She was unmistakably Lam, judging by her tattered yet familiar clothes. Raizel had forgotten the finer details of her appearance, but there was no mistaking her now.

She sat hunched over, sobbing quietly, her whole body trembling with despair. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears, and she looked utterly defeated.

Passersby cast sympathetic glances at her, as if seeing yet another unfortunate beggar of wilderness.

Despite all the the sympathy, no one was kind enough to get close to comfort her.

But to everyone's surprise, the white haired handsome warrior in simple commoner clothes stepped forward.

He approached her gently and called out in a soft, almost resonating voice:

"Lam."

The moment the familiar voice reached her ears, a jolt of electricity seemed to coarse through Lam's entire body. Her breath caught, and she slowly lifted her head.

Her teary eyes widened as they met the gaze of the young mage—just as she had hoped.

"Sir M—"

Before she could say more, Raizel quickly reached out and covered her mouth with his hand. He gave her a playful wink, silently urging her to remain quiet.

Lam felt a shiver run down her spine at the sudden, intimate touch. The warmth of his hand on her lips and the overwhelming aura he carried made her freeze, then nodded obediently.

She understood immediately that Raizel was in disguise. His plain attire wasn't just for blending in; it was a clear signal that he wanted his identity to remain hidden.

"Stand up."

Raizel spoke calmly as he withdrew his hand.

Lam, the black-haired girl with a gentle face, rose obediently, as if drawn by some invisible pull in his voice and presence.

But even after standing, she couldn't hold his gaze for long. His crimson eyes—so intense and unwavering—made her feel small, weak. It wasn't fear exactly, but something closer to inadequacy.

They were nearly the same age, yet the distance between their strengths felt like a chasm. It wasn't fair. Why was the world so cruelly uneven?

Still, pushing through the turmoil in her heart, she asked softly,

"Umm... did anyone else survive, Sir?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, heavy with sorrow.

Raizel exhaled slowly and shook his head.

"No, Lam. Maybe you're the only one who survived."

After a pause, he added more gently,

"Also... you can call me Raizel from now on."

"Raizel, huh? No, that would be too inappropriate for a commoner girl like me. I'd prefer to call you Sir Raizel, if you don't mind," Lam said, her voice hesitant but respectful.

Raizel, who had already noticed her deep-seated inferiority complex, said nothing to correct it. Some things couldn't be fixed with words alone.

"Do as you wish. I don't mind," he replied with a gentle, almost infectious smile.

The sudden softness in his expression made Lam's heart race, though Raizel remained completely unaware of the small stirrings of affection blooming within her.

"So, Lam," he continued, shifting his gaze toward the winding dirt path stretching far ahead, "where does this road lead to?"

Before Lam could answer, a man nearby with the look of a simple farmer stepped forward, holding a few bags.

"Sir warrior, it leads to the Merchant City of Rubens," he offered politely. "We're all waiting for the wagons to arrive. The city's a long way off from here."

"Merchant City... I see," Raizel muttered, thoughtful.

He didn't mind the interruption at all. After all, he'd spoken loudly enough for others to hear on purpose.

The farmer smiled warmly. "Yes, the Merchant City of Rubens. That's where we simple folk sell our crops to make a living. It's a hub of trade, and there are Guilds there too—for warriors like you."

Raizel turned to Lam for confirmation. She nodded silently, her expression calm.

Understanding the significance, Raizel's lips curled into a small smile.

"Guilds, huh? That's going to be interesting," he murmured under his breath.

With that, he stood waiting alongside the others for the wagons to arrive. Lam remained close, sitting quietly, occasionally stealing dreamy glances at Raizel's composed side profile.

Then—

"Neigh, neigh!"

"Clatter, clatter!"

The unmistakable sounds of horses and wooden wheels rolling over packed dirt snapped Lam back to reality. Her eyes widened as she saw not one but three wagons approaching in a line.

The wagons came to a slow stop in front of the group, kicking up dust. Moments later, three gruff drivers jumped down and shouted out in unison:

"Come on, come on! 50 bronze coins per head to the Merchant City!"

Their tone was brisk, bordering on impatient, as if to remind everyone that charity wasn't on offer.

Grumbles erupted among the crowd.

"50 bronze? Wasn't it 40 just yesterday?"

"Yeah, I remember paying only 30 before..."

"Sigh, they're bleeding us dry."

"They probably showed up late on purpose just to raise the price."

The wagon drivers sneered, arms crossed and amused. One of them spat on the ground and barked back:

"Damn commoners, no one's forcing you! Stay behind if you want, but don't come crying when the beasts tear you apart."

Their laughter echoed as they leaned on the wagons, watching the people struggle with the unfair price.

The commoners, eyes wide with helplessness, turned to Raizel—the only person among them who looked capable of standing up to the injustice.

"Sir Warrior, please... say something. Maybe they'll listen to you," one elderly man pleaded, joined by quiet nods and hopeful gazes from others.

Raizel, who had blended quietly into the crowd until now, suddenly became the center of attention.

The wagon drivers followed the crowd's gaze and finally spotted him. A tall, strikingly handsome young man, his presence calm yet powerful, like a dormant storm.

Their sneers faltered.

"Any problem, boss?"

Moments later, several men armed with swords, spears, and halberds stepped out from the wagons. The were guards hired to protect the convoy. They positioned themselves nearby, clearly trying to show strength in numbers.

Tension crackled in the air.

Raizel stood silent, hands resting lightly at his sides. His eyes swept across the scene—frightened villagers, greedy drivers, and uncertain guards.

He had more than enough bronze coins to pay for himself and Lam. But the helpless plea from the crowd, their faith in him, made him hesitate.

He didn't care for justice in the traditional sense—but was this not a small thing he could do? Just a few words, maybe a little pressure.

"Should I interfere?"

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