Deep in the half-demon camp, Bastardos irritably scratched at the sparse scales scattered across his body with his nails.
Those dull, uneven scales were proof of his mixed bloodline, offering only meager defense. Such a condition was actually quite common among half-demons.
For several days in a row, the scouting teams he had sent to the Demonkin tribe had gone completely silent. The unknown weighed on him, turning his initial excitement into worry.
Just then, a tribesman stumbled into his hide tent, bringing dire news:
“Chieftain, several clansmen disappeared by the Luo River. They were probably ambushed while fetching water. The warriors only found bloodstains, but no bodies. The traces left behind were few—not like any of the local monsters.”
The Luo River, that seasonal river south of the tribe soon to be sealed in ice—someone was attacked there?
Bastardos’s nerves instantly tensed. His first thought was of the Demonkin. Could it be their infiltration force?
But he quickly dismissed the guess.
After going through so much trouble to sneak here, would they really expose themselves just to kill a few ordinary tribesmen? At best, that would cause a bit of fear—hardly worth it.
“An unknown monster then…”With the unknown looming ahead and danger stirring behind, Bastardos decided to keep more troops in the rear.
That way he could secure the camp, and if the assault on the Demonkin failed, there would still be room to retreat.
However, when the departing force turned out smaller than expected, the Empire’s envoy, Paine, immediately noticed.
The Demonkin envoy glared coldly and demanded an explanation. Bastardos hurriedly explained his concerns about the rear attacks, trying to stress the necessity of splitting forces.
“Fool!” Paine’s scorn lashed like an ice pick, stabbing with unhidden contempt. “A few low-born wretches vanish and you shrink back in fear? They were nothing but food for some dumb beast! What use is leaving men behind? Do you think the fertile lands promised by the Empire will fall into your lap while you cower?!”
He stepped closer. “Throw everything you have into this march—now! Defy me again, and you’ll get nothing!”
Though both were of Hall rank, Paine’s insults were utterly unchecked. It came from his absolute confidence in Demonkin strength, his deep-rooted disdain for half-demon blood, and most of all, the Empire at his back.
In truth, even Bastardos himself found nothing strange about Paine’s condescending attitude.
“Yes… my lord. The army will march at once!” Faced with the envoy’s iron command, Bastardos yielded, leaving behind only a bare handful of warriors to handle wild monsters.
…
Under the envoy’s urging, the Lizardmen and half-demons set off.
Fifteen hundred half-demons, plus over nine hundred Lizardmen, making two thousand four hundred in all. They called it…
Actually, they called it nothing. Even the envoys sent to the Demonkin side hadn’t come back.
There was no joint army. Each tribe marched separately toward the Demonkin settlement.
Their tribes were hardly “brother nations.” Their underlings were tribal warriors, not soldiers—strong as individuals, but far less disciplined than a real army.
If they truly joined forces, dealing with constant frictions would be more trouble than it was worth. Better to march apart.
After all, the Demonkin numbered only three hundred. Whichever force met them first could win.
As for supplies, aside from food, the greatest weight they carried was firewood.
On the tundra where they lived, wood was scarce but findable. With some effort, enough could be gathered.
But on the ice plains where the Demonkin lived, it was different. Not that trees were nonexistent, but gathering enough for two thousand men was impossible. So they had to bring it along as baggage.
On the third day of the march, they entered the range of the Mycelium Carpet.
Yet most of them never noticed the snow-colored threads beneath their feet. The few who did simply ignored them.
Their advance was smooth, without the slightest resistance.
Their tribes had scouts aplenty, but they found no enemies—because there were none. Lin Jun hadn’t even sent invisible Pujis to harass them.
Wrapped in thick fur coats, warmed by roaring night fires, the half-demons and Lizardmen closed in smoothly, now only a day’s march from the former Demonkin settlement.
The ease of it all left Bastardos with a strange sense of unreality.
After all, none of his scouts had returned. He had already braced for walking into a dragon’s den.
Even if undermanned, the Demonkin should have set traps to slow their approach. Such effortless progress made him uneasy.
“Chief, the Demonkin must be terrified! Either they’re cowering in their camp, waiting to die, or…” In the hide tent, fire crackling, a senior warrior whispered, “They’ve already abandoned the place and fled north!”
Another voice worried aloud: “The Demonkin are too few to face us, true. But if they flee, that’s trouble! We can’t chase them forever, can we? What will the Imperial envoy say if that happens?”
At this, all grew uneasy.
A short chase was fine, but pursuing for weeks? Their supplies would never last.
Yet the envoy’s demand was clear—wipe out the Demonkin tribe and bring back their magic cores…
Bastardos spoke: “No need to worry. If our supplies strain, then how much better can the Demonkin manage? Without that half-ruined dungeon, they won’t last even a week. Their only chance is a decisive battle!”
After calming them, he added: “Still, do not take them lightly. The Demonkin are not the type to just sit and wait for death. We’re nearly at their settlement—if they have tricks, they’ll use them now. Split the baggage into four caches, hide them apart, and double the night watch!”
“Yes!”
At his orders, four senior warriors personally stood guard through the night against any ambush.
At dawn, Bastardos was jolted awake by frantic cries.
“Chief! The baggage is gone!”
He sat bolt upright, yet his eyes showed no panic. “Oh? So the Demonkin finally act! Their target was the supplies after all!”
Relieved, he thought—of course. In the face of an unstoppable army, going after baggage was their only choice.
He looked at the pale messenger kneeling at the tent flap and spoke with steady authority: “What are you panicking for? Stand up and report properly!”
“Y-yes, chief!” The warrior straightened, steadied by his leader’s calm.
“So then—which cache did they strike? What losses among the night watch?” Bastardos asked while straightening his clothes.
“Strike…? Night watch losses?” The warrior looked blank. “There was no strike, chief! No battle, no enemy… but all four caches vanished overnight!”
The tent fell into thirty seconds of dead silence. The warrior glanced about, uncertain.
Bastardos’s composure cracked inch by inch. He lunged forward, iron fingers clamping the warrior’s shoulders, nails biting into flesh, bloodshot eyes bulging as he roared hoarsely, voice breaking: “All of them?! What—the—hell—did—you—just—say?!”