Impalen Mountains Dungeon (3)
"Krout, climb a tree and scout the surroundings."
"Goblin village 500 meters ahead. What should we do?"
"What do you mean? Smash 'em."
"Blood could attract big monsters."
"If you spill blood killing goblins, hand over your knighthood and go die."
"Ugh, got it."
Up to that point, Trias figured it made sense.
Anyone with sharp senses could pull that off.
"Krout! Scout that way."
"Northwest 400 meters, orc settlement. About ten of 'em."
"Not many. Surround 'em tight so none escape and wipe 'em out."
"Understood."
"Hmm, goblin territory here... orc territory there... Krout! Check north."
"North-northwest 650 meters, troll settlement. About ten."
"Crush 'em."
After this repeated five or six times, not just Trias but everyone realized.
They hadn't encountered a single troublesome mid-to-large monster yet.
"How...?"
"Heh, didn't I tell you? Don't doubt the lord."
Krout beamed with pride, as if it were his own doing.
But Trias couldn't accept such absurd results on blind faith alone.
"How did you do it? This is huge!"
"Heh, listen, mercenary captain. Do you just hand out trade secrets like candy?"
"Guh!"
Calix grinned at Trias's flushed face.
"Kidding. It's experience—you can't really teach it."
Navigating monster territories was like Minesweeper.
Smash small monsters, skirt mid-to-large ones, head to your goal.
Calix had nearly died dozens, hundreds of times doing this since his newbie adventurer days.
His hit rate here in what they called the front yard exceeded 90%.
Of course, patterns changed by region, so he stepped on mines sometimes.
That was why even with Laila guiding on Golda Plateau, they'd fought a sasquatch bloody battle.
"I see... Then shouldn't we at least map the path we've taken?"
"We smashed every small monster along the way. Their territories are a mess now—useless. It'll take six months to stabilize. Focus on this job."
"Ugh! Fine."
Trias smacked his lips in regret.
It was understandable.
The ability to pick only weak monster territories in monster-infested Impalen Mountains was invaluable.
Guided hunts like this could double or triple income.
Calix knew that well, so he got Trias's frustration.
Of course, there were other ways.
But no reason to reveal them now.
'Not yet, heh heh heh.'
Calix smirked sinisterly at Trias's back.
'Wonder if the ones after my head are keeping up. Heh heh heh.'
As Calix predicted, the Black Wings Mercenaries' path was anything but smooth.
"Kugh!"
Crack!
Valter swung his massive flail, shattering the last head of the twin-headed ogre.
Thud!
With the ogre down, Valter slung his flail over his shoulder and panted heavily.
"Huff! Huff!"
Around them lay the mercenaries' mangled corpses.
"Hey, flatnose. You sure we're tracking right? Our force is stronger, but no bodies from the lead group?"
"Grr, looks like they've got a skilled guide. They're messing up monster territories on purpose, leaving us to eat shit."
"This—! So? Keep suffering like this? Want to be wolf chow?"
"Eek! Sorry, captain. But chasing them, we can't help it."
Valter glared at Korvus in frustration.
"Hey! You gonna work or what?"
"Think of me as nonexistent."
"What?"
"Can't waste energy on small fry. I'm the hidden blade for emergencies."
"Damn it!"
"Why not leave it to the ones behind?"
"Behind?"
"Didn't know? Those tin cans you call crazy are trailing at a distance."
"Fuck! Why say now?!"
"Why should I?"
"Hey. Keep stonewalling, and I might just bail."
Korvus tapped his helmet with a finger.
"Tsk tsk, use your head, idiot."
"What then?"
"Let the trailers pass first. Dump mid-to-large monsters on them—you'll have an easier go."
"Will they bite?"
"Tracking at distance ain't easy. That's your specialty."
Steel Shield Mercenaries had better individual fighters from prison stock, but Black Wings excelled in tracking, camouflage, infiltration.
Valter rested his chin on his bloody flail, pondering.
"Hmm... Flatnose! Can you do it?"
"I'll try."
"Good! Make it happen."
"Yes, captain!"
Soon after, Omar—tracking Black Wings through the mountains—tilted his head.
"Odd. Closing distance bit by bit, but tracks stay consistent. Should be fresher."
Then a massive shadow slammed Steel Shields' flank.
Kroooar!
"Troll!"
"Hold!"
"Strike!"
Formation crumbled instantly, mercenaries thrown into chaos.
Ex-military discipline kept them from fleeing weaponless.
"Move! First troll? Go!"
Squad leaders rallied at Omar's shout, engaging the troll.
"Shields forward!"
"Forward!"
Shieldbearers drew aggro while others hurled iron nets.
Barbed hooks dug in deep, hard to shake.
As troll slowed, long-spearmen struck, stabbed, discarded weapons, retreated.
Poison on spears ate regeneration.
Costly—ruined valuable blood—but desperate times.
Finally, mana-users swung two-handers, deeply slashing the neck.
Thud!
The three ambushing trolls fell one by one.
Storm passed, Omar faced three trolls and a dozen merc corpses scattered.
While subordinates cleaned, he swallowed boiling rage.
"We were wrong. These aren't Black Wings tracks. Clever fake of a group ahead."
"Damn! Criminals aside, another group? Red Wolves?"
"Doubt it. Noble recently hired 200-man team. Probably them."
"Stupid! Why now?!"
"Sorry. Didn't connect till now. They didn't lure us for a fight."
"So we assumed wrong?"
"Yes. Target's that noble's expedition."
"So they dragged kids to loot dungeon returnees? Makes sense?"
"Means high chance of big haul..."
"Ugh! Criminal style."
"Orders?"
"Hmm..."
"Turn back?"
"No. Wait here. Till they can't resist and push ahead."
"They sent us first—will they advance?"
"Different goals."
"Ah, right."
Soon, Valter's group—having let Steel Shields pass, trailing slowly—halted seeing tails ahead.
"Halt!"
"Halt!"
"They're not moving."
"Hmm..."
Korvus muttered beside pondering Valter.
"Heh, they noticed already? Smarter than thought."
"Hey, hit 'em now and go?"
"Fight them, then have strength left for Calix?"
"That..."
"Don't forget goal. Capture or kill Calix. Avoid fights till then. Hard?"
"Fuck! Keep fighting mids, forces dwindle—same end!"
"That on your neck decorative?"
"What? You bastard!"
As Valter snapped, Korvus spoke.
"They don't know our real aim."
"So?"
"Make tin cans believe we're after huge treasure too. Propose truce till we find it."
"...Talk to crazy tin cans?"
"Heh, ancestors' grudge? Any direct beef? Petty squabbles, traded minions—what? Not different gods."
"Ugh!"
Korvus was spot-on, rationally sans emotion.
"Why Red Wolves always jerk you? No talk."
"Enough."
Groups awkwardly truced, settling scores post-Calix treasure.
Trust thin, they jockeyed positions, glaring fiercely.
March slowed drastically.
Calix's group moved leisurely as result.
Not ideal—double the hunters on his neck.
Target of both, Calix obsessively checked minimap lately.
Confirming goal near, he summoned expedition brass to command tent.
"Dawn tomorrow, minus minimal guard, rapid march to dungeon."
Amid mercenary leaders' buzz, Trias asked calmly.
"How far?"
"Light gear, half-day estimate."
"How many in?"
"Combat 60."
"Supplies? No horses inside."
"Subspace artifact."
"What..."
Trias shut mouth.
Rare for 60-man subspace, but Calix as count heir? Nod-worthy.
"Rest wait here?"
"Send back. Hyenas coming—avoid pointless clash."
"Safe? Could ambush exit."
"Leave 'em, picked off piecemeal. Split here, won't chase down-mountain."
Calix glanced at Yurin, Madam Hari; Trias nodded slowly.
Then Yurin raised hand.
"Me?"
"Playtime over. Join return group."
"You're baggage too, oppa?"
Calix tapped head.
"Got this."
"Hmph!"
Yurin, never planning deep-dungeon, sat meekly.
Her eyes mixed anxiety, expectation.
'Showed my skills—your turn. Don't die, partner.'
'Heh, watch.'
Meanwhile, Trias hesitantly approached busy Madam Hari prepping return.
"Any issue, tell him. Escort safe down."
"Fine. We're no pushovers."
"R-right..."
To crestfallen Trias, Madam Hari added shortly.
"Thanks for care."
"No, no! Haha!"
Calix, watching, sighed inwardly.
'Long road ahead, tsk tsk...'