more than an ant compared to those great clans. Even surviving in their shadow would be difficult, let alone taking revenge.
The road didn't stay peaceful for long.
Over the two days of travel, the caravan was attacked multiple times. Small groups of bandits rushed out from the trees, desperate and reckless. Some wielded rusted blades, others little more than clubs.
Each time, the escorts formed up quickly. Aiden's undead moved without hesitation, breaking formations and crushing resistance with clean, efficient strikes. Aiden himself stayed alert, bone spear ready, though he rarely needed to use it.
"These attacks are getting worse," one guard muttered after driving off another group.
"It's because of the clan war," another replied. "No one's keeping order anymore."
Aiden watched the fallen bandits as the caravan moved on, their bodies left behind on the roadside.
Chaos always followed power struggles.
As night fell on the second day, the caravan continued forward, battered but intact. Aiden leaned back against the carriage, eyes half-lidded.
The next day, just past noon, the caravan finally reached Breim City.
From a distance, the city walls didn't look particularly impressive. They were made of gray stone, weathered and uneven, with patches that had clearly been repaired more than once. The towers were squat rather than grand, and the gates showed the scars of age. Compared to the fortified cities Aiden had imagined.
Still, they stood firm.
As the caravan passed through the gates, the difference was immediate.
Inside the city, everything felt more orderly than the small town he had left behind. The roads were paved with flat stone instead of packed dirt, worn smooth by countless footsteps and wagon wheels.
Buildings were arranged in proper blocks, their roofs tiled instead of thatched. Even the noise had a rhythm to it, merchants calling out prices, guards issuing instructions, civilians moving with purpose instead of desperation.