573. Faster Than A Bullet

573. Faster Than A Bullet

“They are already dead. Stop wasting our time or the others will declare us the same!”

A fist struck the trunk of a great tree. A deep imprint was left behind where hot vapor violently steamed. Huge, silver-plated armor were worn on the eight men who had accompanied the merchant band as hired arms.

Hiring mercenaries and at least someone familiar with the Highways was standard procedure when one dared to set out into Grandis. Since the Guilds were abolished in Grandis it was difficult to determine the worth of a person. Reputation, word of mouth and a showing of strength was a common method people used to sell themselves.

However, groups or bands of mercenaries always outweighed the need for a powerful individual. The reason for this was that it was unlikely that the person hired would be enough to fight off a significant threat.

This was why fodder was needed on board. They were to serve as bait to divert the attention of, for example, a Corrupted or the wrath of an Anid Nest.

“Keep being like that and no one’s going to grieve the moment you kick the bucket. If there’s still a chance they’re alive then we’ll take it. As the orders of our clients.” Another man knocked on his steel shoulder pads, which were no different to giant slabs of steel. “They have the Mountain Caller with them. Keep your swords ready.”

“Against an entire Anid nest!? We will be late if we continue to stay here!” A merchant shouted, only to have the tip of a two-handed blade pointed at their throat.

“Need we remind you that we can slaughter you where you stand. We can easily claim that your band perished to the Anids.”

Betrayal was common along the Highways and was a risk that merchants and travelers took when moving with hired arms. This was why it was important to pay a deposit and pay the rest at the destination, though not many had the luxury of having connections or a bank they could withdraw gold from.

In most cases, people carried the bare minimum on them and simply made coins quickly from contracts or robbery.

But these eight men were not here to betray them. Honor was highly valued amongst the few that still believed in it. The insignia of a red wolf’s head could be found etched onto the great breastplates. Missing fingers were also found on each of these men’s ungloved left hands like they were trophies.

“Never forget that they are human. Our brothers and sisters and not some animal rot. If they don’t appear in the next few hours, then we’ll prepare a proper burial.”

Vitriol gathered in the bottom of one’s heart as they stared intently into the mouth of the forest. The eyes behind grated visors were so full of hate that it spread towards the others.

The reason for this was obvious as one clutched their mutilated hand.

They were survivors of the Solemn Paw’s reign over southern Grandis.

Behind them were the merchants waiting within their caravans, flipping through checklists as they rechecked their goods.

The open lands of the Highway stretched until the distant coastlines. Silhouettes of the great city of Atlas could also be seen just behind a veil of faraway fog. Snow-capped mountains range ran to the right as exotic birds soared without a care in the world.

Far ahead were the destroyed shacks of Demi-human villages that were once teeming with life, but at some point in the past they befell a fate told many times over campfires, with jeers, laugher and celebratory drinks.

The Demi-human population in Southern Grandis was at an all-time low. They may as well not even exist. However, West and North were still home to them. The mere knowledge of their existence plaguing Grandis caused one to raise their great blade over their head with a single hand.

“It will be impossible to recover their corpse. Either they be eaten, or they’ll be taken by the Corpse Snatchers. Men. Raise your swords! Offer a swift prayer to the One Who Wears Skulls!”

The cult-like behavior unnerved the merchants as their blades were brought into the air. Their deity was a questionable existence; a legend that revolved around the rebirth of the dead. Whether they were a Corrupted or not meant little to them. In fact, there were even groups that worshipped the Corrupted.

One such cult was the Followers of the Mad Slippers. They followed a Corrupted that compelled one to wear them as though it was their destiny deep within the ruins of Puritas.

Metal meeting metal rang as the tips of their blades met in the center. Warm air blew from within the forest. Leaves and thick branches swayed to the unnatural wind as they quickly assumed combat positions.

“Something’s coming!”

“Could it be them!?”

“Nonsense… You can feel this presence, can’t you!? Get ready for combat!”

What approached could not be called a human. As highly skilled mercenaries they knew to trust their gut more than their senses. At first it was a warm breeze and it turned into a violent gale. Each of these men were easily over a hundred kilograms, and yet, the wind began to push them back.

Suddenly, before one could raise their voice, the simultaneous ringing of shattering steel broke out as something passed them. Shards of their swords collapsed beneath them before they were able to process what had just happened.

None of them had blinked and still they missed it. Something definitely passed through them. Something so fast that it even had the time to destroy their blades as if out of spite.

Most of the men here were at least Level 80, meaning they were at the minimum of the Gold Adventurer Rank. They were by no means weak but still, they should have caught a glimpse of what passed them.

“Were… we spared by a Corrupted?” One broke the suffocating silence. None answered immediately as if making noise would cause what passed them to return.

“It must have been. Our prayers were answered. A-Ahaha… Ahahaha.” Maniacal laugher came from one, who clutched at their throat like they were about to vomit. “The One Who Wears Skulls heard us. We truly are blessed!”

“Wait. Hold your tongue. Something’s approaching again. It’s… It’s them!? They’re alive!?” The remaining merchant band miraculously emerged from the forest mouth, shocking them as they held defensive positions in case they were not as they seemed.

However –

“Lay down your weapons. We had help from a wandering Adventurer.” The voice of the grey-haired woman – the Mountain Caller – assured them they were indeed safe as she smoked from a pipe. “Is that how you brats greet your elders? At the very least you fools did not try to rescue us.”

“That was an Anid Nest. You are telling us that one person was able to deal with them all!? Where is… where’s the other one!? Don’t tell me… I see. You parted with her to gain passage?”

The old woman blew smoke into the air, shutting her eyes as she walked past their pointed blades knowing well that they wouldn’t dare to touch her. Her pompous attitude made it clear that she was far superior to them in both status and combat.

“You didn’t see them pass? Your hair isn’t even greying yet. The Adventurer took her along ahead to Aquagale Solitude. As you can tell from their speed our caravans are too slow for them.”

The amount of smoke she exhaled exceeded the capacity of a normal person’s lungs. Each mercenary turned to her as if she was mad.

“That was a person? Preposterous.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“N-No ma’am!”

The response was immediate. This was because a giant blade made from rock emerged from the earth beneath the man. An inch closer and his throat would have been slit.

“It makes you wonder what someone as strong as them are doing here, heading in the direction of those ruins.” She cackled to herself, not really caring about the reason. “So long as my Apprentice is safe, then I suppose it’s not a bad deal to let them go ahead.”

“Could it be for the Slippers?” A merchant uttered as the mercenaries carefully inspected the damage on their blades.

Adamantium powder was used in combination with iron to create an alloy harder than steel. Their swords were only bested by mithril and pure adamantium blades. To be destroyed in an instant meant that this person was beyond Diamond Rank.

“Could be. Could not be. Is that any of our concern? Didn’t think so.”

“It will be problematic if those Slippers end up on their feet. It may be worth tailing them.”

“I’d advise against it, but you brats can do what you want.” The old woman sighed. “As long as my Apprentice doesn’t get caught in the middle of this, then I couldn’t care less. Just pray that your Skull deity can save you if you end up on their bad side. Not anyone can take on an Anid Nest on their own.”

“We will not tolerate slander even if it’s from you –!”

“Oh shush. A deity that feeds on corpses? Does that sound like a deity to you? They’re closer to a bottom feeder.” She laughed, entering a caravan. “Hurry up. You don’t have the luxury to stand around.”

“… damned hag. If only you weren’t human.” The gauntlets of a mercenary groaned and snapped as his fists curled.

The old woman laughed in response as she crossed her legs and stared out into the ocean with emerald eyes.

“Spite is good. It’ll help you grow. Now onwards!”

The wheels of the caravans moved again, upheaving earth and mud. Amongst the clopping of the horses and the groans of the caravan, a beautiful whistling could be heard. It was near angelic, the melody seemingly calming everyone’s nerves.

And that voice came from the old woman.