The night was deep, and the Orlando Mountains, under the moonlight, seemed even more perilous.
Green and red dots of light flickered in the woods—the greedy, watchful eyes of lurking beasts. A shrill, piercing bird cry would suddenly rip through the night like the wail of a ghost, raising goosebumps.
The Salt Blade Mercenary Legion was now making its way through the rugged mountain path in the dark.
To avoid attracting unnecessary trouble, they lit no torches. Everyone was laden with heavy spoils, while also escorting the terrified group of young beastmen.
The mountain path was treacherous. Slippery moss, tangled tree roots, and steep slopes caused mercenaries to stumble and fall from time to time. Muffled groans of pain and low curses were especially clear in the silent night.
Large nocturnal predators, drawn by the scent of blood, tried to launch sneak attacks from the darkness. However, these hungry beasts were often pierced by arrows glowing with a faint green light, shot with precision from the darkness, before they could even get close. They would let out a short, mournful cry and fall dead.
The occasional agile beast that managed to dodge the arrows would be instantly engulfed in the scorching flames that erupted from Freya's palm, reduced to a charred husk.
The company marched almost non-stop for nearly the entire night. It wasn't until the first hint of dawn appeared on the horizon, its light filtering through the dense canopy in dappled patterns, that Dario was forced to order a halt for rest. The captive cubs were utterly exhausted, collapsing to the ground, unable to take another step.
The mercenaries were equally spent. They hastily found a relatively flat, dry, and sheltered spot in the forest, set up a minimal watch, and then, in twos and threes, leaned against tree trunks or rocks to take turns resting.
Rayne curled up at the base of a large tree, not immediately falling asleep like the other mercenaries.
He silently observed their every move, noting things he didn't yet understand.
The successive battles and the grueling all-night march had drained the last of the mercenaries' energy. After confirming there was no immediate danger, a tide of exhaustion washed over them. Soon, helmets were askew and snores filled the air. Even the sentries on watch were fighting to keep their eyelids open, their heads nodding off.
After some time, when most were deep in their dreams, a piercing, short scream, like a clap of thunder on a clear day, shattered the tranquility of the forest, jolting every sleeping mercenary awake.
In that same instant, the mercenaries, who had been drowsy just a moment before, sprang to their feet like startled cats, instinctively grabbing their weapons and scanning their surroundings.
"Jason! What the hell are you screaming about?! Trying to attract every monster in the forest?!" Dario, rubbing his sleepy eyes and yawning widely, sat up from behind a rock and cursed.
"Boss! It's bad! The little Tigran... he's gone!"
"What?! How did he escape? Didn't I tell you to tie him up tight?!"
"Boss, you... you have to see for yourself!" Jason, his face a mask of misery, held up two pieces of severed hemp rope and showed them to Dario. "The cut on this rope is so clean and smooth. Someone obviously cut it with a sharp knife and rescued him!"
Dario took the severed rope and examined the cut. His brow furrowed slightly. "What about the other cubs? Did any others get away?"
"No, just the most valuable one, the little Tigran," Jason answered cautiously.
"Forget it. If he's gone, he's gone." Dario waved his hand with surprising nonchalance, his tone calm. "Everyone rest a little longer, then we move out."
"What?! Boss! What did you say? Just forget it?! That little Tigran was the biggest prize of this whole operation! He's worth at least a thousand gold coins! And... and I seriously suspect we have an insider in our ranks! Otherwise, how could someone sneak past our watch and rescue him without a sound?!" As Jason spoke, his suspicious gaze drifted instinctively to Rayne, who stood silently to the side.
But Dario simply waved his hand again. "No need to investigate. It might not be a bad thing for us that the little Tigran escaped."
"A good thing?!" Jason was even more confused. He felt like his brain couldn't keep up.
"Didn't you notice the color of the aetheris that little Tigran unleashed earlier?" Dario glanced at Jason. "That was Aureate Emberflare, the highest-level aetheris that can only be cultivated by the direct bloodline of House Auri-Tigran. Only core members qualified to be future heirs of the house have the chance to practice such a powerful art. And House Auri-Tigran is one of the three most powerful and influential families in the entire beastman wilderness. Their network is vast and deeply entrenched, with spies and hidden outposts even within our human territories. If they found out that a future heir of their house was captured by us to be sold as a slave, what do you think... would happen?" Dario's voice was calm by the end, but the heavy weight of his words sent a chill down the spine of every mercenary who heard him.
Jason, Klaus, and a few of the other veteran mercenaries turned pale, sucking in a collective breath of cold air. They knew exactly what the wrath of House Auri-Tigran would mean.
A human-beastman war of unprecedented scale might be unavoidable. And their small Salt Blade Mercenary Legion would undoubtedly be at the center of that storm, crushed to dust.
Dario paid no more mind to his terrified men. He turned and gave a meaningful wink to Rayne, who had been standing quietly nearby. Rayne, understanding perfectly, returned a polite, almost innocent smile, as if he knew nothing, and yet knew everything.
Three days later, when the Salt Blade Mercenary Legion finally emerged from the Orlando Mountains without further incident and set foot on safer, flatter roads, everyone breathed a long sigh of relief.
Among the group, Rayne keenly noticed a new, unfamiliar figure who had appeared at some point: a man with a slender build but a back as straight as a pine. His face was handsome, with long, smooth golden hair cascading over his shoulders. A pair of long, slightly pointed ears marked him as an elf.
On his back, he carried a beautifully ornate bow of ancient design, carved with intricate patterns. This was the archer who had remained hidden during the battle—Vaelin.
On the continent of Solmara, while humans and elves were not in a state of absolute hostility, the elves were a proud race and rarely set foot in human kingdoms.
Rayne couldn't help but feel curious as to why this elf had become a mercenary.
As if sensing Rayne's gaze, Vaelin turned his head and gave Rayne a slight nod. Every gesture carried an effortless grace and nobility that was completely at odds with the rough mercenaries around him.
Two days later, the majestic silhouette of a great city slowly came into view.
It was a formidable fortress-city built entirely of massive, grey basalt blocks. The walls, over twenty meters high, were heavy with the weight of ages, gleaming with a cold, metallic sheen under the setting sun.
Sturdy watchtowers stood at regular intervals along the ramparts, flying the eagle banners of the Kingdom of O'Bryen. Between the crenellations, rows of giant city-defense crossbows glinted menacingly, their bolts like savage fangs, inspiring awe and fear. Squads of soldiers in standard-issue armor, armed with long spears, patrolled the walls with synchronized steps, vigilantly watching for any movement outside the city.
The heavy drawbridge before the gate was down, forming a path across the wide moat. A constant stream of people, like a returning ant colony, formed a long queue before the ten-meter-high arched gate, waiting to undergo the city guards' strict inspection.
This was Luminea, the headquarters of the Salt Blade Mercenary Legion and one of the most important border military towns in the Kingdom of O'Bryen.
Luminea was the first, and strongest, line of defense for the Kingdom of O'Bryen against attacks from the beastman wilderness on the other side of the Orlando Mountains.
In the long and bloody river of history, this heroic city had been captured by ferocious beastmen several times, its streets flowing with rivers of blood. But just as many times, it had been valiantly reclaimed by human soldiers in blood-soaked battles.
The dense, overlapping scars from swords and axes on the city walls, and the old, blackened bloodstains in the cracks of the stone that looked like dark brown moss, were silent witnesses to that cruel era.