Froude nodded again. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 However, his eyes are still highly focused, always paying attention to the other party.

Canla?

As a native of Yasaph, Flot certainly visited, a city famous for its gem-working and art-making. It is only due to the changes in the situation in the kingdom in recent years that the days of peace and ease have passed, and those works of art that lack practical value are becoming less and less popular. It is the trade that travels to the north from all parts of the kingdom that is now highly profitable.

Floss lifted the brimmed hat on his fat head. It is a kind of clothing loved by the Northlanders, especially the Nogo people, which can effectively shield them from the sun and wind and sand. Entering the country is customary, and now Flode is dressed as an authentic Nogo, but his accent is still difficult to change.

"My hometown, Amelia, a small town near Kanla, may you have heard of it. I used to go to Kanla during the New Year's festival......"

Flod's ramblings were quickly interrupted, and the ruffian-turned-"rebels" were clearly not interested in his tirade.

"How's Kanla City doing? I mean, what has happened to Kan-la in recent years? ”

The middle-aged man with a thick scar on his face asked in a low voice, almost word for word, a few syllables in the middle of the sentence.

"Not much has changed."

Flode's answer was brief. His face was flat, almost deliberate—he knew what had happened in Kanla after the Sixth Eta War, but he was afraid to tell the truth to the other side, and the vicious soldiers would go berserk because of it.

"I've heard some bad news and just wanted to make sure."

The middle-aged man spoke calmly, but the little sadness that was hidden could not be hidden from Floss's eyes—as a businessman who traveled from south to north, excellent insight was an essential quality.

"I'm sorry, but you also know that most of the bureaucrats and nobles of the kingdom are some dog things who have forgotten their responsibilities and honors."

Froud sympathized with this, but he did not let his guard down - they chatted with him like old friends, but no one could have predicted what might happen next.

"Are you going to Afron?"

The middle-aged man turned back into an indifferent face.

"Yes."

Froude replied very frankly. He knew, and he believed the other party knew, that the road went in only two directions—northeast to Afron, or west to Calsace, the capital of Nogo, and even farther to Fort Eagle and the Savages.

The long queue of wagons was full of goods, and it looked like it was a big deal—Karthas is no longer what it used to be, and the once prosperous city has withered and been deprived of goods after years of fire and smoke. Although most of the goods can be sold at a good price when you go there, it is difficult to buy the right and sufficient goods on the way back, which is not a good deal for profit-seeking merchants.

Although the other party was from a military background, he was by no means a simple-minded person - Flot secretly made a judgment in his heart.

The muscles under the thick fat of his arms were already tense, and Frode looked nervously at the other side—he was the first time to trade in the Northlands. The notoriety of bandits, as well as rebels, has long been heard.

The middle-aged man, along with several of his companions, was an Asaph—a sign that the other was not a local legion from the Northlands. Thinking of that series of well-known battles, Frode could already confirm that the other party was very likely to come from the Central Second Infantry Regiment, which was directly subordinate to the royal family, or, the more famous and elite "Blazing Sword", one of the three major knights of the kingdom.

While Flot was making various analyses and speculations, the middle-aged man moved, and his thick, sturdy, dirty cowhide boots stepped on the ground, stirring up a puff of dust. Froud looked up, and he saw the gang of rebels coming towards him.

A real elite warrior! A veteran of a hundred battles!

The guys of the caravan secretly swallowed a mouthful of saliva one by one. The other party's steps were neat, like a drum beating in their hearts, plopping - all at once their hearts beat violently, a signal that a battle was about to begin, and these young men belonging to the caravan, although they had never been on a real battlefield, also sniffed out danger from this unusual.

"Your Excellency!"

Fred wiped the sweat from his forehead and shouted. Large drops of sweat had already wet the few hairs on top of his head, dripping from the fat furrows around his neck to the back of his chest. But he didn't care about that much, and if he could, he would never want to face these elite warriors face to face.

He was just an ordinary merchant who was born as a mercenary.

The middle-aged man's face smiled, and the terrifying and hideous scar was like a living poisonous snake, and suddenly showed sharp fangs. Footsteps walked in front of Froude and finally stopped, looking at the sweaty fat businessman, the middle-aged man stretched out a finger.

"One percent of the goods!" This was another rule between Northland bandits and merchants besides fighting.

"Okay—"

Frode honestly lowered his head, and he turned and glanced at the man behind him—perhaps he didn't feel anything when he was far away, but when he got close to them, he felt as if he was in the midst of a ferocious beast.

He had been a brilliant mercenary, and it was because of his excellence that he had amassed enough wealth to form this caravan - Flot had a clear understanding of his skill level. He knew that with him and the young men under him, no matter how desperate and courageous they were, they would never be the opponent of that group of veterans. Therefore, he chose to compromise and retreat.

Now, all I hope is that the other party will say what he says and his promise will be effective. With a group of men, Froude silently retreated towards the mountain road from which he had come - compared to the beautiful Rael, life was more important to Froud.

The rope-bound tarpaulin of the carriage was lifted, revealing large bundles of brand-new, butter-coated armor and swords—and the eyes of the rebels lit up in an instant, including the middle-aged man who had taken the lead. These things, even in the current situation in the northland of Elantra, can be considered "contraband", in other words, these goods are really good.

Froud felt his heart sink completely—the joy of the other man was palpable, and he seemed to see the sad story of the bankrupt merchant, which would soon play out in him.