Perhaps letting slip their whereabouts had led them to being surrounded by the enemy?

Remembering Arismede’s warning, Yang Ling didn’t dare let his guard slip. Summoning a few Horned Bee Beasts, he quietly crept out to scope the situation. His left hand held a Wizard Amulet, while the right formed a seal. He steeled himself, getting ready to summon the Beast Army at a moment’s notice.

They came quickly – before long, he had a clear grasp on his surroundings.

The cold wind blew across the snowy plains; a group of shabbily-clad tribesmen appeared out of nowhere. Ogres carrying wolf fang staffs, barbarians holding boulders…even a gnome bearing a wooden stick, plus a few stray irregular soldiers.

However, even though their weaponry and armor was nothing to write home about, the invaders held a murderous glint in their eyes, out for fresh blood. Even in the bitter cold, with snow scattered everywhere, they moved swiftly as if they were flying. They made their way to the tents in a semi-circular formation, with the ogres in the front, and barbarians and gnomes bringing up the rear. Not a group that one would see regularly, but they were moving in sync.

Could this be the party that was out to ambush him?

After taking stock of the incoming enemy, Yang Ling shook his head. His enemies surely wouldn’t be so stupid as to send a team like this, which had killed three of its own members? The opposing team did look ferocious, but the difference in skill between them and Heaven-ranked assassins was like the earth and sky. Maybe a team of Horned Bee Beasts could solve this easily.

Perhaps…it would be an opportunity to see what these rookie mercenaries were made of?

Yang Ling had originally prepared to summon a horde of Horned Bee Beasts, but after hearing the grunts of the mercenaries, a thought occurred to him. Since he was preparing to travel with them, it would be best to ascertain their strength in order to prevent any mishaps.

Having made his decision, he sat cross-legged, waiting for the invaders to make their way over. Of course, to cover his bases, he summoned a swarm of spiders that quietly made their way underground around the tent.

In the cover of the cold wind, the attacking party approached swiftly. The ogres hoisting their weighty wolf fang staffs, barbarians raising the heavy boulders in their hands – even the frail-looking gnomes were lifting wooden batons, sharpened and poised to kill.

Tch…

As the uninvited guests split into two groups, preparing to surround the tents, two nearby horses whinnied in fright. In that instant, the mercenaries, roused from their slumber, stumbled out.

“Quickly, dear, spit it!”

After a hurried exit from the tents, Fatty Hans turned white as a sheet – he had laid eyes on a huge swarm of people, out for blood, charging his way. Swiftly, he summoned some green-skinned condors, signalling for them to attack. Thankfully, they responded quickly: with a cry piercing the heavens, they sent forth an acid shower spewing from their beaks.

Ahh…

One of the ogres in the front, having been struck in the eyes by this acid shower, fell to the ground in pain, blood seeping through the gaps between its fingers. It seemed that they were done for – or at the very least, blinded for life.

In this dangerous commotion, the mercenaries didn’t just run amok. Rather, they held steady formation and returned fire, surpassing Yang Ling’s expectations. Even as newbies, they definitely had some skills up their sleeves.

Maputo was up front, wielding a greataxe, fiercely fending off the ogres’ assault. Knight Halalei had a shield in his left hand, a rapier in his right, blocking the barbarians from lobbing rocks at the party. Fatty Hans let out a loud cry, calling to the green-skinned condors in the sky to attack in all directions.

Spellcaster Lia, staff in hand, was supporting the group with agility boosting techniques, casting one or two icicles for extra firepower. As for Lobina, the masked archer, she fired arrow after arrow wordlessly, taking out the barbarians in the back.

With their unspoken teamwork, the mercenaries bravely held the fort; however, with the enemy closing in, they began to suffer casualty hits as time went on. Some were injured by the boulders, some struck by the ogre’s staffs, and some were caught off-guard by the gnomes’ sneak attacks. In particular, Fatty Hans with his slow reactions, was suffering blow after blow, getting bloodied in the process.

As the mercenaries’ defences lowered, the oncoming enemy team continued to press the attack, roaring loudly. It seemed the mercenaries were in trouble!

“Brother Yang, should we lend them a hand?” Long before the mercenaries were attacked, Yuna had located the enemy’s tracks. However, like Orlando, she didn’t dare do anything without Yang Ling’s consent.

“Orlando, you help them. Yuna, you stay and keep watch. Make sure nobody gets badly hurt.”

Turning back to the struggling mercenaries, Yang Ling shook his head. Rookies, indeed, the lot of them; they were still on the back foot even against those defenseless tribesmen. Had they been properly armed, he feared that they would have been wiped out long ago. Never mind the others — Maputo, right at the front, would have been the first to die.

Once Orlando made his move, the pressure on the mercenaries started to ease up. If Lobina’s arrows were putting the enemies scared and on edge, Orlando’s javelin wielding skills frightened the very souls out of their bodies.

An outstanding marksman, Orlando’s strikes seemed to never miss his targets, whether he was aiming for the throat, or the space between the eyes. In the twenty or so steps he took, each throw of his javelin took out an enemy every single time.

“By Yiblis, quickly! Finish him!”

After repeated assaults from Orlando, one of the lead barbarians flew into a rage, bringing a few gnomes in pursuit.

“Pull back, retreat! Now!”

Noting the size of the opposing team, Knight Halalei issued the command, doing his best to shield the warriors behind him. He was hoping to protect Orlando behind him, while escaping the enemy’s grasp.

The mercenaries were swift, but they were not expecting their enemies to be swifter. The attackers saw an opening for a fierce strike — on their leader’s command, the ogres lunged at Yuna, who was right behind Orlando.

“Hmph, you asked for it!”

Seeing that Yang Ling had yet to make a move, Yuna muttered under her breath, sending a wall of fire streaking across the sky to keep a few incoming ogres at bay. Fireball after fireball soon followed, raining on the enemy.

A high-level spellcaster?

Yuna had wordlessly conjured a few more of those walls of fire, disposing of the ogres in a blink of an eye. The leader of the enemy troop turned pale in fright. After a moment to themselves, they ordered all their men to press the attack, preparing for blitzkrieg.

“Fatty, hurry back now!”

Hans, being too rotund for his own good, had only taken a few steps before he fell into enemy bounds. In horror, Lia expended the last of her mana to fire another icicle, but to no avail.

“Dear, spit it out…hurry…”

Fatty Hans, now surrounded by barbarians out for blood and with his allies out of reach, grew terrified. He almost wet his pants.

At the same time, after spraying bouts of acid rain constantly, his green-skinned condors too were at the end of their tether. Against the barbarians and their boulders, there was just no contest.

During this moment of imminent peril, just as Hans closed his eyes waiting to die, a miracle happened. The enemies surrounding him cried out and slumped to the ground – it was as if a spell had come over them.

Yang Ling had directed the Horned Bee Beasts, which were hidden out of sight until then, to fire their poison barbs just then, saving Hans in the nick of time. In the heat of the moment, neither friend nor foe had sensed the presence of the Horned Bee Beasts at all.

“By Yiblis, take care of that pesky spellcaster. Go!”

After the shock of seeing his team taken out, the enemy leader still insisted on forging ahead. To him, Yuna, who stood in front of the tent, was their biggest threat. Forget about winning; without taking out this fearful spellcaster, all his troops would be done for.

Under the enemy leader’s command, a few ogres charging towards Yuna, howling. Unfortunately for them, the mercenaries had regained their footing, returning fire with Orlando’s support.

“Go to hell, by Yiblis!”

With a mighty roar, Maputo swung his greataxe with wild abandon, striking the enemy and leaving a huge, deep gash on his chest.

The enemy leader’s bodyguards had no time to react. By the time they had raised their weapons, it was too late to help. Instead, they too were disposed of by the mercenaries.

Upon seeing the mercenaries regain their fighting spirit, and their leader taken out with his life hanging in the balance, the enemy troops lost their will to fight. Without a leader, Orlando was able to easily dispatch some of the smaller fry, while the remainder dispersed in confusion.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the mercenaries did not give chase, choosing instead to tend to their injured. Fatty Hans may have been drenched in blood, but his wounds were shallow; Maputo, on the other hand, had suffered some heavy blows as he was front and center of the skirmish – there was no end in sight to his bleeding.

After putting the battlefield in order, Orlando, under Yang Ling’s instruction, proceeded to interrogate the severely wounded enemy leader through the night. Eventually, he managed to procure the necessary information, but he broke a few bones in the process.

It appeared that their attackers were a group of exiled bandits. Earlier, they had a run-in with Argus at gunpoint, and suffered heavy losses. Soon after, they were captured by some allied tribesmen nearby. At their wits’ end, they wanted to dispose of Yang Ling’s team to take their food and other supplies – that plan, however, had failed.

“By Yiblis, dear, have at him!”

Now fully aware of the situation, Fatty Hans raged, instructing the green-skinned condor to exact revenge. It seemed to mull for a bit, then with a grunt, shot out a gob of acidic spit. It landed squarely on the enemy leader’s eyes.

The enemy troop leader writhed on the ground, clawing at his eyes. It felt as if his eyeballs were decaying – the pain was unbearable. In his violent flailing, the wound on his chest reopened, blood violently gushing forth. The more he struggled, the more his movements slowed, gradually weakening.