Chapter 88
His left hand rested firmly on his sheath, as if to say to himself that his sword was still there and would defend him if anything happened.
In the lead, Maxime scanned the road, his keen eyes searching for the slightest sign of movement. His silhouette stood out from the shadows, imposing and determined.
He knew that the survival of his mercenaries depended on his ability to stay one step ahead of the menace that was chasing them.
The narrow path they took wound through a dense pine forest. Low branches clung to their clothes, as if trying to hold them back.
Ultia abruptly returned to them, her face taut with worry.
“Chief, we’ve got to stop. I heard suspicious noises up ahead. It could be an orc patrol.”
Maxime thought for a moment, weighing the risk of stopping against the risk of being ambushed.
“All right, halt here. Everyone, complete silence and camouflage yourselves behind the trees and bushes.”
The mercenaries obeyed, slipping silently into the darkness, muscles tense.
Every breath was light, and every heart beat at a frenetic pace. Silence fell again, heavy and oppressive, interrupted only by the distant song of an owl.
A rustle, this time much closer, made Lira jump.
She wasn’t one to be easily frightened, but the darkness of the night combined with the constant pressure of the orcs made her weak.
She tightened her grip on her dagger, ready for anything.
A sharp crack sounded nearby, followed by a hoarse growl.
Ultia had been right: orcs were approaching, and there was no time to run, as the orcs would immediately notice their presence and could call for reinforcements.
Heavy, irregular footsteps drew closer, accompanied by grunts and choppy words in a language only orcs could master.
A group of half a dozen emerged from the thicket. Their torches cast a moving glow over their bestial faces and rough skin.
Each carried improvised weapons, marked by the dried blood of their previous victims.
Maxime raised his hand, a signal for all to stand still. He held his breath, his gaze fixed on the patrol’s movements.
A drop of cold sweat trickled down his temple. If one of them made the slightest noise, it could be the start of a long, hard battle.
Now that he could no longer use his talent, if they were to encounter an orc that was a little too strong, or too many orcs, he could really have many casualties among his mercenaries.
He was particularly worried about Charles. Discover exclusive tales on My Virtual Library Empire
This guy was his mercenary with the most potential; he could become as strong as a knight in the next few months given enough time.
Not to mention his talent, which would still come in handy in a few years’ time.
Unfortunately, he was only an apprentice knight at the entry stage at last count.
In 1vs1 against an orc he could manage, but if he faced an orc’s power head-on without defending himself, he could die instantly.
Charles himself was aware of this situation, but he knew that a strong man couldn’t grow like a flower in a greenhouse.
Only by forging oneself through hardship could one truly become a strong man, both physically and mentally.
Otherwise, even if he could have the physique of a knight, he’d be the weakest of them all.
“By the way, let’s see his physique right now.”
“System, show me Charles’ stats.”
Ding!
[Mercenary statistics being calculated…]
Ding!
[Statistics calculated, would you like to see the statistics for the mercenary Charles?”]
“Yes, that’s what I asked you to do…”
The system was a little too mechanical for his taste, but there wasn’t much Maxime could do about it.
[Request received: display of Charles’s statistics in progress…]
[Charles: Four-star potential, affinity with dragons. Physique: 2.4]
“Incredible.”
“He went from 2.1 points to 2.4 points in such a short time.”
“I understand better why he recovers so quickly each time.”
“The 4-star potential is really scary, he really does get stronger with each battle.”
Suddenly, he blinked away all the notifications that had been displayed in front of him as he saw something strange and prepared to react to any situation.
The blackness of night returned completely.
One of the orcs, more massive than the others and obviously their leader, stopped and sniffed the air with suspicion.
His yellow eyes roamed the forest, as if he could sense their invisible presence. His companions whispered among themselves, tense.
The mercenaries’ hearts were beating so fast that they felt as if the sound of their beats echoed through the night.
But the orc leader, after a moment that seemed like an eternity, let out a growl and turned away, signaling the others to continue their march towards the ruined village.
Maxime waited for the torchlight to fade into the distance before straightening slightly, his muscles finally relaxed. He exchanged a glance with Rodrigo, who nodded, relieved but still on the alert.
“We’ll keep going, but stay close together. We need to reach Lapi before dawn.”
The mercenaries set off again, the anxiety of the encounter strengthening their resolve.
The mercenaries finally emerged from the dense forest, and the sight before them gave rise to a rare sense of relief.
Lapi stood proudly before them, protected by solid white stone ramparts and imposing towers that seemed to watch over the county of Ravemont.
There was no sign of fire or chaos to mar this vision. On the contrary, lit torches and lanterns hanging from the walls radiated a warm, welcoming glow.
The town seemed inviolable, a bastion of peace in the midst of tormented lands.
An emotional silence fell over the group, as everyone felt the weight of tension gradually dissipate.
Maxime cast a calculating glance at the sturdy walls, looking for signs of weakness that might indicate a recent assault, but found none. Lapi, the pearl of Ravemont County, had remained untouched by the wave of violence that had swept through the surrounding villages.
“Here we are.” murmured Henry, looking almost incredulous.
“Lapi is intact.”
The mercenaries exchanged knowing glances, fatigue and fear giving way to a semblance of comfort.
Jean looked up at the ramparts and saw guards in full armor watching over the plain around the city.
Their discipline and vigilance reinforced the impression of absolute security that Lapi exuded.
The main entrance, protected by an iron portcullis, was illuminated and guarded by alert-looking soldiers, their spears gleaming in the torchlight.
The group slowly approached the gate.
The mercenaries, exhausted and bearing the scars of their recent battle, caught the eyes of the sentries. One of the guards, an imposing-looking captain, stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Who goes there?” he asked, his voice low but devoid of hostility.
Maxime took a step forward, raising his voice to reply.
“We’re the Sabertooth Tigers, a group of mercenaries from the north to help the south resist the orc invasion. We’ve come to bring back battle merits for the count.”
The captain squinted, examining the tired faces of the group, wondering if young men like them could really bring back battle merits.
Because that meant they’d managed to kill orcs.
Especially as many of them looked like ordinary armed villagers.
But this also reassured him, because he didn’t think that thirty or so people like them could cause the slightest wave of chaos in Lapi.
“Welcome to Lapi. Come in, and rest assured you’re safe here.”
The portcullis lifted with a deep creak, and the mercenaries entered the city, welcomed by the light and bustle of the night.
Cobbled streets stretched out before them, lined with stone houses and still-open stores, where the smell of warm bread and fragrant stew wafted through the air. Laughter and conversation rose up from the taverns, a sign that life continued fearlessly within the ramparts.
For the first time in days, the mercenaries allowed themselves a sigh of relief.
Lapi, Count Ardan’s walled city, was an unexpected sanctuary, a haven of tranquility in stark contrast to the horrors they had left behind.
Maxime paused for a moment, observing the vibrant city, and murmured to himself:
“For how much longer?”