Chapter 99: The Shackles of the Valley
Kellar kept his eyes locked on the dirt where the creature had burrowed itself. With his senses heightened by [Hunter’s Scent], he tracked the trail of metal and sulfur until confirming that the massive centipede was moving away toward the depths of the valley. Only when he felt the beast was far enough did he slowly lower his ceremonial dagger.
"What the hell was that?" said Kellar, releasing the breath he had been holding in his lungs.
"It is the monster that inhabits this zone, Shaman," said Brak, approaching with caution. "It is rare to see those things roaming the outer edge. For some reason, they don’t usually leave this specific area; as long as we don’t venture deeper into their territory, we will be fine."
"Understood," said Kellar, adjusting the grip on his weapon. "Let’s keep moving. We need to reach them today so we can head back before night catches us again."
"We are very close," said Brak, pointing toward the bend of the defile. "The day I came to scout, their camp was on the other side of the valley, but they circled around to this side and settled here. They are much closer now; it will only take us an hour on foot."
Without wasting a single minute, the group set off at a swift run through the rock formations. They advanced in silence for nearly an hour until Brak suddenly raised his hand.
"Halt!" said Brak in a whisper, crouching behind a stone outcrop.
Everyone stopped and approached in absolute stealth, peering carefully over the rocks. Ahead of them, at the bottom of a small hollow, lay an enemy settlement. It was a primitive village built with thick wooden stakes and dark hide tents.
However, what immediately caught Kellar’s attention was the center of the camp. There, lined up on the dirt, were wooden cages reinforced with heavy bars. Inside remained dozens of people locked away: men, women, and children, all separated by category and bound with solid iron shackles that clanked with their every movement.
Kellar observed the refined metal locks and chains securing the prisoners, and then looked at the crude hide tents where the warriors in black slept.
They master steel forging to such a degree that they can craft heavy chains and shackles... yet they still live in hide huts like idiots? thought Kellar to himself.
Kellar adjusted his position behind the rock and began to carefully count the enemy forces. There were more than fifty warriors actively patrolling the area, guarding the prisoner cages, and even butchering large animals to prepare provisions. On top of that, another ten guards moved constantly in a continuous patrol pattern along the perimeter.
"I see," said Kellar in a whisper, analyzing the tactical discipline of his rivals. "It seems they are a tribe skilled in warfare. They are on high alert against any potential ambush. If we face them head-on right now, they would destroy us. Good, now that we know what we’re up against and how we must handle them, let’s leave before they discover us."
Kellar and the four hunters began to slowly fall back in stealth; however, after taking just a couple of steps back, they realized they were completely surrounded. Eight warriors dressed in dark hides and armed with iron swords emerged from the shadows of the rocks, cutting off their escape route.
Their leader, a grotesque, bearded man with several rotten, pitch-black teeth and a bloody aura that betrayed a ruthless killer, stepped forward with a broad grin.
"Looks like the little fish from the other day brought his friends... hahaha!" said the bearded leader, letting out a raspy laugh.
Upon hearing his words, Grok and the other hunters snapped their heads toward Brak, glaring at him in sharp reproach for having been so careless during his initial scouting. Brak grit his teeth in silence, lowering his head filled with guilt.
Unfazed by the clear numerical disadvantage, Kellar stepped forward and placed himself in front of his men, facing the enemy leader directly with unnerving calm.
"Greetings, gentlemen of the Black Skull," said Kellar, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at them with disdain. "How about you lower your weapons and let us leave in peace? That way, none of us will have to hurt you."
The bearded leader let out a raucous laugh at Kellar’s demand, baring his rotten teeth in mock amusement.
"I will drag you before our shaman," said the bearded leader, caressing the hilt of his iron sword. "He will butcher you alive and tear every last secret out of your tribe before nightfall."
Kellar didn’t even blink; his gaze turned as cold and sharp as the valley frost.
"You should get your disgusting face out of my sight," said Kellar, lowering his voice to a chilling tone. "There will be no further warnings."
"Brat, your dick hasn’t even grown hair yet for you to speak to me in that tone!" roared the bearded leader, losing his patience. "Catch these bastards!"
Before the warriors in black could take a single step, Grok was the first to move. Exploding with raw, terrifying power, he closed the distance in a flash and thrust his spear violently into the chest of the nearest barbarian. The sheer force of the blow was so overwhelming that the strike lifted the man into the air before slamming him against the rocks.
"Protect the Shaman!" shouted Brak.
"Relax, I already thought about this situation," said Kellar, stepping forward as his eyes flared with a golden aura. "Let me show you how a fight is meant to be fought."
In an instant, Kellar’s mind flashed back to his gaming days, recalling the perfect team structure to dominate group combat. Clerics were vital for their buffs and support capabilities, but there was another role just as feared on the battlefield: the debuffer. However, Kellar smirked with arrogance... why the hell choose one when he could be both at the same time?