Chapter 186
Back in Rivira, a restless unease had taken hold among the survivors.
One desperate adventurer stepped forward, his eyes full of pleading.
“Please let me out; I must find my wife.” he said.
“I have told you many times: until my captain gives the order, no one may leave.” Vasiliki replied in a firm tone.
A small group, trembling with fear, added, “Let us return to the surface; the evilus could attack again. I do not want to die,” yet Vasiliki remained unmoved, her resolve steely.
Earlier, she had raised a wall of ice to seal the shattered gate of the city.
This barrier was meant to protect the saved victims, though many survivors were already haunted by a deep sense of paranoia and a heavy burden of guilt.
Some had fled, abandoning their comrades and partners in a frantic bid for safety.
Others had ignored desperate pleas from strangers in moments of crisis, while many who had tried to fight back suffered devastating injuries—a lost arm, a missing eye, torn ears, deep cuts, and numerous lesser wounds.
It was no wonder that such experiences slowly undermined their sanity, and the bitter uncertainty of whether danger still lurked made their pain even greater.
From atop the watchtower, Dimitra called out softly, “Do you need any help, Vasiliki?” she asked.
“No, I can handle this,” Vasiliki calmly replied, unleashing a chilling wave that sent the nearby adventurers scurrying back.
For the past several hours, they had taken refuge in the city, enduring the relentless tension.
Soon, Michalis arrived with an exaggerated, theatrical salute, announcing, “Reporting to the vice-captains.” he said.
With a light tone, Vasiliki responded, “Report, comrade,” while Dimitra shook her head at their antics.
Michalis continued, “Most of the injured have been tended to, but our supplies of potions and badges are nearly gone. We have also lost more people with severe injuries.” At the sound of further casualties, Vasiliki and Dimitra exchanged troubled looks, their expressions shadowed with grief.
Vasiliki sighed and murmured, “I see,” as her mind drifted into deep contemplation.
‘In just over a year since our arrival, how many lives have we seen lost? Was life always so cheap a commodity?’ she wondered.
Memories of innocence mixed with painful reflections on the past.
Occasionally, she pondered how different her life might have been if the one-eyed black dragon had never attacked her family.
Would she have remained an ordinary village girl, enjoying a simple life? And might her sibling now have been better prepared for the brutal challenges of adventuring?.
Abruptly, her thoughts turned to the harsh reality of the present.
What would she do if one of her remaining loved ones fell?
How would she react if an overwhelming threat emerged that she could not defeat?
Would she flee like so many others who cared only for their own survival, or would she stand firm and fight until her last breath? And if she were to fall, what pain would her loved ones endure?
These questions sent her mind spiraling, and the depth of her turmoil did not go unnoticed by Dimitra.
Just then, with a sudden swish and a heavy thud, Dimitra leaped from the watchtower.
She grabbed Vasiliki’s shoulder firmly, shaking her awake from her haunting reverie.
Fully understanding the storm of emotions that Vasiliki was enduring—emotions shared by many—they were both affected by the thick presence of death in the air.
They had taken numerous lives, and countless others had perished.
“Vasiliki, pull yourself together. What happened to the strong, cheeky girl you were yesterday?” Dimitra chided gently.
Embarrassed, Vasiliki replied, “Sorry, I let my thoughts drift away.”
With sincere concern, Dimitra added, “I understand what you’re feeling, but you must remain focused. Many lives depend on our strength right now.” Though Dimitra felt the pull of similar inner turmoil, she knew that reason alone could not mend such deep emotional wounds.
Suddenly, with a swift swoosh, a figure landed within the city walls—it was Draco.
Recognizing his brother, Michalis called out, “Draco, nii!” Without hesitation, he sprinted forward and leaped into Draco’s arms like an excited child.
Draco grunted a surprised “Ooof” as he caught him, accepting the unexpected affection without protest.
‘When was the last time Michalis acted like this? He must really have been spooked by all the craziness happening’ Draco thought.
In his haste to search for Alise and her group, he had barely taken the time to be with his family.
After a short moment, Draco asked, “Have you calmed down, Michalis?”
Michalis replied with a soft “Hmmm” as he stepped away.
“I’m sorry about that—I let my feelings overwhelm me,” he admitted, a blush on his cheeks. Draco chuckled lightly while ruffling Michalis’s hair, saying, “There is nothing to be ashamed of; it shows that you care deeply about me.”
From behind, Vasiliki protested with a muttered “No fair,” as she wrapped her arms tightly around Draco.
With an easy smile, Draco replied, “Relax, it’s not a competition,” barely affected by her strong grip.
He mused that if it had been Bahamut, things might have unfolded very differently.
Noticing Dimitra approaching, Draco raised an eyebrow and asked, “Would you like a hug too?” Dimitra responded, “I'm fine. But tell me—has the battle finally ended?”
Sighing, Draco confirmed, “Yes, it is over.”
Taking charge, he then instructed, “Gather every uninjured person; we need help collecting the bodies.”
Within minutes, Draco left the city and made his way toward the grasslands, where the fallen adventurers and members of the evilus lay scattered on the ground.
……………………………………………………………………………….
The following day, an eerie silence was broken only by the steady, deliberate sound of heavy footsteps echoing in the darkness.
The sound, resembling a slow tap, marked the arrival of two figures as they walked down a hallway lined with broken stone torches that once glowed with magic.
Standing amidst the devastation, the two beast-kin halted and carefully examined the scene before them.
"There is nothing left," stated the first beast-kin, a solid Boaz named Ottar, the captain of the Freya familia.
Beside him, a slender cat-like creature clicked his tongue in clear frustration.
This was Allen, the vice captain.
Both remained silent as they surveyed the wreckage of yet another destroyed magic stone factory under the pale light of the moon.
"I can’t believe an entire squad of level 2 adventurers was taken out before we even arrived," Allen murmured, his tone laced with annoyance as he looked over the fallen group.
He continued, his voice slightly filled with disbelief, "I assumed the evilus were just pushovers, but whoever did this was incredibly skilled."
Ottar studied the scene further, remarking, "Look at these wounds. They were caused by two distinct weapons. One set of marks comes from a great sword and the other, from a spear. It seems almost impossible for one person to create such damage, which is not typical of an evilus.”
The marks were clear: deep slashes that tore through shields and armor with little resistance, and precise punctures that suggested deliberate and unavoidable strikes.
Despite the grim chaos, one fact stood out as extraordinary.
The factory, though drenched in blood, held no dead victims.
It appeared each attack had been carried out with a precise intention to leave the victims alive, but there was signs of conflict between the two assailants about this.
From the marks left on the wall, Ottar gathered that these attackers were nearly equal in strength.
Yet he could not help but wonder why they would battle, if, indeed, they did.
‘Could it be that one of them wanted to spare the victims and the other didn't?’ Ottar thought quietly as he observed the space.
Without delay, he summoned the Freya familia healers, who immediately began tending to the wounded.
As they worked, Allen’s gaze fixed intensely on a particular area of the factory wall.
“Whoever they were, they possessed a strength equal to yours, or possibly even greater,” he commented.
Confused by his companion’s tone, Ottar moved closer.
“This……” Ottar muttered, words caught in his throat.
There, on the wall, were two enormous holes.
One looked as though it had been gouged by the powerful jaws of a beast, while the other was nearly a perfect circle, which felt even more unnatural.
Allen explained, “These walls are made of adamantite. Not many can tear through them so effortlessly.”
Ottar inspected the edges carefully and observed, “The first hole clearly shows the force of brute strength, whereas the second has the clean precision of a puncturing strike.”
He pondered aloud, “Was this the entry point into the factory, or the escape route? Either way, it didn’t seem to take much effort for them.”
Allen added with a hint of concern, “It appears that the evilus may have some gotten some freaks on their side. This is going to be quite troublesome.”
Ottar’s voice softened as he replied quietly, “Perhaps they are new recruits,” his solemn voice almost swallowed by the vast emptiness of the gaping holes in the wall.