The carriage of the Ice Hawks Company rolled slowly but steadily along the road within Roen City, its wheels crushing the fallen leaves scattered across the pavement, producing a soft rustling sound.
The slanting afternoon sunlight of late autumn spilled across the road, dyeing the surrounding woods a mottled gold and crimson, while the air carried the mingled scent of dead leaves and earth.
Every sight around them announced the changing of the seasons, the arrival of the bountiful Goddess of Autumn upon the land.
On the driver's seat, Ronald gripped the reins tightly with both hands, his body leaning slightly forward, his young face full of concentration and a trace of poorly hidden irritation.
His brown brows were knitted together, and he muttered something under his breath, his voice drifting in and out on the autumn breeze.
"Damn it, you stupid horse!" Ronald suddenly raised his voice, his tone carrying obvious grievance and displeasure. "I've fed you oats and apples for a whole year! An entire year! From last autumn until now, was there ever a day I didn't give you extra? So why won't you listen to me at all now?"
The two draft horses pulling the carriage seemed to completely ignore Ronald's complaints, plodding along at their own pace, occasionally flicking their tails impatiently or snorting.
Their haughty manner seemed to say, "I couldn't care less what you're saying," their hooves striking the ground in a steady rhythmic clopping.
Ronald pulled hard on the reins, trying to get the horses to pick up the pace, but the horse merely quickened its steps for show before slipping right back into its former lazy amble.
This only made Ronald more irritated, his cheeks flushing slightly from agitation.
"Listen to me, old friends." Ronald lowered his voice, speaking to the horses in an almost pleading tone. "We've been together for a whole year now, you old pals. Don't you remember that time I secretly gave you a whole extra bucket of apples? Don't you remember how carefully I cleaned your hooves?"
The horses remained utterly unmoved, even deliberately slowing their pace further, as if intentionally working against him. This left the young cleric feeling both helpless and dejected. He let out a deep sigh, his voice tinged with a bitter note of resignation. "Forget it, forget it, I should have known you were an ungrateful wretch. Just because I've gotten a little younger, you don't recognize me at all anymore!"
Through the small window behind the driver's seat, Orum glanced toward Ronald and saw his aggrieved expression. The corner of his mouth twitched, hard to suppress. These two horses truly had no idea who this teenage version of Ronald was.
Inside the carriage, Felix sat with his eyes closed, resting quietly. Hearing Ronald's complaints, a helpless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Ronald, don't bother arguing with the horses." A flicker of amusement passed through Felix's eyes. "They recognize scent and voice. Your voice is half a note higher than before, of course they don't recognize you."
Ronald spun his head around, his face full of indignation. "But my scent hasn't changed! I'm still using the same soap!"
"But the sweat on your body has grown fainter," Felix explained patiently. "A young man's body odor differs from an adult's. The horses can tell the difference."
With no other option, Ronald could only keep driving the carriage, working to rebuild rapport with the two horses.
Felix closed his eyes once more.
At this moment, the temperature inside the carriage was noticeably lower than outside, an unnatural sort of chill.
Even though it was only late autumn and the weather outside was still mild, the interior of the carriage felt as though winter had arrived early. Orum exhaled a breath, watching clearly as it condensed into white mist in the air.
At the front of the carriage, Felix maintained a perfectly standard meditation posture.
His spine straight as a sword, his hands resting naturally on his knees.
Those emerald eyes were tightly closed, his long lashes casting faint shadows over his eyelids.
Felix's breathing followed an extremely particular rhythm.
Each inhale was deep and prolonged, as though drawing in all the surrounding air, while each exhale was slow and even.
This manner of breathing gave off a solemn, dignified impression.
It reminded Orum of the signature breathing technique of the Iron Heart Force.
Clearly, Felix had once again fully immersed himself in the Silver Dragon Breathing Method, passed down through generations of the Graymane family.
This cultivation technique helped activate the dragon blood of those descended from silver dragons.
As the breathing continued its rhythm, a faint glow began to rise from the surface of Felix's body.
It was a color somewhere between silver-white and icy blue, the light flickering in and out like moonlight filtering through mist, giving an impression both sacred and cold.
Orum noticed faint, scale-like patterns beginning to appear across Felix's skin.
Those patterns took on a beautiful icy-blue hue, shimmering with a dreamlike luster beneath the faint glow, proof of the dragon blood being activated.
However, this cultivation method carried an obvious side effect.
During the process, the practitioner would involuntarily release a wild frost-like magic into the surrounding environment, causing the temperature nearby to plummet sharply.
This was precisely why the interior of the carriage had grown so cold.
It was not that the weather had turned cold, but rather a result of Felix's cultivation.
In the corner of the carriage, Raygore had already wrapped himself entirely in a thick wool blanket, only half his head exposed, emitting a faint snore.
This orc warrior, long accustomed to Felix's habits, was clearly sound asleep.
On the other side of the carriage, Orum was likewise wrapped in a thick blanket, though he had not fallen asleep. His deep black eyes gleamed with focused attention.
His gaze was entirely fixed on the fluffy, curled-up figure beside him.
He seemed entirely unaware of the surrounding cold.
Melina was deep in slumber, her body curled into a perfect ball.
Her fluffy wolf tail was wrapped tightly around her body, like a natural scarf.
The fur of that tail was thick and soft, glowing with a warm black sheen in the dim light of the carriage.
Melina's face was buried in her own tail, only a small part of her delicate profile visible.
The expression on that face was peaceful and serene, her long lashes drooping quietly, casting faint shadows across her cheeks.
Occasionally a soft breathing sound could be heard.
Melina's warm breath condensed into fine white mist in the cold air.
Orum's gaze rested gently on the sleeping Melina, and he carefully tugged the blanket over her, making sure every corner was properly covered so that the chill from Felix's cultivation could not reach her.
Orum's thoughts drifted unbidden back to a week earlier, to the time of the great plague within Roen City.
That harrowing experience within Roen City, those days that had left the entire Ice Hawks Company anxious and on edge, had truly been a difficult time beyond words.
It was at the height of the great plague's rampage through Roen City, when the entire city had been shrouded in the shadow of death, the sick collapsing everywhere along the streets.
The air had reeked of decay mixed with medicine.
At that time, Orum had carried the fallen Ristina through Roen City in search of a cure, without success.
He had been forced to leave the city, traveling dozens of kilometers to find Ronald, who was cultivating in seclusion in the mountains, and only then had Ristina's illness been cured.
But during that chaotic and desperate period.
Melina had suddenly gone missing in the most notorious slum of Roen City, the Sow District.
A werewolf whose mental state was unstable, caught up in the midst of such chaos, was very likely to encounter danger.
This news had thrown every member of the Ice Hawks Company into panic and anxiety.
Captain Felix had personally gone to the Sow District, together with Raygore, to search with all their strength for Melina's whereabouts.
The Sow District of Roen City was the darkest, filthiest, and most dangerous corner of the entire city, a breeding ground for evil, a gathering place for the desperate, a forbidden zone that neither law nor order could reach.
There, a human life was worth less than dirt, and countless murders, robberies, and other atrocities occurred there every single day.
What exactly had happened to Melina remained unknown, but amid the chaos of that time, there had been no time to consider the reasons. The only goal had been to find her as quickly as possible and bring her safely back before the worst could happen.
Felix and Raygore had personally ventured deep into the Sow District to search for clues about Melina, braving the dark corner of Roen City, and no small number of harrowing events had occurred along the way.
The search through the Sow District had been fraught with hardship and danger.
The streets there were narrow and winding, like a vast labyrinth, where every corner might conceal a lethal threat, and every broken door might hide a desperate criminal.
The air of the Sow District was thick with the stench of rot, blood, and despair, enough to suffocate anyone.
Felix and Raygore had roamed that dark maze for two full days, questioning countless people, searching every corner, sparing neither force nor money, before finally, at dusk on the second day, obtaining a crucial lead.
In the end, they found the unconscious Melina in an alchemical potion shop run by an old hag, deep within the Sow District.
That potion shop sat at the end of a dead-end alley in the deepest part of the Sow District, its storefront dilapidated, its interior flickering with an eerie green light, the pungent smell of chemicals hanging in the air.
When Felix and Raygore pushed open that rusted shop door, the sight that greeted their eyes filled them with intense unease and wariness.
The shop's interior was dim and cramped, cluttered everywhere with strangely shaped jars and bottles containing unidentified liquids and suspended organs, the walls hung with dried herbs and animal carcasses, the air thick with the mingled stench of decay and alchemical reagents.
Deep within the shop, a hunched figure stood with her back to them, busy before a massive alchemical cauldron.
That figure was thin and withered, draped in a tattered black robe, her dry, unkempt hair hanging loose. The moment she turned to face them, both Felix and Raygore instinctively tightened their grips on their weapons.
It was a face that turned the stomach.
Both Felix and Raygore recognized her race immediately: a hag, an evil creature originating from the Feywild, her face like a corpse withered for centuries, her skin sagging and wrinkled, covered in blemishes, moles, and disgusting growths.
Her cloudy eyes glinted with greed and malice, her mouth curved into an unsettling, eerie smile that revealed crooked yellow teeth.
Hags, these evil creatures, possessed the ability to alter their appearance, disguising themselves as ordinary old women to blend into human society. They were skilled at crafting curses and alchemical potions, and possessed vast knowledge that was both forbidden and dangerous.
Beyond that, hags enjoyed lifespans far surpassing that of humans, able to live for centuries or even longer.
This old hag's name was Shag Grubjuice.
She had crafted a werewolf incense for Melina, a special aromatic that could suppress the werewolf bloodline within her, preventing her from losing control and turning into a savage, kill-driven werewolf when the full moon arrived.
The side effect of the werewolf incense was that it would plunge Melina into a deep, narcolepsy-like slumber, leaving her only eight hours of waking time each day. Only after a full year of continued use would she gradually adapt to this side effect and return to a normal sleep schedule.
What was truly chilling was that when Felix and Raygore found her, the old hag had been in the process of preparing to inject Melina with more of the drug, intending to turn her into an alchemical puppet, a fully corrupted test subject.
Felix and Raygore found Melina lying on a worn-out bed, deep in unconsciousness, her face pale as paper, her breathing faint, several tubes connected to strange devices inserted into her body, unidentified fluids flowing through them.
After a brief exchange, Felix's fury erupted instantly. He and Raygore struck simultaneously, rescuing Melina.
The two of them beat Shag Grubjuice half to death, and she fled in a panic.
Afterward, Felix and Raygore seized all the werewolf incense and the formula from the old hag's shop, and after a thrilling chase, fought a fierce battle against the criminal gang the hag had summoned.
The two of them cut a bloody path out of the Sow District, escaping through mortal peril.
In the end, they successfully broke through, bringing Melina out of the Sow District, but that battle had left a deep impression on them: Raygore had taken at least five blade wounds, and Felix had nearly been struck in the eye by a poisoned arrow.
Had the two of them not been so powerful and so well coordinated, they might have remained forever in that dark corner.
From that day on, Melina had continued using the werewolf incense, and just as Shag Grubjuice had said, the side effects of the potion were quite pronounced.
Melina could only stay awake eight hours each day, spending the rest of the time in deep slumber, which caused her tremendous suffering and helplessness. But to avoid losing control and hurting her companions during the full moon, she had no choice but to endure it.
Still, as long as she persisted in using it for a full year, her body would gradually adapt to the werewolf incense's side effects, and by then her waking hours would slowly return to normal. To Melina, so long as she could suppress the effects of the full moon curse, no matter how great the suffering, it was worth enduring.
Orum's thoughts slowly drifted back from that harrowing memory, his gaze settling once more on the sleeping Melina before him.
That fluffy wolf tail lay within arm's reach, giving off an inviting soft sheen in the dim light of the carriage.
His fingers trembled slightly of their own accord, an irrepressible urge welling up within him.
That urge was like seeing a fluffy ball of cotton candy.
Unable to resist the urge to reach out and touch it.
Orum's gaze wandered back and forth between Melina's sleeping face and her curled-up tail.
That tail looked far too tempting.
The black fur gleamed with a healthy sheen in the light, every strand fluffy and soft, like the world's softest, plushest scarf.
Orum glanced around the interior of the carriage.
Felix was fully absorbed in his cultivation, his emerald eyes tightly shut, a faint icy-blue light seeping out beneath his eyelids.
Raygore was wrapped in his blanket, only half his head visible, letting out a soft snore.
Clearly sleeping more soundly than a dead pig.
Ronald was still outside driving the carriage, locked in a battle of wits with the two horses who didn't recognize him.
Orum was the only one awake in the whole carriage.
This was the perfect opportunity.
Just one touch.
I definitely won't get caught.
Orum reached out his hand, his fingertips lightly brushing against the soft fur of the wolf tail, and the sensation nearly drew a contented sigh from him.
The fur of that tail was even softer and finer than he had imagined.
Like the finest silk.
Every strand fluffy and springy.
Bringing a pleasant tactile sensation as his fingers grazed across it.
Orum's movements were extremely gentle, afraid of waking the sleeping Melina.
His fingers followed the direction the fur grew, slowly stroking it.
Starting from the base of the tail, all the way to the tip.
The feeling was like stroking a warm cloud.
Utterly captivating, impossible to stop.
Once he confirmed Melina was still deeply asleep, Orum grew bolder.
He began kneading the tail more boldly.
His palm cupped around the fluffy fur, gently squeezing it.
Feeling that warm, soft texture.
The expression on his face grew unusually satisfied.
Like a child who had finally received his most beloved toy.
The tail's temperature was higher than he'd expected.
Probably a result of the werewolf bloodline's naturally high body heat.
That warmth transferred through the fur into his palm, making him feel unusually comfortable.
This sensation was truly therapeutic.
No wonder people liked keeping pets.
This kind of fluffy texture really could lift one's spirits.
Orum's heart was filled with a sense of satisfaction.
He knew that if Melina were awake, she would never allow him to touch her tail.
She was deeply insecure about her dark creature bloodline.
She saw her wolf ears and tail as marks of "filth."
A brand of shame she could never wash away.
She wouldn't even let anyone touch them.
Melina had expressed her disgust with her own beastly features more than once.
She always hid those sharp wolf ears beneath a hat, and covered that fluffy tail with long skirts and cloaks.
Melina often cried, saying she was a monster, a creature that shouldn't exist in this world.
Whenever this topic came up, her eyes would darken with pain.
That deep-seated inferiority and despair, rooted to the bone, was heartbreaking to witness.
Orum had no real solution for this, and could only pull out the dried fish he kept prepared, making her jump at the spicy taste, using this shock tactic to pull Melina out of her low moods.
In Orum's eyes, Melina's wolf ears and tail were far from flaws to be hidden. They were, in fact, uniquely charming features.
Those keen wolf ears could pick up the faintest sounds.
Proving enormously useful in dungeon exploration.
That fluffy tail could express all of her emotions.
Wagging gently when happy.
Tucking tight when afraid.
These were exactly what made her so special, so lovable, so worth cherishing.
Perhaps keeping a big fluffy dog wouldn't be a bad idea either?
This thought suddenly surfaced, sending Orum into deep contemplation.
Dogs were different from cats. They needed to be walked for an hour or two every day, or the pet would fall sick.
And Orum, being the lazy sort, didn't much enjoy going out to walk a dog.
Still, the task of walking the dog could be handed entirely to Ristina and Carolina, his two maids.
He would only need to be responsible for playing with it.
Clack, clack.
Orum's attention was drawn by a faint sound coming from outside the window.
He turned his head.
Looking back through the carriage window.
His gaze passed through the late autumn woods and the mottled sunlight, landing on the second carriage following behind the Ice Hawks' own.
That was a simply built but sturdy travel carriage, its body made of thick oak planks coated in waterproof black paint, its wheels wrapped in iron rims, producing a rhythmic creaking sound on the rough road.
The entire carriage looked plain and unadorned.
Yet it exuded a sense of reliability and practicality.
Sitting in the driver's seat was a young halfling, whom Orum knew by the name Terry.
He stood only half the height of an ordinary human, roughly three feet tall.
But his build was compact and sturdy, dressed in a well-fitted set of brown leather armor.
A wide-brimmed hat sat atop his head, its brim nearly covering most of his face.
Only a small nose tip and a determined chin were visible.
Terry's hands held the reins with steady confidence.
His movements handling the carriage were skilled and assured, clearly the work of an experienced driver.
The halfling Terry's face maintained an expression of vigilant focus throughout.
His gaze swept constantly between the road, the surrounding woods, and the Ice Hawks' carriage ahead.
Remaining in a state of heightened alertness at all times.
This kind of professional bearing made it immediately clear that he was no ordinary carriage driver, but a rigorously trained professional attendant.
But what truly set Orum's mind at ease wasn't this dutiful halfling attendant.
It was the presence sitting inside that carriage.
A powerful, steady aura.
Even through the wooden boards of the carriage and across a distance, Orum could clearly sense the strength and quality of that aura.
It belonged to the power fluctuation of a Gold-rank Knight.
A Gold-rank professional.
This was an existence of extreme rarity and value throughout the entire southern territories.
Among the ranking system for professionals, the order from lowest to highest ran Copper, Mithril, Gold, Platinum, Hero, and Legend.
Those capable of breaking through the Mithril bottleneck and stepping into the Gold rank were, without exception, individuals of extraordinary talent who had endured countless brushes with death.
Each of them was a well-known figure within the Adventurers' Hall.
The one seated within that carriage was precisely the Gold-rank Knight that Captain Felix had spent a fortune to hire.
His name was Cyrus.
Forty years old this year, exactly at the golden age of a professional knight's career.
Possessing both rich combat experience and mature battle wisdom, while still maintaining abundant physical strength and peak combat capability.
He was the ideal choice for a bodyguard.
For this mission to venture deep into Everdusk Forest and rescue the bard Ith, Felix had spent a fortune hiring a Gold-rank professional as an escort.
This was an extremely extravagant expense across the entire southern territories.
Ordinarily, only major noble houses traveling or transporting important goods would be willing to pay the exorbitant cost of hiring a Gold-rank knight as a bodyguard. Ordinary adventuring companies simply couldn't afford it.
Yet Felix had paid this enormous sum without a moment's hesitation.
It showed just how much he valued his friend Ith, and how cautious he was about the execution of the Ice Hawks' mission.
Orum leaned against the wooden panel of the carriage, watching through the window at the carriage following behind them.
His thoughts shifted from the matter of cost to the Gold-rank professional himself.
The number of Gold-rank professionals across the entire southern territories was scarce, and most of them already belonged to their own adventuring companies or factions, rarely accepting temporary hires.
They tended to prefer working with fixed teams, because long-term familiarity and coordination could maximize combat efficiency and avoid many unnecessary risks.
When a Gold-rank professional joined a team, it often meant a long-term partnership.
They would build deep trust with their teammates.
Becoming familiar with each other's fighting styles and abilities, achieving an effect greater than the sum of its parts.
In critical moments, this kind of coordination could save lives.
So a Gold-rank professional willing to accept a temporary hire was, in itself, a rare occurrence.
If it weren't for the fact that this was happening in Roen City, a major southern capital that drew adventurers from all over, it would have been nearly impossible to find a Gold-rank professional willing to accept a short-term contract in such a limited time.
As the political, economic, and cultural center of the south, Roen City saw a massive influx of adventurers from every region each day, including no small number of solitary, lone-wolf types of powerful individuals.
They had no fixed team affiliation.
Making their living by taking on high-difficulty commissions.
Such professionals tended to be reclusive by nature, disliking the constraints of team life, but their strength was beyond question.
Cyrus was clearly one such existence.
Orum had once carefully observed this Gold-rank knight named Cyrus.
That had been in a tavern near the Adventurers' Hall in Roen City.
While Felix negotiated the terms of employment with Cyrus, Orum had sat not far away.
Cyrus was a tall, imposing middle-aged man, clad in heavy mountain-copper plate armor.
Every part of that armor had been forged with painstaking care.
The surface of the armor bore dense hammer-mark patterns, a distinctive dwarven craftsman's forging technique.
The chest plate, shoulder guards, arm guards, and leg guards were all one-piece constructions of the finest mountain copper.
Under the light, the armor gleamed with a dark metallic luster.
Cyrus's whole body was packed with solid muscle built up over years of training, and his weathered face bore several scars.
The most striking was a long scar running from the corner of Cyrus's left eye down to his chin, an irregular jagged mark, clearly torn by some sort of sharp claw.
Cyrus's deep gray eyes carried a look of steadiness and vigilance.
His entire being gave off the air of a battle-hardened veteran, always prepared to respond to sudden circumstances.
Even more eye-catching was Cyrus's weapon.
It was a runic two-handed greatsword, its blade over four feet long, broad and heavy, at least three inches wide by estimation.
The blade bore inscribed mysterious runes, glowing with a faint pale blue light.
Flickering in and out in the dim tavern light.
Orum recognized these as ancient enchantment reinforcement runes, capable of greatly enhancing the blade's toughness and sharpness, and priced quite dearly on the market.
Set into the hilt of the runic greatsword was a red gemstone the size of a fist.
Inside that gemstone seemed to swirl a sealed flame.
Radiating a faint warmth, likely some kind of fire-attribute magic gem, capable of imbuing the blade with fire damage.
The sword was normally kept sheathed in a specially made scabbard, slung across Cyrus's back.
Just the sight of it was enough to convey a sense of overwhelming pressure.
Orum roughly estimated the value of this sword.
What caught Orum's curiosity was that all of Cyrus's equipment was maintained in impeccable condition, with no signs of damage or rust anywhere on his armor, the metal surface as bright and clean as new.
This suggested that Cyrus was a professional knight who placed extreme importance on equipment maintenance.
This kind of attention to gear.
Also suggested his financial situation probably wasn't too dire.
At the very least, he could afford the cost of regularly maintaining such expensive equipment.
The maintenance costs for top-tier gear ran extremely high.
Runic weapons required regular recharging with mana crystals, or the runes would gradually lose their potency.
Fire gems needed special magical materials for upkeep, to prevent energy loss.
Additionally, heavy plate armor needed a full inspection after every battle, with worn parts replaced.
Added together, these costs came to at least a thousand gold coins a year.
And that was just the maintenance cost. If the equipment suffered serious damage, the price of repair or replacement would be staggering, well beyond what an ordinary adventurer could afford.
But here was the contradiction.
A knight with such fine equipment, whose strength had reached the Gold rank.
Would agree to take on nothing more than an escort mission into the depths of Everdusk Forest.
This in itself was highly unusual.
A mission like this, venturing into the forest to rescue someone, while carrying a certain degree of danger, wasn't particularly difficult for a Gold-rank professional.
Through observation and deduction, Orum had arrived at one conclusion:
Cyrus was short on money.
And it was the kind of need that demanded a large sum of cash urgently.
A need pressing enough that he was willing to accept a relatively simple but well-paying escort mission.
As for why Cyrus was so short on cash, Orum had no way of knowing the truth behind it.
Orum guessed that it might be because of this very expensive set of equipment, which he might have taken out a massive loan to acquire.
Another possibility.
Was that Cyrus carried some kind of special financial burden.
Such as needing to support a large family.
Or needing to repay some significant debt.
Or perhaps, he was saving up funds in preparation to purchase some extremely expensive piece of equipment or item.
These were all realistic problems a Gold-rank professional might face.
After all, the stronger a professional became, the harder it grew to climb further.
Advancing from Gold rank to Platinum rank.
Required not just talent and effort.
But also massive resource support.
Special potions, rare magical materials, powerful equipment.
All of these required piles of gold coins.
For a Gold-rank professional attempting to break through the bottleneck and reach Platinum rank, the amount of gold spent along the journey was astronomical.
If it were a mage instead, the expense would likely multiply several times over.
Still, regardless of the true reason.
Felix was satisfied to have successfully hired this powerful Gold-rank knight, Cyrus.
Because this mission, venturing deep into Everdusk Forest to rescue someone, was indeed filled with unknown dangers.
That ancient forest was home to countless dangerous monsters and undead creatures, and even members of the Voodoo Cannibal Tribe.
One more Gold-rank combatant to serve as protection meant one more layer of assurance for the party's survival.
The two carriages slowly approached the towering gates of Roen City.
The city walls were built from thick blocks of obsidian, each stone bearing traces of erosion from the passage of time and pockmarks left by arrows.
The walls stood over five zhang tall, topped with arrow towers and watchtowers.
Several soldiers in the standard-issue iron armor of the Roen City guard stood watch with spears in hand, their sharp gazes sweeping over every traveler attempting to enter the city.
At this moment, a dozen or so carriages and merchant caravans had gathered at the gate, waiting to be inspected.
The air was filled with the smell of horses, the woody fragrance of cargo, and the low murmur of travelers waiting impatiently. Sunlight streaming through gaps in the wall cut sharp bands of light and shadow across the ground. The whole scene carried the particular bustle and vigilance unique to this border fortress.
The Ice Hawks' carriage stood fifth in line.
Ronald, in his youthful form, held the reins steadily, having by now built up a small measure of rapport with the two horses.
The line ahead moved slowly forward, each carriage required to undergo the strict inspection of the Roen City guard.
A few minutes later, it was finally the Ice Hawks' turn.
Two soldiers in the standard equipment of the Roen City guard stepped forward.
One, an older guard with a thick, bushy beard, bore the insignia of a senior officer on his shoulder.
The other, a younger guard, held a quill and parchment for recording. Their eyes were sharp and professional, clearly experienced veterans.
"Routine inspection, present your identification!"
As the guards approached, Orum covered Melina's tail with the blanket.
As with every routine inspection, aside from the sleeping Melina, Ronald and the others in the carriage each took out their Mithril-rank adventurer badges to show the two soldiers.
The Ice Hawks Company's Mithril badges immediately drew the full attention of the two guards.
The bearded guard's expression instantly shifted from wariness to respect.
"Mithril-rank adventurers, you're cleared to pass!"
Mithril-rank adventurers were respected figures throughout the southern territories. Aside from those who advanced their badge rank through accumulated merit, all true Mithril-rank adventurers were genuine professionals, their status far above that of ordinary people.
"In addition, please register your names and the purpose of your journey."
Ronald briefly explained their purpose to the two guards.
They were an adventuring party, preparing to head into Everdusk Forest to carry out a mission.
The young guard quickly recorded the information on the parchment, while the bearded guard nodded and gestured for them to pass through.
The entire process was smooth and efficient, the guards' respectful gazes lingering on that Mithril badge the whole time.
Just as the Ice Hawks' carriage was about to pass through the gate, the bearded guard added, "My lords, if you're heading into Everdusk Forest, remember to stop by the outpost first. They'll provide route maps and the latest danger alerts. Safe travels."
Ronald nodded in thanks, then drove the carriage slowly forward.
No sooner had the Ice Hawks' carriage passed through than the second carriage following behind caused an even greater commotion.
When that plain travel carriage reached the inspection point, the halfling attendant Terry driving it broke into an unmistakably proud smile and drew out a badge from within his coat.
The appearance of that badge instantly froze the entire atmosphere at the Roen City gate.
It was a Gold-rank badge.
Larger and heavier than a Mithril badge, made entirely of pure gold, its surface engraved with patterns far more intricate and exquisite than the Mithril badge.
At the center of the badge was the image of a roaring lion with its head raised high, its mane formed of densely woven runes, two red gemstones set where its eyes should be, glittering brilliantly in the sunlight, radiating a pressure that made hearts tremble.
This was the proof of identity belonging to the Gold-rank Knight, Cyrus.
A Gold-rank adventurer!
The moment the two guards saw the Gold badge, their bodies instinctively snapped straight to attention.
An expression of unmistakable shock and awe surfaced on the bearded guard's face.
He placed his right hand over his chest and delivered a solemn, standard military salute.
His voice trembled as he spoke. "Gold-rank lord! The entire Roen City guard offers you our highest respect!"
The younger guard was even more overwhelmed, nearly dropping his quill. His eyes burned with fervent admiration.
It was the typical reaction of a young soldier catching sight of a legendary figure.
The guard said in a trembling voice, "My god, a Gold-rank professional!"
"This is the first time in my life I've ever seen a Gold-rank professional! And a knight, no less!"
The shock caused by the Gold badge affected more than just the guards.
At the Roen City gate, every traveler awaiting inspection noticed what was happening, and the caravan guards' eyes widened as they turned to look.
The lower-rank adventurers grew even more excited, their faces flushing red, and a wave of gasps and murmurs of discussion rippled through the crowd.
"Is that really a Gold-rank adventurer? Someone who can stand on equal footing with actual nobles?!"
"That's the realm every one of us adventurers dreams of reaching! And a powerful knight-class professional at that!"
Some of the adventurers were already trembling with excitement, their eyes filled with longing and admiration.
In the eyes of these adventurers, aside from the top-tier great noble houses, the status of ordinary nobles didn't even compare to that of a Gold-rank professional, because those bloated, useless pigs had no strength of their own!
And it was true.
In this world where strength reigned supreme, a professional's rank directly corresponded to their social standing.
Gold-rank professionals typically held influence equivalent to that of a noble with real power.
They could freely come and go from most towns and territories.
They could enjoy premium treatment within the Adventurers' Hall.
They could even participate in certain decision-making councils concerning territorial security.
And the legendary Platinum-rank professionals held a status so terrifying it was almost unimaginable.
They were equivalent to a lord ruling over an entire territory.
A single Platinum-rank powerhouse could change the course of a small-scale war.
Their every word and action could influence the fates of tens of thousands.
The gap between them and ordinary commoners was simply as vast as heaven and earth.
As if they belonged to two entirely different worlds.
Take, for instance, the Silverhand family's Platinum-rank Knight-Captain Lawrence, who had died suddenly. Had he still been alive, he too would have been a legendary figure revered by all in Roen City!
The bearded guard asked respectfully, "Honored lord, is there any assistance we might provide?"
His attitude toward Cyrus was noticeably more than a notch more respectful than it had been toward Ronald.
This was the reality brought about by the difference in rank.
Terry replied in his youthful yet steady voice, "My master requires quiet. We only need to pass through Roen City and head to the Everdusk Forest outpost. No special treatment is necessary."
Though Terry himself was merely a halfling attendant.
Speaking on behalf of a Gold-rank knight, his composed, neither servile nor arrogant manner earned the guards' genuine respect.
The guards immediately cleared the way.
Even actively directing the surrounding crowd to disperse, leaving a wide path for the carriage.
The onlooking adventurers, though eager to catch a glimpse of a Gold-rank powerhouse, dared not act rashly.
They stepped back one after another, making room, their eyes filled with awe and longing.
The two carriages drove out of Roen City beneath the awestruck gazes of the crowd.
The city gate slowly closed behind them.
Once they left Roen City, the quality of the road began to noticeably decline.
The smooth stone pavement gradually gave way to a dirt path.
The trees on either side of the road grew denser and taller, the sunlight blocked by layer upon layer of canopy, leaving only mottled patches of light on the ground.
The air turned damp and cold.
Filled with the scent of rotting leaves and moss particular to the forest.
Orum looked out through the carriage window and could see those ancient trees, their trunks so thick it would take three or four people to encircle them, their bark covered in deep cracks and moss.
These trees were at least several centuries old.
They had witnessed countless changes across this forest, and had also witnessed the life and death of countless adventurers.
The carriage bumped and jolted forward.
The wheels rolling over roots and stones on the ground, producing a creaking, grinding sound.
Orum could feel the entire carriage trembling slightly.
The bumps made it difficult to maintain a comfortable posture.
Ronald drove the carriage, and the two chestnut horses carefully picked their way forward along the rugged road.
They occasionally snorted, flicking their tails to drive away the insects swarming around them.
"Damn mosquitoes."
Ronald waved his hand, swatting at the insects circling him, his face full of irritation.
"Why are there so many mosquitoes in this godforsaken place?"
Inside the carriage, Orum was engrossed in reading through the finely bound manual of White Raven Tactics.
Orum's fingers moved slowly across the fine parchment pages.
His eyes focused and attentive.
He could feel that his understanding of this specialization was gradually deepening.
Those complex tactical diagrams and case analyses were gradually forming into a clear framework within his mind.
Each reading brought him a deeper understanding of tactical thinking.
Melina remained curled in the corner, still immersed in deep sleep.
The side effects of the werewolf incense allowed her only eight hours of wakefulness each day.
It was not yet time for her to wake.
That fluffy black tail remained tightly coiled around her body.
Looking warm and soft.
Clip clop, clip clop, clip clop, clip clop.
The carriage continued forward.
The road grew increasingly rough, the surrounding trees increasingly dense.
The sunlight was nearly completely blocked out, the entire forest shrouded in a gloomy atmosphere.
Orum could sense a faint magical fluctuation drifting through the air.
Traces left behind by the activity of monsters deep within the forest.
Perhaps, at this very moment, deep within the forest, a scene of some ferocious monster hunting was unfolding.
This left Orum with a faint sense of anticipation.
To reach the core region of Everdusk Forest, one first had to arrive at the outpost stationed on the forest's outer edge.
That was a base jointly established by the Church and the Adventurers' Guild.
Every adventurer attempting to enter Everdusk Forest was required to complete procedures there and receive a briefing.
And there was one more crucial matter: receiving the Blessing of Light.
That was a necessary protection for survival in a forest teeming with dark creatures.
The two carriages continued along the winding mountain path.
The wheels rolled over the soft earth, producing a faint creaking sound.
Warning signs stood along the roadside from time to time.
Written in Common, reading things like "Danger Ahead" or "Monster Sighted."
Some of the wooden signs had already rotted and tilted.
Clearly set up long ago and rarely maintained since.
Orum spotted one warning sign through the window, depicting the massive silhouette of a bear, with rough lettering beside it reading, "A corrupted giant bear was once sighted here, approximately three meters long, extremely dangerous."
Beneath it, smaller writing added, "The adventurer Tom perished here. May the Lady of the Moon watch over his soul."
Most of these warning signs had been left by adventurers.
Some meant to warn those who came after.
Some meant to commemorate fallen companions.
Behind most of these signs lay a bloody adventuring tale.
For the low-ranking adventurers of this world, every gold coin was a treasure won through life and blood.
Night gradually fell.
The forest grew darker still.
The shadows of the trees swayed in the breeze around them, like countless black ghosts dancing.
Felix lit the mana-stone lantern mounted on the carriage.
That kind of lantern held a sealed purple mana stone that emitted a continuous, stable light without requiring fuel, while also suppressing the aura of the undead nearby.
Along the dark forest trail, the two swaying lights became the only guide.
Temporarily dispelling the darkness around them.
Felix consulted the map and murmured, "The outpost should be just ahead."
"We can get some proper rest there."
The road ahead began to noticeably widen.
The surrounding trees remained dense, but had clearly been trimmed by human hands.
Some of the massive old trees had been felled, their stumps still bearing the marks of axes.
This suggested that the outpost's guards regularly cleared the surrounding vegetation to maintain a certain field of view.
In the distance, through the morning mist, one could faintly make out the outline of a tall wooden palisade.
That was the outer outpost of Everdusk Forest.
However, just as they were about to reach the outpost, just as everyone had begun to breathe a sigh of relief, an unusual disturbance suddenly arose ahead.
For safety's sake, the carriage carrying the Gold-rank professional knight had been arranged to travel ahead of the Ice Hawks' carriage, so as to respond to any sudden emergencies.
The carriage carrying Cyrus, which had been leading the way, suddenly slowed down.
Shifting almost instantly from a normal pace to a slow crawl.
This abrupt change immediately caught Felix's attention.
Felix saw the halfling attendant Terry on the driver's seat extend his right arm, his hand forming a standard tactical gesture, the universal "halt" signal used across military and adventuring parties.
Fingers together, palm raised vertically, then slowly closing into a fist.
The gesture was simple and unmistakable.
Any properly trained adventurer would understand its meaning.
Felix immediately pulled the reins tight, and the Ice Hawks' carriage stopped as well.
At the same time, he called a low warning to his companions inside the carriage. "Everyone, prepare for battle, there's something ahead!"
Inside the carriage, the sound of clattering equipment immediately rang out.
Orum closed the White Raven Tactics manual he'd been reading and quickly grabbed the flame-steel glaive resting beside him.
Raygore also snapped awake instantly, emerging from his blanket to grab his war hammer.
Ronald leapt down from the carriage directly, gripping his longsword tightly in hand.
Melina, however, remained deep in sleep, still under the effects of the werewolf incense, not yet at the time for her to wake.
Cyrus's carriage had stopped about thirty meters ahead.
That plain travel carriage sat motionless in the middle of the road.
The halfling attendant Terry climbed down from the driver's seat, his body tense, his right hand already gripping the short sword at his waist.
Orum's gaze pierced through the night's darkness, landing on the carriage ahead.
He saw the carriage door open, and a figure stepped out from within: a broad-shouldered, middle-aged knight, his entire body encased in heavy bronze-colored plate armor, every joint maintained to perfection, giving off the particular dark sheen of metal.
Cyrus slowly turned to face the direction of the Ice Hawks party, his helmet completely concealing his face, revealing only a pair of deep gray eyes through the visor's slit.
Those eyes were now filled with vigilance and gravity. His right hand rested on the hilt of the greatsword at his waist, his entire stance as textbook-perfect as an illustration from a knight's manual.
Cyrus's voice came from within his helmet, carrying a particular metallic resonance, low and cold, each word seemingly weighed carefully before it was spoken. "There's an intense scent of death ahead, extremely strong, and from more than one source. Everyone prepare for battle."
"The enemies are very likely undead."
Orum felt a genuine chill spreading through the air, not a natural coldness, but a kind of cold that reached deep into the bone, as though invisible fingers were tracing along his spine. The sensation made every hair on his body stand on end, unmistakably a typical sign of death magic.
Yet strangely, perhaps because he had inherited necromantic spellcraft from Skull Sis, Orum felt no fear of this undead presence, but rather a faint sense of familiarity.
Like drinking an ice-cold sweet drink on a scorching summer day.
Just as Cyrus's voice fell silent!
A piercing shriek suddenly erupted from deep within the forest!
The sound was sharp enough to seem as though it might pierce eardrums, carrying a horrifying, hoarse quality, like the sound of rusted metal being scraped hard!
The sound waves echoed through the dense woods, startling countless birds roosting in the canopy.
The next instant, the canopy high above the dense forest shook violently, thick branches snapping with a sharp crack, sending a rain of dead leaves and broken twigs cascading down!
Three enormous black shapes plunged down from the forest above, carrying the icy chill of death, diving straight toward the group below on the ground!
These black giant birds each had a wingspan exceeding five meters, their decaying feathers hanging ragged from their skeletal frames, some areas showing bare, bleached white bone!
Most horrifying of all were their eye sockets, burning with icy blue ghostly fire, that pale blue flame appearing especially eerie and glaring in the morning mist.
They were unmistakably three enormous Carrion Vultures!
The three Carrion Vultures appeared with astonishing speed, taking less than two seconds to descend from the canopy to the ground, their massive talons cutting sharp whistling sounds through the air, their sharp beaks opening to reveal rows of dense barbs within!
The moment they appeared, they immediately lunged straight for Cyrus, clad in his bronze armor, apparently judging him to be the greatest threat!
In that instant, Orum's heart lurched with shock!
This was a completely new monster entry! He couldn't let anyone else steal the kill credit!