Chapter 61 - 23: [King of Magical Beasts, Undead Overlord, and Twin Moons]

Chapter 61: Chapter 23: [King of Magical Beasts, Undead Overlord, and Twin Moons]

THUMP! THUMP!

The formation of the Undead Legion suddenly receded. The pack of Beaked Dogs and the Dragon Vultures also lost their will to fight, turning and fleeing.

The tide of the battlefield instantly reversed! The Shield Guards lost their unified direction and were quickly routed by the Mercenary Corps, scattering into a pile of broken bones across the ground.

The Skeleton Swordsmen retreated. Although they possessed combat skills, their timing and direction were a complete mess. Their blade-parrying stances were held haphazardly, allowing the mercenaries to pick them off one by one from behind.

The Skeleton Gunman restraining Old Jock released him, only to have its skull sent flying by a strike from an approaching mercenary.

The Beaked Dogs let out bizarre, cawing howls as they darted swiftly past people’s legs. As they fled, they didn’t forget to snatch away the Rot Root Ball wearing the Bronze Helmet from under the carriage.

The Skeleton Swordsman wearing the Rusted Copper Bell-shaped Helmet twirled his Rusted Iron Sword with a grandmaster’s flair, sheathed it, and silently retreated into the darkness, leaving behind a field of devastation.

"Stop the horses... quickly, check the cargo!" Ralph’s stamina was completely drained. He leaned wearily on his heavy sword, barely able to keep himself upright.

"It seems the Dragon Vultures couldn’t lift the grain sacks... they’re only torn." The caravan clerks hurried forward to soothe the horses, pouring the antidote for the Bloodthorn Poison into their mouths while inspecting the carriages.

Freed from the frantic harassment of the Beaked Dogs, the mercenaries finally had a moment to catch their breath. They fumbled for Healing Potions and antidotes, quickly treating one another.

Ralph dropped his heavy sword and stumbled over to Old Jock, helping the older man up.

"Are you hurt?" He sighed. "I apologize. Perhaps we truly pale in comparison to the Imperial Professional Soldiers."

"No, no... it’s quite alright, young Commander Ralph." Old Jock swayed unsteadily as he forced himself to stand. He hurried toward the covered wagon, extending his ember-burned hands to sift through and inspect the grain sacks. "They’re only slightly torn... it’s fine. The cargo is intact."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"In the end, you managed to repel the Undead and the pack of Magical Beasts—our vital supplies were not taken." Grasping the railing of the covered wagon, Old Jock slumped halfway onto the cart. "Thank you. The Wolf Banner Mercenary Corps certainly lives up to its reputation."

"Uh..." Ralph hesitated for a moment. He had intended to point out a few suspicious details, to tell Old Jock that there was something completely off about these Undead. They possessed advanced Swordsmanship combat skills, inexplicably learned how to form formations, and just as inexplicably lost that ability. There were also the powerful Copper Helmet Elite Swordsmen, who actually knew three different Swordsmanship skills.

Not to mention... He recalled the metallic tapping echoing across the battlefield, sounding just like a commander’s war drum. The Undead Legion’s tactics had shifted with every single strike.

"Yes." In the end, he chose not to bring any of it up, merely nodding.

The Wolf Banner Mercenary Corps needed prestige. Bizarre encounters, flawed combat strategies, misguided rumors... such things would negatively impact the Mercenary Corps’ business.

Moreover, the cargo truly hadn’t been lost—all thanks to the desperate, life-and-death struggle of the mercenaries.

Tugging at rags and ropes, the shaken clerks managed to patch up the torn grain sacks. Soon, they set out on their transport journey once more.

The writing on the cloth sacks, though torn by the Dragon Vultures’ sharp claws, remained clearly visible:

[Grain Shipment to Kana Plain, Demon King Valak’s Dungeon].

...

The Beast Bone Hills. The Ancient Imperial Beacon Tower Ruins. The Bandit Camp.

The rest of the team was already resting. Randall sat alone by the campfire to keep watch, a charcoal pencil clamped between his teeth as he organized the lessons learned from this mission in his notebook.

He suddenly looked up, instinctively reaching for the hunting bow beside him.

Upon making out the two heavily armored figures at the camp entrance, Randall breathed a sigh of relief and set the hunting bow back down.

"Good evening, Cultivator... Did everything go smoothly?" Randall asked out of habit.

"What?!" Talia shuddered. The Claw-shaped Hand Armor on her left hand twitched instinctively, but Samael hurriedly reached out and grasped it.

"Uh... I mean, the patrol," Randall corrected himself, watching Samael hold Talia’s hand.

"It went well enough... The moonlight is nice tonight," Samael replied. Behind Talia’s back, he waved his hand frantically, signaling for this idiot captain to stop spouting nonsense. Spouting easily misunderstood nonsense like that was a surefire way to get one’s guts scooped out by the Demon Monarch’s claws!

"Oh! That’s good then... As you were." Noticing the Samo Cultivator’s frantic gesturing, Randall reined in his gossipy curiosity, coughed dryly, and shut his mouth.

Talia scoffed and headed off toward the stables behind the ruins on her own. Reaching the corner, she turned back and waved Samael over.

"What are you standing around for?" she asked. "A secluded spot. For our post-battle prayers."

"Oh, right, coming!" CLANK, CLANK. Samael jogged after her, his armor rattling, completely oblivious to the amused, knowing smile Randall wore as he watched them like a pair of lovers.

The two warhorses in the stables were dozing on their feet. Back when he was in high school, Samael used to envy this ability to sleep while standing; that way, if he was late in the morning and forced to stand as punishment, he could just sleep through it.

Talia leaned against the front of the stable, elbows propped on the railing, standing quietly in the moonlight.

The moonlight traced the sleek curves of the waist of her long, slender armor. The fluid silhouette, edged with a silvery glow, was as beautiful as the sweeping brow of a distant mountain.

"Did you notice anything else strange?" Samael asked in a low voice. "Do we need to debrief again? Or come up with some other... plan?"

Talia gently shook her head.

"What... what excuse did you give that Sewage Worker?" she asked softly.

"That we were going out on patrol," Samael answered hesitantly. "Oh, Randall wanted to tag along at first, but I... I blurted out some nonsense about the moon looking nice tonight and that we were going out to stargaze on the way. So Randall decided not to come..."

Talia let out a soft laugh. She pushed off the stable railing, grabbed Samael by the shoulders, and pulled him in. The foreheads of their helmets pressed together, the buzzing vibration of the metal carrying her low, husky voice:

"Okay," she said. "I don’t hate that."

"What?" Samael hadn’t caught on. In his previous life, he had spent the first half of his existence with computer games, and if not for a terrifying accident like transmigrating, he had fully intended to spend the second half of his life with them too.

"The moon." Talia gently released him and skipped away as lightly as a young pony. "The moon really is beautiful."

The twin moons, bronze and white, shone silently in the sky, touching and half-merged together. The Elf Stargazers called this phenomenon "Riel Devan-Eva"—a complex and elegant Elvish term that literally translated to "Lovers’ Eyes."