Laine's originally gentle gaze turned sharp as he gripped the Warhammer in his hand.
"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh~" Wooden spikes shot through the air, and with a flick of his right hand, Laine raised the Warhammer over his head. As Laine moved, the long-handled Warhammer spun rapidly through the air, stirring up a whirlwind in the cold forest. The incoming wooden spikes were swiftly knocked away, eliminating the threat from above.
Next, the Kingdom Knight switched the Warhammer to his left hand, freeing his right hand to form a fist and punch the swaying tree trunk. With a "bang," the trunk split into several pieces and fell to the ground.
"Attacked, escaped here on the brink of death, even if most of their mobility was lost, they hid here awaiting rescue, setting traps, yet because of grievous injuries, they still perished, is that it?" Laine briefly examined the already deceased Old Demon Hunter and roughly inferred the situation.
"Seriously injured and fled here, huh?"
The critically wounded Old Demon Hunter fled here, set up traps, and hid to rest, hoping for rescue. Perhaps he fired a signal arrow, perhaps he didn't, but it was irrelevant. The unlucky Old Demon Hunter didn't get rescued. Given his severely injured state, he couldn't survive in this icy wasteland for two days. He bled out and died in the cold.
Death occurs daily, and Laine was accustomed to it. He had seen his companions' heads bitten off by bear spirits in his early years, so a cold corpse didn't shock him much. Out of politeness, he gave the poor Old Hunter a hasty burial and claimed any valuable items as his reward.
"???" Then... Laine noticed the Old Demon Hunter was holding something protectively in his arms.
After securing the dozen Gold Dinars the Old Demon Hunter carried, Laine took a pocket watch out of his arms.
Pocket watches are precious in this world, made only by Dwarves or Imperial workshops. Demon Hunters, due to their profession, value time highly and often spend a lot to buy a pocket watch.
He opened the pocket watch, revealing a portrait of the Old Demon Hunter's family—him, his wife, and their two children—all smiling broadly at Laine.
Laine took a deep breath, clenching his fist tightly until his palm's bones made a cracking noise.
"Belte!!! I will catch you!!!"
"What? So there's a Fallen Hunter named Belte being hunted?" Imperial Merchant Oliver was sitting in the carriage as his guards rode horses and drove the carriage down the road. They happened to encounter a team of Paladins on a mission, and Oliver immediately connected it to a series of rumors he had heard before. So he caught a Paladin to ask.
The Paladin he grabbed looked only in his twenties, with a somewhat rebellious air between his brows, unlike the leading Paladin marked by the weathering of years. The young Paladin had an unpleasant tone upon seeing Oliver was a merchant: "Yes, in our pursuit of this Fallen Hunter, we've already lost several of our comrades' lives, so please, don't interfere with our actions, sir."
With that, Oliver felt a bit disgruntled. The opposition between merchants and Paladins was quite evident. Paladins disliked the mercantile cunning and unscrupulous means of merchants, while merchants hated Paladins' complex rules and meddlesome behavior that often blocked their business. For this reason, certain shops and auction houses were unwelcoming to Paladins, and some Paladins would rather hunt or mine than shop there.
But life's preciousness comes first. Regardless, Paladins are at least reasonable. Who knows if his life would remain if he encountered that Fallen Hunter? So Oliver suppressed his anger, spread his hands in goodwill, and said, "So, are you planning to go through the forest ahead? If you don't mind, let's go together for cover on the way."
"Who'd want to travel with someone like you..." The young Paladin barely started speaking before the leading Paladin interrupted. This leader seemed about fifty, with nearly white hair, a rugged face, and a single-hand sword at his waist and a shield on his back. The golden lines on his helmet indicated his leadership role: "Enough, Alex, show some courtesy. Have you forgotten the precepts given by our Bishop?"
"Of course not." The young Paladin stopped talking.
"Regrettably, sir, we're merely patrolling the area with no intention of entering the forest." The senior Paladin shook his head, motioning Alex to silence: "Please, go on your way."
With that, the Paladin squad departed in another direction.
A guard eyed the forest, covered in thick snow, gulped, and turned to ask, "Boss, do we continue?"
Oliver looked at the road stretching into the forest, eventually swallowed by the vast, indistinct woodland. He gritted his teeth, "Let's go! No more delay!"
"Yes!"
Oliver and his party finally entered the forest. The sound of the carriage wheels creaked through the silent woods. Whenever a wheel hit a small stone, producing a noise, Oliver felt his heart skip a beat.
So dark, too dark, sitting in the carriage. The Imperial Merchant looked around uneasily, feeling as if something was moving within the eerie forest.
A profound sense of unease enveloped the merchant and his guards. Oliver retrieved a pendant made of pure gold from his chest and silently prayed.
"Oh Goddess of Wealth, grant me peace. Oh Goddess of Wealth, grant me peace."
Most merchants worship the Goddess of Wealth, though many are false believers or nominal followers—false believers casually pray without sincerity when needed, and nominal followers differ little, though they might pray slightly more often.
A prolonged period of prayer seemed to have some effect; they advanced three hours smoothly, reaching the forest's depths. By then, the horses and guards were at their limits, deciding to rest.
"I'll get some ice." A guard picked up a pot, intending to gather ice from a nearby stream to melt for soup.
Unexpectedly, this guard didn't return even after half an hour.
Oliver sensed something was wrong. The merchant sat by a large tree, holding a water flask with recently boiled warm water. In the other hand, he held a piece of smoked meat. After glancing again towards the stream, he uneasily asked a guard, "Fake? How come Mayer's taking so long?"
The guard named Fake shook his head abruptly: "I don't know, boss, I..."
"Neeeigh!!!" The horses' whinnies interrupted their conversation, followed immediately by faint ground tremors.
Thud, thud, thud, thud~
Hearing this, their expressions changed drastically. Fake instinctively dropped the ladle from which he was pouring soup and immediately gripped his Longsword's hilt. Oliver, in an undignified scramble, hid behind his guards, disregarding the snow and mud on his fur coat. His face turned pale as he looked towards the source of the sound, feeling his heartbeat accelerating.
Thud~ Thud~ Thud~
"Roar waa waa waa!" A small War Dog appeared first before them. This War Dog had a hideous appearance, with various terrifying scars on its face. Its gaping mouth revealed sharp, white fangs, drooling disgusting saliva that slowly dripped down.
"A Chaos War Dog, it's a Beastman Warband!!" Fake screamed. He grabbed the crossbow from his back and pulled the trigger directly at the War Dog.
"Whoosh~" A crossbow arrow sliced through the frigid air, piercing the War Dog's head. The War Dog yowled in anguish; its charging body twitched, and it dropped dead mid-charge.
"Good!" Oliver clenched his fist and murmured, but before he could utter another word, a dozen other War Dogs charged at them, mercilessly plowing through the fallen War Dog's body. Their blood-red eyes filled with a thirst for blood, enough to send chills down anyone's spine.
It's the Beastmen—fearsome Beastmen feared all across the Continent, silencing childrens' cries, known as the "Scourge of the Land" and "Harbingers of Catastrophe!"
The Beastmen have come!