A caravan of considerable size was traveling along the official road.
It consisted of over thirty carriages, all laden with goods. The axles were heavy, and the carts were pulled by strong, well-fed steeds.
The cargo was covered with thick, tightly bound oilcloths. Dozens of sharp-eyed guards in uniform, militant attire rode alongside—in front, behind, and on the flanks. They moved in an orderly fashion, clearly well-trained.
Fang Han's sudden appearance was like a stone tossed into a calm lake, instantly disrupting the caravan's rhythm.
"WHOA—!"
The pupils of the foremost guards contracted. They instinctively reined in their horses, which reared up with a loud neigh.
"SHING! SHING! SHING!"
The guards behind reacted in a flash. A dense rasp of metal scraping against metal filled the air as more than half of them placed their hands on the hilts of their sabers and swords. Their gazes, sharp as a falcon's, locked onto Fang Han, filled with vigilance and caution.
