Chapter 3: Attack

“Hello, Mr. Olga.”

Alicia looked up, greeting him.

The man was typical Valanvis—refined, sharp features, deep eyes—but scars on face and exposed skin revealed he wasn’t as he appeared.

While Alicia observed, Olga sized the girl.

To him, Alicia frail, pale skin, golden hair single ponytail, plus unique style but impeccable clothes—no adventurer look.

But Olga didn’t think her simple.

Especially Alicia’s cat-like vivid red eyes, reminding of dangerous predators—his battlefield instinct warned: dangerous.

Cosette said she woke mere minutes ago, yet so calm grasping situation—stronger than average.

Seeing Olga’s concerns, Alicia spoke first:

“Still haven’t thanked for saving me.”

Tried appear harmless.

“No trouble, no need. Miss Alicia looks Eastern by face?”

Olga stared long before speaking.

“Birthplace… yes, just wild mage, accident made me like this, but guarantee no trouble for you.”

Seeing origin doubt, Alicia hoped words lessen suspicion.

“…Regret your misfortune, hope ancestors’ stars guide you.”

Olga not fully believe, but mission priority—as long as no trouble, no extra branches.

As captain, much to handle, can’t waste time.

Olga left, Cosette brought stew, bread, medicine.

Next time calm for Alicia, Cosette’s food interested her.

Ordinary bread stew, but electronic life eating—odd wonder.

“Sorry, only emergency food. How feel? Wound still hurt?”

Sitting beside, Cosette worried serious, gaze on her, slight concern on shoulder.

“Now fine.”

Alicia said, moved left hand—bone-deep pain less intense, start even breathing hard, now much better.

Fast recovery likely species change.

“Good.”

Hearing, Cosette’s tense eased.

“But rest more, reach Winterhold, better conditions, wound heal faster.”

Cosette serious—though stranger before her, priest instinct cared every injured.

“Thanks, but want walk around, bed bad for body.”

Alicia excuse, plan observe surroundings.

Environment unfamiliar, hard relax.

“Okay, no force.”

Cosette nodded, supported Alicia survey location.

Look around, camp roadside, simple caravan site, small—walls seven eight wagons low barriers.

Center big bonfire, crackling, sparks echo night stars.

Caravan few—one turban gorgeous fringed robe middle-aged likely leader.

Guards dozen mercenaries, gear fine—breech percussion guns, 3/4 plate almost each.

“Your group official backed? Gear not common.”

Seeing luxury, Alicia puzzled ask.

“If insist, retired reemployed. Mostly captain’s old subordinates, just—”

Cosette half explain, interrupted by arrow whistle.

Both exchanged looks, mutual doubt.

Caravan north inland route, away border, checkpoints stations, but not safe. Current abnormal.

“I’ll ask captain, you rest.”

Cosette low said, turned leave.

Watching back, Alicia opened mouth, said nothing.

Old wage slave never thought cared by younger.

But next, successive low horns made Alicia serious.

“Buzz——”

Alicia heart sank—big trouble!

Camp all faces changed—north dwellers knew horns meant scattered beastman troops converging, attack imminent.

Beastmen.

To imperials, too familiar.

Grudge millennia.

To imperials: beastmen = mortal enemy.

Now, Olga helmet on, waist gun sword, halberd shouldered front, serious watch forest edge flickering beastmen.

Camp mercenaries ready—breech mercury percussion loaded, bayonets fixed.

Seeing arrayed, Olga not optimistic.

Dust raised, faint flags—beastmen numbers far beyond limit.