Page 18

Putting aside my doubts, I gathered all the disciples and left behind those who had not yet mastered the Golden Bell Shield to the eighth level. They were tasked with watching over the captured half-orcs. With the remaining twelve disciples, we followed the direction where the humans had fled.

"Master Xuanfeng, the humans split into two groups here. One group rode ahead on horses, about thirty in number, while the other group walked, with only ten horses and around forty people."

The speaker was Antara, the lone werewolf among the disciples who had achieved the ninth level of the Golden Bell Shield, making him an informal leader, skilled and capable. The wolf race was naturally gifted in tracking, using scent and traces to determine their prey's movements. Even a rabbit couldn't escape a wolf's pursuit, let alone a large group of humans. However, perhaps due to the influence of my past life's memories, I had little understanding of this talent. Fortunately, Antara's tracking abilities were exceptional, making him a natural guide for our group.

Based on Antara's assessment, the humans had concentrated their horses among a portion of their group, ensuring each person had two horses for a swift escape, while the rest proceeded on foot. Catching up with the mounted group was now out of the question. Thus, our only option was to eliminate the remaining group entirely. But it didn't seem logical for humans to abandon half their numbers, so did they possess the confidence to escape our pursuit?

Recalling the sword and magic-inflicted wounds on my two deceased disciples, a menacing smirk involuntarily formed on my face.

"Even if you're just ordinary disciples without deep emotions, do you think you can get away with killing my people?"

I instructed everyone to hasten their pursuit, and after more than two hours, we caught sight of the human camp's flickering torchlight in the distance. It seemed Antara's estimation was accurate – there were roughly forty to fifty humans gathered together, camping and resting.

Looking back at the disciples I had brought, I realized our numbers were still somewhat small. Despite having recently killed the Ice Mountain Beamon myself and mastering the Nine Yin Divine Art, my arrogance was soaring, believing I could handle the entire human group. However, regardless of the Sword Master, I couldn't afford to be careless against any potential magicians.

In the legends of the Beastman Alliance, human mages were often portrayed as divine beings. It was said that the entire Half-Orc wilderness, once a vast, lush grassland stretching for thousands of miles, was devastated four hundred years ago by twelve human sages using forbidden spells, turning it into the barren wasteland it is now. Although these tales might be exaggerated, after witnessing the myriad magical abilities of various magical beasts in the Sun Never Sets Mountains, I harbored skepticism towards the idea of a mage wielding scores or even hundreds of spells. After all, magical beasts typically possessed one to a few spells at most, which were already challenging to defend against. Just imagine the power of a mage who could freely manipulate and combine hundreds of spells.

"I've heard that mages control magic through their mental prowess. There were also signs of magic usage in the ruins of the village. After a whole day of constant travel and combat, I doubt he has much mental energy left. But to be safe, let's tire him out even further."

Turning to the adolescent werewolves behind me, I gave them a few brief instructions. Then, Icewind and I darted into the shadows on either side of the road, vanishing into the depths of the nocturnal landscape. The remaining werewolves, under Antar's orchestration, split into three teams and stealthily departed in their respective directions.

The campfire crackled and spat fiercely, its flames flickering erratically. The orcish wilderness was harsh, with few towering trees; instead, various shrubs served as fuel, which was far from ideal. Nonetheless, the mercenaries huddled together, indifferent to the circumstances. Apart from a few who were genuinely exhausted, the rest engaged in discussions about the day's battle.

"Gentlemen, we've truly struck gold this time. Who would have thought there would be so many crystal cores and gems in the werewolves' village? Coupled with the wolf pelts and the reward for completing the mission, it will suffice to sustain us all for at least two or three years."

"Pah, what a pusillanimous little creature. Is that all you can fathom? By the time two or three years have passed, all the treasures will have been plundered clean."

"Old Xikuo, what do you mean? Could it be that there's an even greater benefit in store?"

"So, you lack vision! How did we arrive here? If those knights just deliver that item back, it won't be long before a massive force arrives. With so much treasure in a mere village, imagine the spoils in those major clans or even cities. Do I need to spell out the benefits? Even if we're afraid of being used as cannon fodder, we can still tag along behind the army and reap the rewards. We'll be considered contributors, and as long as we don't overstep, no one will hold it against us. The knight regiments will deal with the formal Orc armies; can't we handle those powerless beasts?"

"So it seems your ambitions are considerable, Xavier. You've grown so enamored with hunting that you don't fear being hunted down by those very wolves yourself?"

"Hmph, I used to hear so much about how formidable those Orcs were, it had me on edge. But now it seems, they're nothing at all! They boast of every member being a warrior, from the young to the old, yet over two hundred Werewolves were slaughtered by us as easily as swatting flies."

"Well, isn't that brave now? Where was this courage when you were scurrying to the back? If not for the Holy Lady Bai Lanling summoning thousands of half-elves with divine magic, we would've suffered far greater losses."

"Well, those two Werewolves that arrived last were truly monstrous. Swords bounced off them like they were stone; they didn't even need blades. Their claws dug five bloody gashes with each swipe. The bald brothers, Ironhel, had their skulls punctured outright. If all the Beastwarriors were like these beasts, then..."

As if a chilling gust of wind swept past, everyone instinctively shuddered, as if those bloody wolf claws were hanging above their heads.

"So what? They were still taken down by Lord Lanster and Mage Hai Ruo. Hmmph, it's just a pity about those two wolf pelts." The boastful words lacked the corresponding arrogance in tone. Everyone knew how rare it was to advance beyond the rank of Golden Swordsmen and become a Sword Master, let alone the even more elusive wizards.

Beyond the raucous crowd, around a quieter campfire, six figures sat in a circle.

Hake, the over-fifty-year-old guild leader, swallowed a mouthful of sweet wine. His weathered face bore signs of exhaustion. To have survived and remained active in the perilous profession of a mercenary for three or four decades without either death or retirement indicated that the old man possessed extraordinary wisdom and strength. Yet, at this moment, such a background didn't lend him the corresponding aura. Instead, he respectfully bowed to the four young people sitting opposite him.