"Are you insane, Dario?" a cool, slightly raspy female voice shattered the feverish atmosphere. "That's at least a small tribe. And look at their gear and their patrols—they're no soft targets. There are only about thirty of us. If they spot us, it's hard to say who will be devouring whom."
The speaker was Freya, a woman in a black robe standing in the shadows behind Dario. Her hood was pulled low, revealing only a sharp jawline and pale lips.
As she reached up to adjust the edge of her hood, she inadvertently revealed a finely stitched silver insignia on her collar.
It was the mark of a Mid-Rank Mage.
The ranks of Mages and Warriors on the continent of Solmara are divided into thirteen tiers. The first nine ranks are grouped into three major levels: Low-Rank (1-3), Mid-Rank (4-6), and High-Rank (7-9). The presence of a Mid-Rank Mage was enough to grant any mercenary legion a qualitative leap in strength.
Above Rank-9, the gap in power between each tier was immense, and most people would never encounter individuals of that caliber.
Dario's smile froze for an instant before he stretched it back into a careless grin. "Relax, Freya, my precious Mage. Every brother in the Salt Blade is an elite who's crawled out of a pile of corpses. And hunting beastmen is our specialty. Forget a small tribe like this; even if they had twice the numbers, with the right plan, we could swallow them whole!" He thumped his chest, producing a dull thud.
"This is outside the scope of our original plan, Dario. The risk is too great," Freya said, her tone firm and unwavering as she fiddled with a simple silver ring on her index finger. "It goes against our principles."
"I'm the captain, and my orders are final! Freya, you just need to obey. After this is done, you'll get a bigger share of the spoils. How about that?" The vicious scar on Dario's mouth twitched as he cut her off, a flash of impatience in his eyes.
"And I'm the second-in-command," Freya retorted, not backing down. "I have a responsibility for the lives of every brother here. This isn't a plan; it's a reckless gamble with everyone's lives!"
"A position I appointed you to!" Dario was growing angry, spittle flying from his lips. "If it weren't for the strict requirement of having a Mid-Rank Mage to upgrade the legion's class, I wouldn't have bothered paying such a steep price to invite a high-and-mighty Mage like you!"
"If you insist on this reckless course of action, I will announce my withdrawal from the Salt Blade right now!"
"Hey, hey, hold on, Freya, my good Mage, don't be so hasty." Seeing Freya's unyielding stance, the muscles on Dario's face quivered, and his tone softened first. A Rank-6 Mage like Freya was hard to find, and he had no intention of losing such a vital asset over a momentary clash of wills.
He cleared his throat and lowered his voice, pointing a finger toward the beastman camp below, where the lights were gradually dimming. "Look closely," he explained. "Beastman tribes are usually composed of a single race, like a wolfkin tribe or a minotaur tribe. But what do you see in that camp? Tigrans, pantherans, minotaurs, and those wolfkin whelps... Such a multi-racial group is highly unusual in beastman society. It can only mean one thing—this is the personal retinue of a high-ranking beastman noble. Only a noble with a prestigious bloodline has the right and the ability to recruit and command warriors from other clans." He watched Freya's expression, and seeing her brow furrow in thought, he pressed on. "And look, there are plenty of cubs and female beastmen in the camp, right? What does that tell you? It means they're likely a minor branch of a noble line that lost a tribal conflict and are now on the run, or what's left of one. They probably just stumbled upon this place by chance. Look at their camp layout. They have guards, but the scale and defenses are incredibly crude. I'd bet my life the number of actual adult warriors in that camp is low, and their overall combat strength is probably less than half that of a normal beastman tribe of the same size!"
Freya followed Dario's finger, observing carefully. The doubt in her eyes slowly faded, replaced by a flicker of undeniable admiration. She had to admit, the man who looked as crude as a bear possessed remarkably sharp powers of observation.
Seeing her expression soften, Dario struck while the iron was hot. "Think about it, Freya. Beastman warforms, rare materials, weapons and armor, precious herbs... The wealth of a beastman noble's camp is beyond your imagination! You know our legion is in desperate need of coin right now. I still owe you half of your recruitment fee! We live a life of licking blood off our blades, seeking fortune in danger. If we don't risk our lives for a big score, how are we supposed to feed our families and give our brothers a better life?" The last sentence was spoken with genuine feeling, tinged with a world-weary tone.
Freya remained silent for a moment before slowly nodding.
"Boss, then... after this job, shouldn't you finally replace that 'antique' gear of yours?" The short Jason, who hadn't dared to speak, sidled closer now that the tension had eased. "We're a proper Class-B Mercenary Legion now. The way you dress, every time we enter a city, the guards of those rich folk mock you for being a country bumpkin." He pointed at Dario's tattered leather armor, which looked like it was about to fall apart.
Dario smacked Jason hard on the head. "What the hell do you know, kid!" he cursed. "This leather armor of mine is genuine Rare-Tier enchanted gear, tough as hell! And this cloak? It's made from real dragonhide! A bunch of ignorant fools, you only know how to judge by appearances!"
"Dragonhide? Keep dreaming, boss! It's been ages since anyone on the continent of Solmara has seen a living dragon," Jason muttered, rubbing the back of his sore head with a skeptical pout.
Just then, the faintest rustle of leaves came from the bushes beside them. The smile vanished from Dario's face. His eyes instantly sharpened like a hawk's, and his right hand shot to the hilt of his sword like a bolt of lightning. Freya reacted just as quickly, instinctively raising her left hand as an orange orb of fire rapidly coalesced in her palm. Jason, like a phantom, flickered and disappeared into the undergrowth.
A thin man in hunter's garb emerged, his gaze sharp, a dark mustache gracing his upper lip.
"Klaus, did you get a clear picture of the situation below?" Dario relaxed his hand from his sword hilt upon seeing it was one of his own.
Klaus approached, his tone steady. "Mostly clear. Fewer than fifty adult warriors in the beastman camp, most of them Rank-1 and Rank-2. There are a total of five Mid-Rank Warriors, including the Tigran leader and her two personal guards. No High-Rank threats detected so far."
"Just as I thought!" Dario's eyes lit up with excitement.
Klaus paused briefly before adding, "However, there is one complication. There seems to be a small patrol of wolf-riders circling the perimeter. If we get too close, their mounts' keen sense of smell will likely detect us ahead of time."
At this, Dario's grin only widened. He chuckled in the direction where Jason had vanished. "Wolf cubs, eh? Jason, this is your specialty. Time for you to shine."
"A piece of cake. I'll just find some fresh witchbloom in the forest, mix it with some duskroot pollen, and light it up. The smoke will put those beasts to sleep, guaranteed." Before his voice faded, the sound of rustling leaves indicated that Jason was already on his way.
"Gather the brothers. Check weapons and gear. We move as soon as the sky is pitch black!" Dario commanded in a low, firm voice.
Night fell completely, a vast curtain of black velvet blanketing the entire Orlando Mountain range.
Within the beastman camp, most of the bonfires had been extinguished, leaving only a few necessary watch-fires burning.
In the center of the camp, inside the largest hide tent, Ceona stared blankly at the moon through a small skylight intentionally left open at the top.
"My Lady, it is late. Why are you not resting?" The soft, respectful voice of the pantheran guard, Mira, came from outside the tent.
"There are no outsiders here, Mira. Just call me Ceona." Ceona pulled her gaze from the night sky, sighing with a trace of exhaustion. "Come in. Talk with me for a while."
The tent flap was gently lifted, and the agile Mira ducked inside, her iconic crescent blades held firmly in her hands.
"Ceona," Mira said, approaching with concern, "we've successfully shaken off our pursuers. What are you still worried about?"
"I don't know, Mira. Ever since we entered the Orlando Mountains, I've had a terrible premonition, as if some disaster is about to strike." She reached out and gently took Mira's hand. "If... if something does happen, don't worry about me. You must take Kray and do everything in your power to get him out of here. Find a way to send him to my father's tribe. Only there will he be safe."
Mira gripped Ceona's hand tightly in return, her voice resolute. "Kray has already lost his father; he cannot lose his mother as well. Rest assured, Ceona. No matter what happens, I will protect you both with my life."
"Thank you..." Ceona's voice choked slightly.
"Ceona..." Mira wanted to offer more words of comfort, but before she could speak, her expression changed drastically. She had caught the faint, oddly sweet and numbing scent of a strange smoke, seeping silently through the seams of the tent.
"Damn it! We're under attack!" Mira roared. In the same instant, her crescent blades flashed from their sheaths. With a glint of cold light, she tore through the thick animal hide of the tent and leaped out like a coiled panther.
Almost at the exact moment Mira leaped from the tent, an Explosive Fireball, trailing a tail of orange flame, whistled down from the sky. With a tremendous BOOM, it struck a nearby tent with perfect accuracy. The dry hides and wood instantly ignited, and roaring flames shot several meters into the air, engulfing the tent and the sleeping beastmen within.
Human Mages! Mira's heart sank. Her worst fears had come true.