Every head turned toward Klaus.
Ulon blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Wow," he said, folding his arms. "Straight to business."
"Klaus!" Maddy hissed sharply from beside the wagon. Her fingers tightened around the wooden rail, knuckles pale, but she didn't move closer. Concern flickered in her eyes—half for the Kultians, half for whatever trouble Klaus was deliberately stirring.
The Kulitian leader narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
Klaus shrugged lightly, as if asked why the sky was blue. He lifted one hand and flicked his wrist.
Space rippled.
With a dull thud, five massive wooden barrels full of water appeared on the rocky ground, followed by three enormous cured pork legs wrapped in cloth, their rich, salty scent immediately cutting through the dusty air. Ten salted biscuit bundles tightly bound with paper landed neatly beside them, along with few small red vials that clinked softly as they settled.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
Klaus said casually. "This is enough for several days. A week, if you don't eat like Ulon."
"Hey," Ulon protested.
"And a few health regeneration vials," Klaus continued, nodding toward the wounded Kultians. "For those who need them. I just want gold in exchange."
A hush fell over the clearing.
Kiel leaned out from near the wagon wheel, eyes sparkling with interest. "Oh," he said brightly, "are we negotiating now?"
"Quiet," Maddy snapped, grabbing his boot and yanking him back. "This is not a market stall."
Shane said nothing. He watched the Kultian leader closely, eyes sharp, mind turning. He also noticed what Klaus clearly intended others to notice: the children staring at the pork legs, eyes wide, throats bobbing as they swallowed. One boy clutched his mother's sleeve unconsciously. Several elders deliberately turned their heads away, jaws clenched, pretending not to smell the food.
The man frowned deeply. "What is the meaning of this?"
Klaus smiled—not kindly, not cruelly. Amused. Almost gentle, in a way that made it worse.
"A trade," he said. "You've been in the wilderness for a long time. Food and water don't last forever out here. I'm not trying to offend you. I'm being considerate."
From the wagon, Maddy scoffed under her breath. "Considerate, my ass."
Petra leaned closer to her, voice hesitant but earnest. "Is… is Mr. Klaus cheating them?"
Kiel tilted his head. "I don't think so. Maybe he found something."
"You still believe him?" Maddy muttered.
Both Petra and Kiel nodded immediately.
Shalotte never gave any attention to the commotion. He carefully checked every part of the wagon, even the tiny nails on the side, never been safe in his eyes.
Maddy pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. "I need new companions," she murmured, but didn't argue further.
The Kulitian leader studied the supplies again, jaw tightening. "Aren't you worried," he said slowly, "that we might simply rob you? You're outnumbered."
Behind him, several men shifted, hands sliding more firmly onto their weapons. The tension sharpened, thin as wire.
Klaus didn't even blink.
"You know we're here to kill the monster that hunts you," he replied calmly. "Do you really think numbers mean anything to us?"
Silence.
The man's expression didn't change—but something in his eyes did. Recognition. He knew it. These people weren't bluffing. They could wipe his group out if they wished.
He opened his mouth, likely to refuse—
"Is this enough, mister?"
A young woman stepped forward before anyone could stop her.
She couldn't have been much older than Kiel—perhaps a year or two at most. Her crimson hair was tied back tightly, though loose strands clung to her cheeks, damp with sweat and dust. Exhaustion weighed on her posture, shoulders slightly hunched from weeks of travel, yet her eyes were steady and unflinching. In both hands, she held a golden bracelet—delicately crafted, its surface engraved with fine, flowing patterns. Small, multicolored gems were embedded along its curve, catching the light even beneath the dull sky.
A ripple ran through the Kultians.
Whispers stirred. A few sharp intakes of breath followed. Someone muttered her name.
"Anaya"
Before Klaus could even lean forward, the man barked, "What are you doing, Anaya?!"
His voice cracked through the clearing, raw with anger and fear. He stepped toward her, eyes blazing.
"That's the only thing your mother left," he continued, jaw clenched. "Do you understand that?"
Anaya didn't flinch.
"I'm saving us, father," she said simply.
Her calm only seemed to fuel his fury.
"Saving us?" he snapped. "They're here for gold. Men like this are full of greed. Once he takes one thing, he'll take everything we have left."
Behind Klaus, Ulon raised an eyebrow and pointed at him lazily. "We don't know him."
"I don't know him either," Klaus added smoothly.
The leader rounded fully on his daughter, his voice dropping into something colder.
"Go back to the wagon," he ordered. "And take that with you."
Klaus exhaled softly. The sound barely carried, but it cut through the tension like a blade.
"Your pride will be the death of your people."
The words landed hard.
The man spun on him, hand flying instinctively to his sword. "What did you say?"
Klaus met his gaze without a trace of alarm. His posture remained loose, almost casual, hands still in his pockets.
"I said we're both greedy," he replied evenly. "Just in different ways."
"I don't care about wealth," the man shot back.
"No," Klaus agreed at once. "You care about comfort."
The man froze.
Around them, the clearing seemed to tighten. The wind slipped between the rocks, stirring dust and loose leaves, but no one moved. Even Ulon had gone quiet, arms crossed now, grin faded into something more attentive. Maddy leaned against the wagon rail, brows knit, ready to step in if things turned ugly. Petra stood rigid, scythe close to her body, eyes darting between the man's sword and Klaus's unreadable expression. Kiel watched with wide eyes, excitement dulled by confusion. And there was Shalotte, oblivious to what was happening, keeping himself in his tiny world.
"Contentment ends where greed begins," Klaus continued calmly. "You could've stayed in Pedleton. Life there would've been hard, but safe enough against the Varkeshian Authority. Yet, it wasn't enough for you. Crowvale is richer. More opportunities. So you led your people down this road instead."
He tilted his head slightly. "Isn't that greed?"
The man's jaw worked as if chewing the words.
The clearing felt smaller now. Heavier.
"Is it greed," he demanded, voice rising, "to want the best for my kin?"
Klaus didn't answer right away.
His gaze drifted—not to the man, but beyond him. To the children clinging to their mothers' clothes. To the wounded men sitting stiffly, pretending not to ache. To the exhausted faces etched with hunger, fear, and stubborn hope.
"Isn't it?" Klaus said softly. "You already know the answer… How many lives have been taken—or will be taken—for what you believe is best?"