Chapter 489 - The Other Squad

For Samfrey, there wasn't much his orcish opponent could do in the face of the speed he displayed–though it seemed he wanted to taunt his opponent, he decided to go for an execution, leaving an onslaught of cuts along the lacyrie's body. 

Though the small cuts he left weren't much in the way of phasing the lumbering giant, who jumped up, attempting to ensnare him with a downfall of its double-axes as they slammed into the rocky ground. 

"Predictable moves like that aren't going to get you anywhere," Samfrey said, jumping back, "I learned that myself–the hard way."

As the rubble kicked up from the release of darkness blasted towards him, Samfrey's electric essence allowed him to maneuver even through the hail of pebbles, finishing the dark-wielding orc as both of his daggers ran across its throat. 

Handling her own end, Calytrix seemed to dance around the lacyrie as it desperately tried to catch her with the swings of its dual-wielding of a saw-jagged greatsword, and a war-axe, both weapons of which were slick with dried blood. 

"So slow~" she taunted with a playful smile. 

Finding its steel unable to reach the small, lithe girl, the lacyrie snarled before unleashing slashes of visceral darkness that carved up the ground below, sucking the life from the sediment as it withered to dust. 

Calytrix smiled, running her finger along her bottom lip before pointing it towards the orc, standing in place as she faced the wave of roaring darkness with a smile, snapping her fingers. 

"Nyx: Thorns of Hades." 

Uttered so eloquently with a taste of death leaving her tongue, shadowy roots formed from around her, protruding towards the orc like never-ending spears as they completely pierced through its dark arts before lodging into the flesh of the lacyrie.

"Oh, how unfortunate~" Calytrix looked up as the shadow-bound thorns brought the dark orc into the air, "...you're not truly one with darkness, after all." 

With a final snap of her fingers, the dark roots expanded, birthing an endless row of thorns that maimed the orc endlessly before reducing it into nothing but a bloody mist. 

As the others handled their chosen opponents, he was already long since finished with his lacyrian opponent, swiping the fresh blood from Belus as he stood over its maimed, fallen body. 

"Not bad," he called out, "it seems like you're all at least as good as your ranks indicate." 

"I knew you'd finish first," Samfrey complemented, though he sounded more disappointed in himself than anything. 

Calytrix gloated in his place, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the white-haired guild leader, "But of course; he's an apostle of darkness, just as I, after all."

Of course, Archard and Memo didn't seem much for words, but they also didn't seem like kindred spirits, at least by the way the much younger, but seemingly more talented adventurer in Memo opted to avoid the wizened Archard. 

Trying to brush off Caltrix' peculiar way of getting close to him, he turned towards the path again, lightly kicking the lacyrie he took out. 

"These guys here weren't so tough; I doubt a bunch of these would give those other gold-ranks that much of a problem," he said. 

Samfrey cleaned his daggers with the plain-white handkerchief from his coat pocket, "I was thinking the same. They didn't exactly seem coordinated to me, and while they packed enough power to seriously harm a gold, or maybe even a ruby if they landed a direct hit…I don't see it happening. Something is off here." 

"Well, I know the answer to that," Calytrix added with a smile. 

"About that…I've been wondering," Memo stopped her as he kept his arms folded across his chest, "how come you seem to know so much about these things?"

Calytrix spun around once with her hands held behind her back, "I know quite a few things. But, it's simple to understand the way orcs think–it doesn't change between lacyries, either," she said, "they likely have completely taken over the castle by now, and have made it their home. What we were just greeted by were likely the scouts; not their strongest regiment." 

As she explained this, the castle became all the more looming as it stood tall in the darkness of the deathly night. 

"Sounds about right," he scratched his head, "I guess that means the castle is a lost cause—there goes the bonus pay for saving the lord of the castle."

Memo wandered to the side of the trail on his own, inspecting the cave that the lacyrie burrowed from before flicking one of the pebbles away. 

"Why am I not surprised that the relatives of orcs would be underhanded?" Memo muttered as he returned to the group.

"Are you scared, boy?" Calytrix teased, spinning around. 

"Who are you calling "boy", exactly?" Memo asked, quietly annoyed as he kept his arms folded across his chest. 

"I think behaving like you're scared is better than acting immune to any fear at all," Samfrey commented. 

He's wiser than I expected, but I guess he is pretty experienced. 

Why would anybody live in Old Treyna anyway? Subterranean, magic orcs aren't exactly a fun prospect, he thought. 

He began moving down the stone pathway, signaling for them to follow, "Let's get this done and over with."

--

The carriage driver sure was in a hurry for us to stop…She thought. 

Looking back, her eyes were on the three adventurers that she was responsible for looking over. By all means, it wasn't a responsibility she was used to–being a leader, that is. Especially with individuals with potent characters, like the draconic demi-human man who held a fiery air about himself. 

"Are you alright?"

The question came from perhaps the least imposing of the three, a kind-faced man who wore pearly-white priest robes that sat over a long-sleeve, emerald tunic, reinforced with spruce, ivory armor. By many means, he was an ordinary looking man; shaggy, light-brown hair and a scruffy five-o'-clock shadow, yet his armor was quite exuberant. Even so, there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the armor, with only one arm and shoulder being plated in the engraved silver, but both legs being adequately armored. 

In addition, despite being an acclaimed priest, he wielded both a large, white-steel hammer, and a sheathed sword at his hip. 

Felix, he's a gold third-class, if I remember correctly…he's a priest from Mastorn…I thought that'd be an issue, as we made it clear to Akshay to make sure everyone knew we were otherworlders, but he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. What was his reason for joining again? I believe he said he wanted a "fresh start". It's odd…but it's not a bad thing, just weird, she thought. 

He adjusted his glasses as he looked at her with his verdant irises, awaiting an answer. 

"Yeah, I'm fine…just staying cautious," she answered. 

"If you're not feeling well we should withdraw, and maybe meet back with the leader," Felix suggested. 

She promptly shook her head at that suggestion, holding herself high, "No. I'm fine, so we're moving on."

Watching, Akanni didn't seem to be paying attention to the conversation of others as he inspected the standing trees of the dusk forest, running his fingers against the bark before bringing his nose close to it, sniffing the natural hide of the tree. 

…He was one of the highest ranked among the recruits. He's a draconic demi-human, but he comes from a different tribe than Valerie, if I recall. "The Gilded Scales"...Ren and I couldn't find much on them, since they are apparently a very isolated group within Vesta, but they must be powerful. He said he was interested in Gladiolus because it was "not only strong, but benevolent", she thought. 

"Got a lead on something?" Elena asked as her olive green hair cascaded down the shoulders of her black cloak. 

Elena was also preoccupied with investigating the forest, spreading blades of grass to look for trails of footsteps, or residual drops from the lacyrie themselves. 

She's the one I know the least about…a gold rank, but any other information isn't really there. I wonder…She wanted to join simply because it seemed beneficial to her, Iris thought. 

Akanni, with his black-scaled tail trailing behind him, answered after catching a whiff of something that resided on a low-hanging branch, "The smell of repulsive darkness; it leads this way."

Inadvertently, the lead was taken by the dark-skinned man who was clad in sable scales over most of his torso, as they traversed the horrifyingly quiet forest.