Ch. 29
Chapter 29. The Hunt
The crimson abandoned mine lay open in silence like a savage wound carved into the earth, a hideous scar in the barren heart of the Western Frontier.
Over the past two days, Eli and the carefully chosen force under his command had turned this land of death into a meticulously prepared trap.
On the weathered, steep rock walls flanking the mine entrance, the thirty elite soldiers under Aika’s command clung to the shadows like lizards.
Their rough leather armor was caked with dust, blending into the stone around them.
Beside them lay stacks of sharpened throwing spears and loaded crossbows.
Eli and the others were positioned in a natural rocky hollow to the rear side of the mine entrance, a place with an excellent view.
Wolfgang had also been assigned to the rear, hidden in the bushes.
He crouched behind a rock, his fingers resting steadily on the smooth body of his longbow, with his quiver leaning close at hand.
When the first scorching rays of sunlight finally drove away the thin mist over the wasteland, a plume of dust at last rose on the distant horizon.
Twenty dark shapes rapidly grew larger in their sight.
The scout team.
Twenty men, all dressed in light chainmail, with standard curved sabers or longswords hanging at their waists and riding bows slung across their backs.
Their formation was tight and alert as they advanced, each man keeping a distance from the others that allowed mutual support without making it easy for all of them to be caught in a single blow.
The man at the front was unusually massive, standing more than a head taller than the rest.
He was scanning the surroundings with wary eyes.
His mount was finer than the others as well, and hanging beside the saddle was a heavy spiked mace.
It was Barr, the “Night Owl.”
This was clearly a well-trained force.
They did not charge straight into the mine entrance. Instead, they halted at the edge of the rocky ground about two hundred paces away.
Barr pulled on the reins, and his one remaining right eye swept across the deathly silent entrance to the abandoned mine like a searchlight.
The steep cliffs on both sides, and the sparse bushes nearby.
Barr’s brows knotted tightly.
It was too quiet.
The Vulture Gang might have been a pack of useless fools, but surely they were not so worthless that not even a single living sentry remained.
“Something’s wrong...”
“It’s too clean. There isn’t even a ghost in sight. Huck, you two stay behind and move closer to the entrance for a look.
“The rest of you, string your bows!”
The other scouts drew the curved sabers at their waists and cautiously advanced toward the mine entrance in a triangular formation, step by step, edging toward that dark tunnel like the gaping maw of some monstrous beast.
“Retreat!” The instant they stepped into the mine entrance, Barr sensed that something was wrong and suddenly roared, “Retreat at once! Back to Lucerne City!”
He nearly shouted himself hoarse. There was definitely something wrong with this cursed place.
The Vulture Gang was finished. He had to bring the news back immediately!
“Attack!”
At the exact moment Barr shouted the word “retreat,” Eli gave the order to strike.
Twang—! Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh—!
From the rock walls on both sides of the mine entrance erupted a scalp-prickling chorus of bowstrings and the shriek of weapons cutting through the air.
Dozens of throwing spears and crossbow bolts tore through the air with piercing screams, descending in a torrential storm upon the scout team below on the rocky ground.
Thunk! “Aaah—!” “Urgh!”
Screams exploded in an instant.
Caught completely unprepared, the scouts had no time to make any effective response against this fatal strike raining down from a blind angle overhead.
Four scouts were pierced through on the spot by multiple throwing spears and bolts. Like torn sacks, they were flung backward by the tremendous force and nailed to the scorching gravel.
Another five or six men burst into sprays of blood almost immediately, crying out as they fell to the ground, clutching at arms or thighs that had been punched clean through.
With a single volley, the scout team suffered instant casualties.
“Enemy attack! Take cover! Counterattack!”
Barr’s eyes nearly split with fury as he roared and swung his spiked mace, knocking aside a crossbow bolt aimed at his mount.
Who was it?!
Who dared ambush his scouts on Baron Grum’s territory?!
“Kill them all! Leave none alive!” Eli’s command rang out again.
The longbow in his hands had already been drawn full, and an arrow infused with battle aura shot from the string like a black bolt of lightning.
Thud!
The arrow pierced a scout clean through the throat with perfect accuracy, strangling his final scream in his own windpipe.
“Hahaha! Finally, it’s this young master’s turn!”
Clark’s familiar laughter rang out.
“One-Eyed Cur! Your opponent is here!”
Clark’s golden pupils locked onto Barr, and the longsword in his hand thrust straight toward Barr’s face.
“You’re courting death!” Barr was both shocked and enraged.
The moment he felt the terrifying pressure of battle aura radiating from the man before him, far beyond his own, his heart plunged straight to the bottom.
High-Silver Tier!
With a roar, he frantically drove the Lower Silver Tier battle aura within his body into motion.
His heavy spiked mace whistled through the air with savage force as it crashed directly toward Clark’s incoming sword!
Clang—!!!
A deafening explosion of steel on steel erupted as sparks flew in every direction.
Barr felt only an irresistible, overwhelming force surge through the mace into his hands. The web between his thumb and forefinger split open at once, blood pouring out!
He and his horse were driven back several paces by sheer force. The warhorse let out a miserable cry and nearly collapsed to its knees.
Clark, meanwhile, merely swayed slightly before launching another assault like a raging storm.
Every strike was vicious and precise, each carrying a shrill scream as it tore through the air, locking Barr down so completely that he had no time to think of anything else.
“Kill!”
Bol charged in from behind like a tiger descending from the mountains.
His heavy warhammer roared through the air as it smashed savagely toward a scout who tried to raise his saber to block it.
Crack!
The blade shattered! The scout did not even have time to scream before the warhammer caved in his chest and sent him flying backward.
“Who are you people?! Damn you! Lord Grum won’t let you off!
“He’ll make you regret ever being born into this world!”
Under Clark’s relentless barrage, Barr was forced to fend left and right in utter desperation.
Several cuts had already been carved into his chainmail, and blood soaked through his tunic.
His lone eye was bloodshot and blazing with fury. As he struggled to block, he kept roaring beastlike threats and curses.
“You talk too much.” Clark sneered and seized the opportunity.
His sword suddenly changed direction, like a silver dragon lunging to devour its prey, instantly breaking through the defensive circle of Barr’s spiked mace.
A flash of sword-light!
Splurt—!
The tip of Clark’s ornate sword drove with absolute precision into Barr’s one remaining right eye and burst out through the back of his skull.
Barr’s huge body went rigid all at once, and the final trace of unwillingness frozen in his eye solidified forever.
“Heh, I helped make you symmetrical. No need to thank me.”
With a clang, the heavy spiked mace slipped from his hand and struck the ground.
Then his whole body collapsed like a sack stripped of its bones, crashing onto the rocky ground.
“Leave one alive!” Eli’s voice rang out in time, stopping the blood-crazed soldiers from slaughtering the final few scouts who were still resisting desperately.
With a swing of his hammer, Bol knocked the curved saber from the hands of the last scout still trying to fight back.
Several soldiers rushed forward together, smashing him to the ground with their sword hilts and pinning him there with all their strength.
By then, apart from that one scout struggling wildly under their grip, not a single enemy remained standing.
The battle had ended even faster than expected.
In less than a quarter of an hour, all twenty elite scouts under Baron Grum, including Barr, the Lower Silver Tier “Night Owl,” had been annihilated.
Eli stepped out from behind the rocky hollow, crossed the sticky pools of blood and the cold bodies, and stopped before the scout pinned to the ground.
A soldier roughly tore off the man’s helmet, revealing a young face twisted with ferocity.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes glared at Eli with savage hatred.
“What is Grum’s strength? And what of his subordinates? Speak.” Eli’s voice was calm and utterly flat.
“Pah!” The young scout spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. Though pinned to the ground, his stare remained as fierce as a wolf’s.
“In your dreams! Kill me if you want! Baron Grum will avenge us! The baron will find you all, and he’ll make you—”
He did not get to finish his threat.
Eli lifted his chin helplessly.
Bol raised his warhammer high, then brought it down with a heavy rush of wind.
Splurt—!
A dull crack of breaking bone sounded.
The young scout’s body gave a violent jerk. Every unfinished threat and every trace of viciousness froze on his face.
His skull burst apart like an overripe watermelon, red and white matter splattering everywhere.
Bol expressionlessly flicked the filth from the hammerhead and stepped back. “As you command, my lord.”
Just then, Wolfgang’s tall figure emerged from the bushes around the outer edge of the mine, accompanied by several wolf-kin warriors.
They were dragging two corpses in their hands. When Wolfgang stopped before Eli, he said, “The backup they left behind.”
Eli nodded. The results were now fully counted.
Enemy side: twenty men, all annihilated.
Their own side...
Only a few soldiers had suffered minor flesh wounds in the final close-quarters clash, not even enough to count as light injuries.
A flawless ambush and extermination.
Timing, terrain, and human strength—they had possessed all three.
Eli slowly let out a long breath of the foul air that had been pressing in his chest.
This first step meant he had won the gamble, at least for now, and secured a precious window of time.
“Clean the battlefield. Drag every corpse into the depths of the mine. Strip off all their weapons and armor.”
Eli quickly issued his orders, his voice once more calm and steady.
“Wolfgang, your men will guard the perimeter. Bol, Aika, take men and collect every usable arrow and bolt.”
“Set a fire. Burn everything inside that can be burned,” Eli ordered at last.
The soldiers gathered tinder and the clothing stripped from the scouts’ bodies, piled it together, and threw it deep into the mine.
Soon, thick smoke rolled out through the collapsed cracks, carrying with it the acrid stench of burning flesh.
Once everything had been done, Eli did not linger.
“Withdraw! Return to Black Territory at once!”
By the time the standing watchtowers of the Black Territory valley appeared on the horizon, dusk was already approaching.
The moment Eli swung down from his horse, he heard a familiar chorus of caws from overhead.
A black shadow dove down like an arrow loosed from the string and landed steadily on the leather shoulder guard he wore.
It was Coalball!
The little thing affectionately rubbed its head against Eli’s cheek, then lifted one claw.
Tied securely to it was a small cylinder wrapped tightly in waterproof oilcloth.
It was House Black’s special raven message tube.
Eli’s heart suddenly jumped.
He quickly untied the tube, twisted off the sealed cap, and pulled out a fine roll of parchment from inside.
It was a letter from Marquess Leon.
The contents were brief and direct. In essence, he had already sent people to the Black Territory, and House Black would cooperate in properly handling the mithril mine, with authority remaining in his hands.
At the very end of the letter, there was only a single short line, and even the strokes of the handwriting seemed a little softer.
“The Western Frontier is perilous, with killing intent at every step. Be sure to... keep yourself safe.”
He held the letter in silence for a long while.
On his shoulder, the raven Coalball tilted its head and kept nudging his face with its beak.
Your bird is starving to death!