Rogue drifted awake, the rough wooden ceiling of a wagon slowly coming into focus. The slight rocking beneath him told him he was in a moving carriage. A larger jolt sent stabbing pains from his numerous wounds, making him groan loudly.
The carriage curtain was swept aside with a rustle, and Ete's large head poked in. "Awake? Rogue?"
"Where am I? How long was I out? Agh!! This damned rickety cart! And this road! Are we driving along a field ridge?!"
"Don't worry, we'll be back in Faerburg in another two hours. We can get a priest there. For now, we're just using the potions we brought to protect your wounds. You're really tough, you know. Smelled so good roasted, the boys almost had an extra dish for dinner, heh." Ete wore a look of gleeful schadenfreude.
"Dammit, what we need is a priest. Next time, we'll kidnap one if we have to! Why is Fess's medicine so lousy! It hurts like hell! If only his potion-making skill was half as good as his magic weapon crafting! How did the rest of the fight go?"
"Besides you, four of our brothers were wounded, all pretty seriously. Sigh. Who knew a single patrol could be so tough." Ete shook his head and continued, "We hit the jackpot this time. It really is the Ice Silver Fox, and the elite Snow Fox Battalion at that. Not too many men, only about three hundred or so, just ten times our number. Damn, even one of their squad leaders was that tough, almost an intermediate knight. Luckily, the guy wasn't too bright, actually challenged Lance to a one-on-one. Grandma's, Franco immediately put an arrow in his backside."
In the jungle battle that day, the patrol captain was captured from the shadows and endured several rounds of torture. Later, Lance stripped his trousers, smeared honey all over his manhood, found an ant nest, and got the confession within minutes.
After the Snow Fox Battalion occupied the small Cyrus Castle, they sealed off the lord's manor, rounded up over a hundred strong laborers from the area, and were digging day and night inside. But the task seemed highly confidential, and the patrol captain's rank wasn't high enough to be privy to the secrets. Lance viciously tossed another handful of ants onto the already tortured member. The patrol captain immediately screamed, "I'll talk, I'll talk! I heard the previous lord kept a necromancer in the manor! They say the necromancer's laboratory is underneath!! Water, quickly, wash it off!" Lance questioned him several more times, convinced he couldn't get anything else, and with a slash of his dagger, ended the knight's suffering.
With multiple serious injuries, their only Mage Rogue turned into roast pork, and most importantly, their thirty-odd men weren't enough to fight the enemy. The scoundrel nobles conferred briefly and promptly made a run for it. They still had four months until the deadline; there was plenty of time. This outing wasn't a complete loss; they at least learned the hard fact that their strength was still far inferior to the Snow Fox Battalion. As for loot, "Pah! What kind of first-rate mercenary group elite battalion is this? Poor as beggars! Just this junk on them!" Lance, responsible for cleaning the battlefield, cursed, utterly lacking knightly demeanor.
The middle-aged priest healing Rogue in the Faerburg church didn't seem very powerful. It took six or seven healing spells to fully cure Rogue's injuries. The fat man jumped off the bed, lively as ever, stuffed two gold coins into the priest's hand, ignored the flood of flattery behind him, and hurriedly escaped. He instinctively disliked such places; if not for the undeniable effectiveness of priestly healing, he would never set foot in one.
Night fell. The young scoundrels gathered again in Faerburg's most luxurious establishment, the "Lyon Night." True to its name, it was Faerburg's money-sinking den. From alcohol to women, Lyon Night claimed to offer the best goods in all of Faerburg. Naturally, it wasn't a place ordinary commoners could afford, but merchants and nobles from north and south kept its business thriving.
Lyon Night was a towering three-story building, almost as tall as a regular six-story structure. In front was a spacious square, filled with carriages of all sizes by nightfall. Before the entrance was a magical fountain nearly five meters in diameter, its spray shooting skyward five or six meters before scattering down. Above the mist, a purple magical flame burned day and night. The fountain's base housed a large Magic Array, its colorful magical lights illuminating the mist, creating an aura of romance and mystery. This single Magic Array cost a staggering amount daily. Through the four-meter-high doors, the Lyon Night hall was resplendent, magical light casting a faint golden glow over everything. Artworks from around the world were scattered throughout the hall. The second floor was divided into private rooms, each decorated in the artistic style of a major continent nation, a major source of conspiracies and shady deals. The third floor held another large hall where slave auctions were often held on weekends, occasionally hosting other large events.
Slavery existed to varying degrees across the Gloria Continent. Slaves typically came from prisoners of war, rebels, and other intelligent races like dwarves, elves, orcs, and even dragonkin. Wars between humans and other intelligent races occurred often, just like wars between human nations. Comparatively, wars between human countries were even more frequent. Generally, most human nations accepted people of other intelligent races internally, as the Church of Light preached: humans are the most favored children of the Creator, but other races are also His children. Most slaves were used for hard labor, but the slaves auctioned at Lyon Night were certainly not that low-grade. Jin and his apprentices were bought by Rogue here.
After the "Hammer of the War God" business flourished, Rogue and the others became regulars here. The noble scoundrels were all somewhat unsuccessful types, at least compared to powerful nobles or those with pure, exalted bloodlines. Now that they had come into money, they naturally exhibited a bit of a nouveau riche air, especially Rogue. Even Franco wasn't immune, occasionally pretending nonchalantly in front of outsiders, "Ah, stayed too late at Lyon Night yesterday, still feeling tired," while secretly delighting in the envy he saw in their eyes.
Currently, the scoundrels were listlessly gathered in a corner of the main hall. The second floor was for the rich and powerful; Rogue and his crew weren't quite qualified yet.
"Those necromancer things, I really don't get why anyone would be so interested, enough to send three hundred men on a risky mission. Damn it, those stinking foxes might be poor, but their skills are no joke!" Ete sighed mournfully.
"Over three hundred men! What do we do? Judging by the level of our thirty-some men, we'd need at least six hundred. But based on our current funds for equipment, we can only outfit about a hundred at most." Lance was also depressed.
"Sigh. If we fail this, the money is the small issue. We won't be able to curry favor with the Duke of Bavaria then."
"Don't lose heart. We took out one of their Mages! And not a low-level one either! A mercenary battalion probably only has one or two like that. They should be the ones afraid of us now. No matter what, they lost six cavalry and a Mage. They're probably running in circles in panic. Hahaha." Rogue looked around. No one laughed. He awkwardly changed his hahas to heh hehs.
"We can't just let this go!" Lance suddenly became agitated. "My old man has been through life and death all these years, his military strategy and martial prowess, is either lacking? Stuck as a vice-commander in the City Defense Force for over a decade, all because he's just a baron. Damn it, a fifteenth-level advanced Light Knight! That fat pig Chambers, isn't he only the commander because he's an earl and the nephew of the Vice-Minister of Military Affairs? Damn it, if he had the skill of an eighth-level knight, I'd lick his son's ass! We can't let this opportunity slip by. If we want to make something of ourselves, we have to gamble on this!"
"You're not so bad off, at least you'll inherit a barony. Didn't my old man also stay under yours for ten years without moving? And I can't even inherit his baronetcy. Sigh. Us brothers, we sound impressive, being nobles, but damn, what kind of life have we been living? Back in the capital, even picking up a prostitute might get her snatched away. If not for Rogue's clever mind starting the 'Hammer of the War God,' wouldn't we still be staring at this place, unable to afford it? Would Lyon Night even be a place we could enter?"
Franco interrupted the two knights' grumbling: "Alright, brothers! Stop complaining. You didn't feel lowly when snatching commoner girls, did you? Lance, you should be secretly pleased; it's good enough you and your father aren't labeled Dark Knights. Regardless, this opportunity didn't come easily. Never mind why Ophirock took a liking to us, but if we handle this well, we can definitely curry favor with the Grand Duke of Bavaria! Let's figure out what to do next first!"
Rogue took a gulp of wine and found some inspiration: "First, recruit troops and buy horses. Get as many as we can. This time, we don't need to equip them so lavishly, just better than those paupers! The key is good weapons. We don't need so many horses either. By that calculation, we should be able to get about three hundred men. Lance, Ete, you two train those bastards hard for the next two months. Judging by how poor that mercenary battalion is, they probably have at most one more Mage. This time, we'll drag Fess along. With his gear, shouldn't he be able to handle that Mage? The Hammer of the War God can just produce some ordinary goods for a while."
Lance casually groped a passing waitress, watching her disappear into the back before reluctantly pulling his gaze away. He said, "We don't fight them head-on! If they have many men, we run. If we see stragglers, we surround them. Sooner or later, they won't be able to take it and will come out of their turtle shell. We'll hire some hands from the Thieves' Guild, the kind who can set traps, then lure them in and let them have a taste. Oh, and get more crossbows. Bows are slightly less convenient to carry, but short bows will do. Given the shoddy armor those mercenaries have, they'll be crying. And the crossbow bolts... they must be poisoned."
Their spirits lifted considerably. When it came to conspiracies and tricks, the like-minded scoundrels never underestimated themselves. They plotted ambushes, poison, pit traps, tripwires for horses, threats, feigning death and false surrenders—who knows how many underhanded tactics they devised.
Dawn was breaking. They looked at each other and chuckled darkly, "Heh heh heh." For a moment, everyone in the hall glanced their way.
The "Dragon and Beauty" mercenary group recently became a minor topic of conversation in Faerburg. Recruiting over two hundred mercenaries at once caused a small stir. Although the name was rather vulgar, quite a few old veterans and military ruffians joined, for no other reason than sharing the noble scoundrels' affinity for "beauties." Inside the Thieves' Guild's training ground, Lance and twenty skilled thieves were sweating and training diligently day and night. Back when they were being hunted by mercenaries in the capital, he had shed his lazy habits; survival was more important, after all. This time, he finally discovered he was a born thief. Nothing suited his warped nature better than taking down enemies from the shadows with projectiles and traps. More importantly, no profession was better suited for peeping than a thief.
After hearing about the noble scoundrels' adventure, Lord Vennington said nothing. But the next day, fifty of his personal heavy lancer guards retired from military service and joined the mercenary group. Lance also picked a hundred men from the mercenary group, equipped them with warhorses, steel-wire chainmail, and Halberds, turning them into semi-light Halberd Cavalry. For the next two months, Lance trained alongside these knights on the training grounds.
The remaining two hundred men in the mercenary group were led by Ete. Ete, who had switched professions multiple times, recently resolved to become a magic swordsman. He was perfectly suited to train the infantry.
As for Franco, he said lightly, "My life is art," and busied himself designing the mercenary group's banner and emblem. The others were extremely frustrated until one day they accidentally found him diligently practicing swordsmanship with a Rapier against a human-shaped target. The dense cluster of puncture marks were all in places typically unprotected by armor: eyes, wrists, legs, and even other areas. They felt their scalps prickle, especially Lance the knight, whose face turned particularly grim. Franco's family swordsmanship was already known for its footwork and movement, considered a superior style. Paired with such sinister and vicious tactics, its lethality increased greatly. Remembering the high-quality Rapier Fess made for him recently, imbued with an electric paralysis effect, sent another chill down their spines. As for poisoning it, that was fine; everyone was doing it anyway.
Rogue spent his days either in Meditation or holed up in the laboratory studying magic, occasionally joining Ete's troop in full armor to practice with his axe.
In the laboratory, Rogue chanted an incantation. The smoke cleared, and Fengyue stood before him. This time, Fengyue held a longsword in its right hand and a tattered shield in its left, looking much more imposing than before—at least not much worse than a necromancer's skeleton soldier. Rogue still couldn't figure out where Fengyue's sword and shield came from. He tried giving Fengyue new equipment; Fengyue obediently changed gear. But after Fengyue was sent back to the Otherworld, the equipment was left behind. The next summoning still brought the longsword and battered shield.
Rogue brought Fess in. Fess, who had only a smattering of knowledge about necromancy, was also greatly puzzled. Magic on the continent was strictly divided by level, but the distinctions between schools weren't very clear. Mages proficient in one school could mostly cast spells from others, except for a few extremely opposed spells. For instance, most intermediate Mages could summon a few skeletons if they wished. Just not many, and of average quality. Since skeletons had limited combat power—a trained soldier could handle two or three—they weren't very practical unless summoned in large numbers. Necromancers were different. They dedicated themselves to the God of Death, transformed into undead, and greatly enhanced their necromantic magic. Gradually eroded by the aura of death, they often became paranoid and evil. Only a few who became necromancers with the power of an Archmage could maintain clarity of mind. Necromancy and the various curses of the dark magic school were very effective in war, so rulers often tacitly allowed such Mages to exist. Only necromancers who transformed into undead were unacceptable to the world. This was partly thanks to Roderick's great deeds; after him, the Church of Light began hunting necromancers across the continent relentlessly, nearly wiping them out over the past twenty-plus years.
But the biggest difference between "Fengyue" and ordinary skeletons was its intelligence. Rogue himself didn't know how he knew this. Damn that necromancer, he didn't leave behind much magical knowledge, especially not a single clue about his treasure trove. Every time Rogue stared at Fengyue, he felt Fengyue was observing him too. Man and skeleton often stared at each other for long periods.
When Rogue had some free time, he worked on modifying his equipment under Fess's guidance. Now, with ample funds, Rogue could wear four decent Mana amplification rings on his ten fingers. Over recent months, his control over magic using Psychic power had become more proficient. Although as a fifth-level Mage he should only be able to cast one third-tier spell, he could now easily cast three. What Rogue researched day and night wasn't the popular Fireball spell, but the Haste spell. After numerous experiments, he discovered several syllables that could be shortened, reducing the casting time by one-third.
The hot weather gradually passed. The strength of the scoundrels grew bit by bit. The "Dragon and Beauty" mercenary group began to take shape. Vennington secretly observed the mercenary group's training a few times and later just nodded to Lance. As the final deadline approached, their minds grew restless. Over the last month, as Lance's skills improved, he often took his thieves to scout near Cyrus Castle, bringing back useful intelligence—though theft cases in Faerburg also saw a slight increase. It was unclear just how large the necromancer's ruins were, that they had been digging for over half a year and still weren't finished.
Facing a powerful enemy, the scoundrels were unusually well-behaved, focusing on arduous cultivation separately. Of course, they never used their underhanded tricks or poisoned weapons openly. Occasionally, in fights, it was always a chivalrous one-on-one duel in public. Even if the others wanted to jump in, they had to maintain their noble demeanor in front of the crowd.
Even if one is undeniably a whore, the memorial arch must still be erected.