Chapter 115
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: 27. Overwhelming. (2)
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The path that had seen no mining activity for ages, with human footsteps long ceased, had reverted so fully to nature that it was obvious at a glance it hadn't been used in years.
The Allen Mercenary Corps, leading the way, advanced steadily along that very path, eyes warily scanning every direction.
The faint killing intent permeating the entire Demonic Realm clung to their bodies like sticky goblin needles.
Though he'd been tempered by countless missions over the years, Allen's body refused to grow accustomed to it. Probably because he was a timid weakling by birth, a pathetic nobody without any real strength to his name.
...It reminded him of his first mission...
As he walked, Allen recalled the days when he'd just started the mercenary business.
...Comparing then to now was like night and day.
Hard work had played its part, of course, but he couldn't discount sheer luck either. Right after Chapter 1 wrapped up, he'd snagged the Blind Saintess who was supposed to head out, and even roped in the Gum-Tit Swordswoman—someone he'd never have dreamed of—with her demon plague, easy as pie.
While their leader was lost in nostalgia for that brief moment, monsters must have crept up unnoticed, because the Blind Saintess sent the agreed-upon signal.
At once, the Allen Mercenary Corps shifted into their trained formation, pulling the Hot-Tempered Mage Elena and the leader into the center and circling protectively around them.
It wasn't long before the monsters appeared—a pack of demon hounds, common sights in the Demonic Realm.
They sized up the mercenaries for a moment, then charged ferociously all at once, like they refused to yield the tasty prey to anyone else.
Maybe against a southern outfit, but to the Allen or Pharos Mercenary Corps, demon hounds weren't even magical beasts—just appetizers before the real meal.
They crushed the overconfident mutts in the blink of an eye. Once more than half the pack lay dead, the survivors bolted in panic.
Only then did the southern mercenaries realize the two outfits from Vermandua were on another level entirely.
...Honestly, they hadn't noticed much difference before.
The Charlotte Mercenary Corps had grown enough to handle demon hounds without much trouble now, but Vermandua's crews were in a league of their own. It showed why they commanded the big bucks.
Normally they'd take a breather after a monster fight, but this scrap ended so fast they didn't even feel the need. So Allen gave the signal to move out without pause.
The group reformed ranks and pressed on. Thankfully, they reached the mine fortress by noon without further ambushes.
This place had been abandoned just as long, its forges cold for ages. Unlike the gateway fortress, there weren't even any guards. With no maintenance, it had crumbled into ruins like some ancient historic site.
"Looks like magical beasts have been through here too."
"Traces?"
"Yeah. A little remains."
That meant the beast wasn't too far off—a stroke of luck. No need to comb the Demonic Realm inch by inch.
For now, Charlotte declared a major rest stop at the mine fortress. Time to eat, nap, and shake off the morning's tension.
The group pulled out a few strips of flat jerky, scarfed them down, then flopped out for a short snooze. When the hourglass had drained halfway, they rose, left the fortress, and began a proper search.
Allen trusted the Blind Saintess's tracking skills to guide them. Without eyewitness sightings, it was their only option. Otherwise, they'd just sit and wait for the thing to show—hardly appealing when time was money.
Luckily, traces showed it had passed through the fortress once, making the trail far easier to pick up than expected.
They poured all focus into tracking, leaving the Odd-Eyed one's vigilance all but absent, but the Gum-Tit Swordswoman filled the gap admirably. Natasha might turn into a shameless slut around friends, but on a job, she was a flawless swordswoman.
Sunsets came quick in the Demonic Realm. As darkness deepened around them, the killing intent spiked exponentially. Even in the south, a Demonic Realm was still a Demonic Realm.
"Gonna be another fuckin' rough night..."
Spending indefinite nights here without respite was hardship enough. Even if the Allen Mercenary Corps was brutally strong, they couldn't conquer sleep or fatigue.
Unpredictable as the Demonic Realm was, they skipped rotations and just assigned one sentry per unit from each corps.
They lit five campfires, one per group, sat around them for a simple dinner, then crashed on their bedrolls.
Huuu.
Allen let out a long breath the moment he hit the bedroll. It was for the money, sure, but the Demonic Realm still sucked ass. Felt like a murderer stood right beside you with knife in hand—who could sleep easy with nerves like that? Pure force of will.
Charlotte tossed and turned sleeplessly too. They'd patrolled these mine fortresses now and then before the magical beast outbreaks, but she never got used to it. Nights, when the intent thickened, were pure hell.
......Please, no surprises tonight if possible...
Patrols at least had fortress walls, but out here on open ground? Sleeping exposed, never knowing when monsters might lunge from nowhere—that took iron guts.
But even fear of death crumbles before utter exhaustion.
After endless tossing, Charlotte passed out cold.
......She dreamed of being chased by a horrific monster.
···
-clang clang clang clang clang clang
The blaring bell jolted everyone awake in alarm.
It was still deep night all around—meaning enemies had appeared.
Charlotte shot up from her uncomfortable bedroll at the clamor. At the same instant, a horde of monsters slammed into the mercenaries.
The night raid was so sudden that a few still-groggy mercs fumbled, taking hits they shouldn't have.
"Get your heads straight and fight back! Leaders, deep breaths—form up!!"
Allen's clear, booming voice cut through the chaos, steadying the rattled Charlotte.
Four monsters total, reeking of rot with slimy skin. Each was three or four times a demon hound's size, whipping around long, spindly tentacle arms studded with needle-sharp barbs. A mere graze brought paralysis.
The clueless victims collapsed twitching. Mostly southern mercs, of course.
The Charlotte Mercenary Corps lost two in seconds, opening gaps instantly. Ah—. She instinctively knew those barbs were deadly and yelled to counter carefully, but down two, they could barely block the whipping tentacles.
Right then, the Allen Mercenary Corps swooped in stylishly, swiftly finishing the tentacle beast her group was tangling with. Allen approached the panting Charlotte, gently asking if she was hurt.
To him, it was just reflexive courtesy to the client, but she found it odd. On missions, he was the strongest, most commanding man alive—zero tolerance for slip-ups.
"...Ah, uh, yeah... Seems fine for now."
"Good to hear. Those things have paralytic venom in their tentacles—kinda nasty."
The Allen crew tidied up fast and jumped into aftercare.
They laid the afflicted flat, sliced open the contact wounds to bleed out the toxin quick as possible, then fed them diluted potions.
One merc who'd taken a heavy dose nearly died, but emergency treatment saved him. Tentacle beasts preferred slurping live fluids, so the venom wasn't super potent. Chug potions and crash through the night—they'd shake it off come morning.
The raid was a bolt from the blue for Charlotte and the southern leaders, but Vermandua's pair shrugged it off like nothing.
Charlotte kept stealing glances at Allen.
......Guess he won't slap my cheek anymore.
- You fuckin' bitch!!
That scathing glare.
The unhesitating slap.
The hand choking her collar.
The roaring voice.
The blond leader finished cleanup and slipped smoothly back onto his bedroll.
...Haaa...
She couldn't fathom why that scene looped endlessly in her head like a broken record.
Exhausted, Charlotte drifted off again.
This time, she saw Allen grabbing her collar and yelling.
- You fuckin' bitch!!!
And the hand slapping her cheek without mercy.
Aaah—.
......An inexplicable thrill bloomed softly in her chest.