Chapter 18 : Chapter 18
Chapter 18: The Golden Iris
Below the valley lay a frozen hell.
A dozen ornate four-wheeled carriages lay scattered in disarray, like toys carelessly discarded by the gods.
Two of them still smoked with black fumes, their exquisite gilt carvings scorched to charcoal black, shattered silk curtains fluttering feebly in the cold wind like soul-beckoning banners of the dead.
Dozens of corpses lay strewn around the caravan in various twisted postures.
Some were guards in fine armor, chests cleaved completely open by heavy axes, still frozen in the stance of swinging their swords even in death.
Some were richly dressed servants, curled beneath wagon wheels, standard military arrows without tail feathers embedded in their backs.
Blood had soaked this black-brown earth into dark crimson, beginning to congeal and blacken in the low temperature.
Several carrion-feeding wasteland vultures hopped among the bodies, emitting harsh cries, brazenly pecking at eyeballs and entrails.
Caesar's gaze turned cold as ice.
This was not a magical beast attack.
This was human work.
And it was a professional ambush and massacre.
Like an experienced lone wolf, he patiently observed from the ridge for a full ten minutes. Only after confirming safety did he leap down from the several-meter-high cliff face, landing soundlessly.
He walked to a guard's corpse and crouched down.
The guard looked no more than twenty-odd years old, yet the armor on his chest had been cleaved completely open by a heavy axe. He had died with eyes wide open.
Caesar's gaze fell on an emblem engraved on the guard's chest armor.
It was a roaring lion, encircled by a ring of thorns.
The Thorned Lion—the family crest of the Sebastian family of the Eastern Marches!
A behemoth that held a hereditary ducal title on the empire's eastern border, powerful enough to stand equal to an entire kingdom!
Why would their caravan appear here?
Caesar suppressed the shock and suspicion in his heart and continued investigating.
He quickly discovered more clues.
The wheel ruts on the ground ran deep, indicating the carts carried heavy loads. The attackers' arrows were uniformly standard-issue, indicating they came from a disciplined military force rather than a hastily assembled bandit gang. The scene bore no bodies of attackers, meaning they had annihilated the guard detail at minimal cost.
These people were professional, efficient, and ruthless.
Just as Caesar prepared to leave, an extremely faint groan came from beneath an overturned ornate carriage.
He immediately drew his longsword and approached warily.
Lifting the shattered silk curtain, a rich mixture of blood stench and strange spice fragrance hit him full in the face.
Inside the carriage, a young girl was curled in the corner, her body covered by an expensive white fox fur cloak, but the cloak had been stained red with blood over half its surface.
She appeared no more than sixteen or seventeen, her brilliant golden hair plastered messily to her pale cheeks, long lashes dotted with droplets of blood and tear tracks.
Even in unconsciousness, her brows were tightly knit, as if enduring tremendous pain.
A broken arrow shaft was embedded in her abdomen—precisely one of those standard military arrows without tail feathers.
Caesar checked her breath. Faint, but still alive.
Trouble.
That was Caesar's first thought.
To save her, or not?
Saving her meant bearing the potential tidal waves from the Sebastian family, as well as pursuit by that mysterious group of attackers.
She was a hot potato, an enormous problem.
Not saving her meant certain death for her.
He could loot the spoils of war and depart soundlessly, as if he'd never appeared at all. For someone struggling to survive in the wasteland, this was undoubtedly the most rational, safest choice.
Caesar's gaze swept across the girl's face, finally settling on her tightly clenched right hand.
In her hand, she clutched an emblem pendant.
Not the Thorned Lion, but a blooming golden iris.
This was the symbol of the Franc Imperial House.
A Duke's daughter of the Sebastian family? Or an even more exalted member of the imperial family?
Caesar fell silent.
Risk and opportunity always coexisted.
A noble young lady of distinguished status could bring value far exceeding this meager dead men's wealth before his eyes.
This was a high-stakes gamble.
He drew a deep breath and made his decision.
He carefully lifted the girl from the carriage. The body in his arms was light as a feather.
He examined the wound, his brow furrowing tight.
The arrowhead had barbs, and by the looks of it had been poisoned. It required immediate treatment.
He fumbled out a healing potion from his chest. After hesitating for point-one seconds, he pried open the girl's mouth and poured half the potion down.
The girl's complexion visibly recovered a hint of color, her breathing stabilizing somewhat.
Just then, Caesar's ears twitched slightly. He heard faint hoofbeats coming from the distance.
More than one horse.
They had returned! Were they coming back to check for survivors, or to dispose of the bodies?
Caesar had no time to think further. He immediately scooped up the girl and in several flashes vanished into the valley's shadows.
He couldn't return to his own camp—that would lead disaster there.
Carrying this scalding-hot trouble, he slipped toward deeper, more dangerous regions of the Blackspine Mountains. Behind him, the hoofbeats of death gradually closed in.