Imperator: Resurrection of an Empire-Chapter 421 - 416 - Nana:

The road east was never quiet.

Even when the wind died and the dust settled enough for the horizon to reappear, there was always movement—wagon wheels creaking, pack animals snorting, guards muttering half-prayers under their breath.

Nana sat atop the rear wagon with her legs dangling over the side, spear resting across her lap, eyes half-lidded against the glare.

She hated sand.

Not feared it.

Not disrespected it.

Hated it.

It crept everywhere, no matter how carefully she wrapped herself.

In her boots.

In her sleeves.

Between teeth.

It ground against skin and steel alike, a constant reminder that this land did not care who you were or why you traveled.

Antiochia was like that.

Harsh.

Indifferent.

Dangerous.

Perfect cover.

The caravan master—a balding man with a voice perpetually hoarse from shouting over camels—had hired twelve guards in total.

Half were locals, lean men with curved blades and sun-darkened skin.

The rest were drifters: mercenaries, failed soldiers, and the occasional fool with more confidence than sense.

Nana fit neatly into the second category.

Or so they thought.

She adjusted the scarf around her face, eyes scanning the ridgelines to the south.

The terrain there dipped into a series of shallow dunes broken by stone outcroppings—exactly the kind of place bandits liked.

Predictable.

Her fingers tightened around the shaft of her spear.

Bandits were not a question of if on this route.

Only when.

It happened just after midday.

The first sign wasn’t shouting or arrows.

It was silence.

The camels stilled.

The drivers slowed without quite knowing why.

Even the wind seemed to hesitate.

Nana slid off the wagon in one smooth motion, boots crunching softly against the dirt forming the road.

Around her, other guards followed suit, hands drifting toward weapons.

Then the arrows came.

A hiss, sharp and sudden.

One buried itself in the side of the lead wagon.

Another struck a camel in the neck; the animal screamed and collapsed, dragging its harness with it.

"CONTACT!" someone yelled.

Bandits poured over the dunes—fifteen, maybe twenty.

Lightly armored, mismatched gear, curved blades and short bows.

Desperation in their eyes.

Not amateurs.

But not professionals either.

Nana exhaled.

Good.

The guards formed a loose defensive ring around the wagons, shields raised.

Nana took position slightly off-center, exactly where a competent but unremarkable mercenary should stand.

She let the first bandit come to her.

He charged with a howl, blade raised overhead.

Too much commitment.

Nana stepped inside his swing, pivoted on her heel, and drove the butt of her spear into his throat.

Cartilage crushed.

He dropped, gurgling.

No flourish.

No wasted motion.

Another lunged from her right—she parried, twisted, and slid the spearhead through the gap in his armor.

A quick yank, a step back.

Two down.

She kept her aura suppressed, movements efficient but not superhuman.

Enough skill to survive.

Not enough to draw attention.

Around her, the fight raged.

One of the local guards went down with an arrow through the thigh, screaming curses.

Another tackled a bandit off a dune, both rolling out of sight.

Nana adjusted her stance as three bandits pressed her at once. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

That was a mistake.

She retreated two steps, baiting them forward, then planted her spear and used it as a pivot, sweeping the legs out from under the leftmost attacker.

As he fell, she kicked his knee sideways—hard.

Crack.

The second hesitated.

The third didn’t.

She stabbed him clean through the chest, then wrenched the spear free and finished the fallen one with a downward thrust.

The hesitant bandit turned to run.

Nana let him go.

Not her job to chase.

Minutes later, it was over.

The survivors fled back into the dunes, leaving bodies scattered across the sand.

The caravan stood shaken but intact.

The caravan master wiped sweat from his brow, eyes wide as he surveyed the scene.

"Well," he croaked, "that could’ve gone worse."

A few guards laughed shakily.

Someone clapped Nana on the shoulder. "Didn’t know you had that in you, girl."

She shrugged. "Bandits aren’t special."

That earned a few nods, the experience lot knew bandits were typically not soldiers or even seasoned killers instead just runaways and farmers who couldnt afford the tax driven to a life of crime but without proper skills or training to sustain the life.

Then came the bonus.

It was an unspoken rule on the roads: whatever gear the bandits carried was fair game.

The dead didn’t need it, and the living guards had earned it.

Nana knelt beside one of the fallen attackers, inspecting his armor.

Cheap leather, but serviceable.

The blade at his side was better—eastern steel, worn but balanced.

And withe some light maintenance would sell decently like a normal weapon.

She claimed it without comment, adding it to the growing pile near the wagons.

By the time they finished, they had enough weapons and armor to fetch a respectable sum at the next city.

The caravan master looked almost cheerful, especially since the end of this journey in particular was in Antiocha a nation current at war, so weapons would sell easily there.

"You lot just paid for your own wages twice over," he said. "Drinks are on me tonight."

That earned genuine laughter.

Nana cleaned her spear carefully, wiping away blood and sand alike.

Her heart rate slowed, mind already cataloging details.

Bandit numbers.

Tactics.

Equipment quality.

Poor coordination.

No insignia.

Likely locals displaced by the war or even poor local management of the nation, not coalition-backed trying to draw in the remaining two eastern nations into their war.

Useful context.

As the caravan resumed its journey, Nana climbed back onto the wagon, gaze drifting east.

The land began to change subtly as the day wore on.

The dunes thinned.

Stone markers appeared along the road—old, weathered pillars etched with symbols she didn’t recognize.

By the time dusk hit four days later they had finally crossed over the rest of Itar, along with another eastern nation, the Ancient state, and crossed over into the first coalition nation though one in a safer position not directly facing Visigoth.

It was here that Nana’s real mission would begin, arriving as a caravan guard, she could easily be accepted to stay as a potential fighting force for the coalition.

Though her abrupt leave following the caravan away in a couple of days was also possible should the situation be precarious and an emergency exit strategy be required without drawing attention.