Clayton, his friends, and his ten undead slaves were on the move.
Quite frankly, he was happy to get his plans back on track. That attack from the Basher Basilisk staggered his progress more than he could ever imagine it would, or predict, for that matter, but he got the best out of that horrid situation already, so from this point onwards, he could only keep moving, and hope for the best.
Odds were that they weren't going to be attacked by another monster of legends anytime soon, not a summoned monster, at least, as Maria the Summoner had promised them, and Clayton had lived up here in the mountain long enough to know that monsters were rare around here.
A few hundred years ago they had been more common, he remembered reading something about it within the Chapel's library, before it got recently destroyed, and he was quite sure that monsters were not supposed to roam the rocky mountains. Not many of them.
