The work was unloading and loading. Heavy crates. Sacks of grain. Iron parts that weighed as much as Wen Dao did.
He did it without complaint.
His new Body Tempering Level One body handled it better than he expected. Still straining. Still hurting. But he didn't collapse. The other caravan workers — rough men twice his age — watched him with mild curiosity.
Mei helped with cooking. Kun stayed close to her and said almost nothing.
The caravan guard captain was a man named Doru. Wide shoulders, a flat nose broken more than once, quiet eyes that missed nothing.
On the second rest stop, Doru sat near Wen Dao.
'You're from Stonebrook Village,' Doru said. It wasn't a question.
'Yes.'
'We passed what was left of it yesterday morning. The Iron Claw Gang.' He looked at Wen Dao's face. 'I'm sorry.'
'It's happened to other villages?' Wen Dao asked.
'Four this month. They're expanding their territory. Clearing people out to mine the ore veins underneath.' Doru's jaw was tight. 'The city guards do nothing. The local sects do nothing unless paid.'
'Why?' Wen Dao asked.
'Because the Zhao family funds half the sects in this region. You move against the Iron Claw Gang, you move against the Zhao family, and then two or three sects descend on you.'
Wen Dao was quiet for a moment.
'So the strong protect themselves while the weak are cleared away,' he said.
'That's the world,' Doru said.
'Is it the world, or is it merely what powerful people have convinced everyone is the natural state of things?'
Doru looked at him strangely. Then he stood. 'You talk like my old teacher. He got killed for it too.' He walked away.
Wen Dao went back to his crates.
That afternoon, the caravan was moving through a narrow pass between two hills when arrows came from the rocks above.
Not arrows. Bolts. Crossbow bolts. Fast and quiet.
The first one hit the lead horse. The horse went down screaming and the wagon jackknifed across the road.
'Ambush!' Doru was already drawing his sword. 'Guards up!'
Fifteen men poured from the rocks on both sides. Not Iron Claw Gang — different colors. Red scarves. The Red Knife Bandits, one of the workers said in a terrified whisper.
Wen Dao pulled both children behind a wagon wheel. He looked around fast. Count the enemies. Find the leader. Identify escape routes.
Fourteen fighters visible. One directing them from higher up — a man with a red sash and a calm expression. The leader.
The caravan guards were outnumbered two to one. Doru was fighting three men at once. Doing well, but bleeding.
Wen Dao looked at the crates around him. His hand found a long iron rod used for shifting cargo. He tested its weight.
A bandit came around the wagon. He saw Wen Dao and raised his sword, smiling — easy target, a boy.
Wen Dao swung the rod into the man's knee. Not his head. His knee. The leg buckled. As the man went down, Wen Dao stepped on his sword hand and took the sword.
He had no formal sword training. But he had the body's muscle memory — the previous Wen Dao had apparently been beaten often enough to develop basic defensive instincts.
Another bandit came. And another.
Wen Dao retreated behind the wagon, used the wheel as a barrier, made them come at him one at a time.
He wasn't skilled. But he was controlled. Calm.
'You fight like you're thinking,' one bandit said, surprised.
'Is that strange?' Wen Dao said, catching the man's forearm on the rod, redirecting, pushing him into his partner.
The fight lasted six minutes. The Red Knives lost five men. Doru's guards pushed them back.
The bandits ran.
Doru walked over to Wen Dao. He looked at the two unconscious men near the wagon. Then at the boy holding a borrowed sword.
'You're not fourteen,' Doru said.
'I am fourteen,' Wen Dao said.
'That's not what I mean.' He shook his head. 'When we reach Iron Fang Town, come find me at the Iron Road office. I may have a better offer for you than cargo lifting.'
Wen Dao said nothing. But he noticed: inside his chest, the jade pendant from Elder Shao had grown slightly warmer.