Bear School Astartes

Yalpan could actually understand Buchet’s anxiety right now.

The leader of the Clifford raiders currently had an arrow stuck in his right upper arm. When that specially‑made arrowhead was pulled out, the muscle it sliced open must have weighed a good two taels.

Even with him built like a bull, with the muscles of his upper arm hit like that, he could forget about putting any strength into it for at least ten days or half a month.

And that was him being lucky, that the arrow hadn’t scraped any major blood vessels.

But being injured didn’t mean he could just sit back and recuperate; he had to think about the future.

They made a living off their reputation, off the jobs it brought. Lose that reputation, and it was like losing everything.

Whatever hidden twists this operation might still have, the fact that they bolted in the blink of an eye was undeniable.

That was going to hit the Clifford raiders’ reputation hard.

From now on, when they took jobs, employers would feel justified cutting roughly a fifth off the pay.

Yalpan led a bunch of Dwarves doing the same kind of work, so he knew exactly what Buchet was feeling and how unwilling he was to accept it.

But saying any of that was useless. The moment that young Secretary at the head of the column hung the banner on his lance, the whole column no longer allowed a second voice.

Buchet might be grumbling nonstop now, but Yalpan was sure that if he actually went to babble in front of that Secretary, he’d keep his mouth in check tighter than anyone.

Outsiders might not fully sense just how good those ten Knights were, but for people who earned coin on the knife’s edge, it was perfectly clear.

So Buchet was just venting, nothing more.

Along the way, the lightly equipped convoy sped on without pause, several times almost causing accidents from going too fast, nearly shooting off the mountain roads.

Their column had entered the River Valley at dawn, and after marching all morning, they were ambushed by the Squirrel Faction.

Then they spent over two hours resting, sorting gear, repairing vehicles, and treating the wounded. By then it was already afternoon.

After that, under the Ember Knights’ command, they pushed on at a rapid march, finally bursting out of the Ponta River Valley right at that hazy border between dusk and night.

"Hoo... hoo..."

Yalpan let out a long breath. In a forced march like this, even driving the wagon was exhausting.

The others on horseback, like the few unharmed Clifford raiders, were slick with sweat as if they’d been oiled.

Most of the people in the convoy looked like that.

Sachia was the exception. She was riding too, but there was no sign of fatigue on her at all, making the Dwarves exclaim what an incredible body that woman had.

They had reached the place where they’d camped last night. The ground still bore the charred marks of the campfires, and the earth still showed the holes where tent pegs had been driven.

Only a single day had passed, yet everyone felt like they’d just survived a catastrophe.

By any measure this spot was outside the River Valley, so the convoy simply began to use the campsite they’d left yesterday: some people lit fires, some fetched water, everyone preparing to stop and rest.

Yalpan saw that up at the head of the column, the young Secretary who stood holding his long lance, the Sintra Blue Lion Banner fluttering from its shaft, spoke a few words with Duke Seward—and showed no intention of taking off his armor to rest.

Instead, he gathered the ten Ember Knights for a brief discussion, and then each of them briskly began repacking their kit, eating and drinking to restore their strength, and feeding their warhorses as well.

The ten of them weren’t a large group; without issuing orders, they easily faded into the background of the convoy. Besides someone like Yalpan who was watching them constantly, everyone else clearly failed to notice what they were doing.

One fire after another was lit. After a day’s hard push, most people were completely spent. Since morning they’d had almost no time to rest or eat.

Now that they’d finally stopped, they were so worn out and hungry their eyes had gone glassy.

Yalpan led the Dwarves and the remaining Clifford raiders in lighting a campfire, planning to roast some meat and boil some water.

The vanguard scouts gathered around this fire.

After the Squirrel Faction’s ambush at noon, even though they’d fought the Squirrel Faction, the aversion to non‑human races within the column had only grown stronger.

So aside from the same people as last night, a few Elves and Half‑Elves had also gathered around this campfire.

When Yalpan came over with firewood, he saw a male Elf sitting not far from Sachia. The two of them were both staring into the fire, holding a calm conversation without looking each other in the eye.

The male Elf had a Bow and Arrow on his back. His most striking feature was the red headband covering his right eye—clearly it was already blind.

Yalpan remembered he’d been with them in the vanguard scouts earlier. They’d exchanged a couple of words, but beyond that they didn’t know each other.

"You saved my life, but we still don’t even know each other’s names."

The One-Eyed Elf spoke, tossing a piece of wood into the fire as he did.

"I’ll go first. My name is... hmm, Iyo."

"Sachia."

The Female Warrior replied calmly.

She was sitting facing toward the Ponta River Valley. Sometimes she stared blankly into the fire; other times she would lift her head a little, looking at the River Valley now sinking into the deepening night.

"I’ve got a question, Sachia."

The Elf’s remaining left eye flicked toward her, subtly.

"Why did you save me first, back there?"

"What?"

Sachia frowned slightly, a bit dazed as she asked back.

"Back then my hands were clinging to the edge of the cliff and I was about to fall, and there was a human pinned under an overturned wagon, about to be trampled to death by a mad horse. Why did you save me first?"

This time, the male Elf no longer hid his gaze. His expression turned serious as he turned his head, his one eye staring straight at her.

As if he were waiting for the answer to an important question.

Sachia’s reply, however, carried a kind of casualness that felt entirely taken for granted.

"You were closer to me, and easy to save."

The way she said it was so relaxed and matter-of-fact, as if she were saying something like "Of course you pay after you’ve eaten."

"After I saved you, didn’t the two of us very quickly push that overturned wagon away together and then save that human?"

The male Elf’s single eye blinked, and the brow above that eye furrowed hard.

"Just... because of that?"

Even in the dim, flickering mix of firelight and shadow, his face clearly showed disbelief.

"Because of who was closer and who was easier to rescue?"

"Otherwise what?" Sachia looked at him in puzzlement, then suddenly seemed to realize something. "Oh, you thought I: saw you were a non-human race, and because I’m one of those humans who feel they owe non-humans something, I saved you first?"

"No, mate... I think life is just life. You and humans are the same to me."

Sachia shook her head. "Even if it had been Yalpan pinned down in the distance back then, I would’ve saved people in that same order."

With a thump, the Dwarf threw the armful of firewood down by the campfire, then comically bowed to the Female Warrior. "Thank you for your equal treatment, my lady. That really means the world to me."

"Don’t mention it, Yalpan Ziglin."

Their teasing back-and-forth didn’t affect the One-Eyed male Elf. Ever since Sachia had cleared up his doubt, he’d been frowning hard, watching this Female Warrior.

"Look." Suddenly, Yalpan’s joking tone turned solemn. "Looks like they’re heading out."

He absentmindedly patted the wood chips from his beard while jerking his chin toward a spot not far away.

Sachia and the One-Eyed Elf both looked in that direction.

They saw ten Ember Knights who, after a brief rest, had already switched to fresh mounts and were back in the saddle.

Lining up in a fast-march formation, they galloped toward the River Valley.

"Are they insane?" Nisitchuka, one of the raiders, exclaimed in a low voice, holding a pot of freshly drawn water. "It’s about to be night. They’re going to force-march on that damned mountain road in this kind of light?!"

"Don’t they want their lives? Can a torch’s light even reach two meters?"

But at this moment, Sachia—who had been staring toward the River Valley—also rose from beside the campfire.

She pointed toward the River Valley, her tone filled with surprise and doubt. "Over there... what’s that?"

The Dwarves, Clifford’s raiders, and more and more people in the camp...

All slowly put down the firewood and buckets in their hands and turned their eyes toward the River Valley.

A thin, pale mist was slowly spreading down from the Mahakan Mountains.

The mist reflected the moonlight above, giving off a hazy glow that made one’s heart uneasy.

The range and height of the fog were both enormous, so much so that even those of them already outside the River Valley could see the way it was spreading outward, spilling down.

The various sounds in the night sky seemed to vanish by more than half as the mist diffused.

The roar of the swift current in the River Valley, the cries of all kinds of creatures—sounds people usually got used to and ignored—but up until now...

Only when all those sounds suddenly vanished did people abruptly realize that the world had become so quiet it felt jarringly wrong!

"What the hell is going on?" Zoltan frowned. "It suddenly getting this quiet... kinda makes me nervous."

And in a world that had suddenly grown so much quieter, the sound of hoofbeats stood out even more.

Ten warhorses bore ten Ember Knights, who, under Lincoln’s lead, rode without the slightest hesitation or delay.

Borrowing the enhanced reflection of the moonlight off that vast bank of fog, they charged straight into the River Valley under everyone’s gaze.

"I’ve got something to take care of. I’m stepping away for a bit."

After a brief silence, Sachia called out once, then walked away from the campfire, heading into the darkness beyond the light.

Yalpan’s lips worked beneath his beard, but in the end he only frowned and said nothing.

The fog in the River Valley grew thicker and thicker, while Yalpan and Zoltan had just gotten the water boiling and strung the dried rations over the fire to toast.

He turned his head, only to find that the One-Eyed male Elf was nowhere to be seen either.

"Where’d he go? How are we short another one? Are they eating or not?"

Zoltan scratched his short, rooster-comb hair and shouted.

"Enough, stop yelling." Buchet, half-lying down with his arm wrapped, was instead staring vaguely toward the distant River Valley, speaking carelessly.

"One after another, none of them are simple. Why bother worrying about them? We’d better just take care of ourselves."