The streets of Lutra roared with cheers and applause, a deafening wave of adoration that rolled over Leornars and his three loyal subordinates—Stacian, Zaryter, and Shullah. The people showered them with praise, petals raining down from balconies like a fragrant pink cloud, their voices raised in feverish worship as if bowing before living gods.
Leornars, however, wore no smile. His crimson gaze swept across the roaring crowd, cold, detached, and ruthlessly calculating.
"Enjoy it while you can," he said flatly, his sharp eyes catching the beaming, foolish grin spread across Zaryter's face. "Soon enough, we'll be walking through lands where every single breathing soul despises our very existence."
"Don't ruin this moment for me, Lord Leornars," Zaryter shot back, his tone a mix of half-playful banter and genuine annoyance as he waved to a group of cheering maidens.
Stacian tilted her head, her thoughtful, serene expression cutting cleanly through the surrounding wall of noise. "My lord, forgive my sudden curiosity... but when we first set foot in Lutra, you mentioned you commanded a legion of precisely three hundred and forty undead, correct?"
"Yes," Leornars replied without a second's hesitation, his voice unbothered. "Why do you ask?"
"Because at the royal banquet, I took the liberty of counting," she said, narrowing her bright eyes as a sly smirk pulled at her lips. "I counted closer to four hundred and fifty standing in the shadows. Where exactly did those extra hundred corpses come from?"
"I took a casual walk," Leornars answered as simply as if he were discussing the afternoon weather. "Through the city's common cemetery. I raised a handful of fallen adventurers slain by the Black Acers during their earlier raids. A few disgraced knights who died fighting off border demons as well."
Stacian's lips curved into a genuinely delighted, sinister smile. "Adventurers...?"
"All C-rank," Leornars noted dryly. "A balanced mix of offensive mages, vanguard archers, and heavy swordsmen."
Zaryter froze dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping slightly. "And you're only bothering to tell us this *now*?!"
Leornars turned his head, locking eyes with him, his voice as cold and heavy as forged steel. "Why? You're not planning to betray me, are you? Even if you attempted to... I would simply kill you where you stand."
Zaryter's expression instantly soured into a glare, but Stacian gently placed a calm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry yourself, Zaryter. Just don't do anything foolish."
Without another word of explanation, Leornars reached into the inner lining of his dark coat, pulled out a scroll of heavy parchment, and rapidly scribbled a dense, encrypted message. With a single, sharp flick of his wrist, a surge of dark mana erupted behind him, summoning two distinct undead familiars—a towering skeletal knight in rusted plate armor, and a hulking, skeletal wyvern with bone wings.
"Deliver this directly to the address," Leornars commanded, handing the scroll to the knight. "Ensure you are not spotted by a single scout."
The skeletal knight gave a low, hollow bow, mounted the leathery saddle atop the wyvern, and with a deafening screech that shook the nearby rooftops, the monstrous beast soared straight into the cloudy sky.
"Good. That's one major problem quietly resolved," Leornars murmured under his breath, his gaze shifting back to the road ahead, his face utterly unreadable. "It will take us six months to reach our intended territory."
"Six months?" Stacian blinked, genuine surprise flickering in her eyes. "But it's barely a six-day journey at a normal pace."
"As I said. Six months." His tone brooked no further room for argument. "We will be taking an extended detour to visit the territories of other races. The Elven Princess we arrived with will be our first stop... and immediately after that, we will enter the domain of a hostile race."
Zaryter's jaw practically hit the cobblestones. "Excuse me, *what*?!"
Leornars didn't even bother to glance at him. "I am well aware you possess ears, boy."
Stacian let out a soft chuckle, her eyes shining with absolute approval. "Ah... of course. What a marvelous, brilliant idea. I really should have realized your intentions much sooner, Lord Leornars."
Zaryter threw his hands up into the air in total exasperation. "Would someone please explain this absolute insanity to me?!"
"You explain it to him, Stacian," Leornars muttered coldly, adjusting his collar. "If I attempt to explain it, I might accidentally slap him across the face."
Suppressing a light laugh, Stacian explained gently, "The Lord wishes to thoroughly understand our surrounding neighbors before we establish our base. To directly observe which races pose genuine threats, and to intimately learn their culture, culinary habits, and combat traditions. It is invaluable knowledge that will serve us immensely for future trade, espionage, and diplomacy."
Leornars gave a single, sharp nod of confirmation. "Precisely. Know your potential enemies, and know exactly who to keep at a sharp arm's length. That is basic, necessary preparation."
But before he could continue his breakdown, a dark figure suddenly lunged outward from the cheering crowd, a jagged steel knife flashing violently as it drove straight toward Leornars's throat.
*SCHWING—!*
Steel rasped against leather.
Stacian was incomparably faster. Her body blurred into a flash of motion, and in less than a microsecond, the assassin was violently slammed and pinned face-first onto the cobblestones. Leornars had already half-drawn his own blade from its sheath, but upon seeing the situation handled, he calmly slid the steel back into place with a sharp *clack*.
"Who is this pathetic, brainless creature?" Leornars asked, his brow furrowing in mild disgust.
Zaryter stepped forward, his eyes burning as celestial divine chains snaked out from his wrists. The glowing links coiled tightly around the assassin's limbs, searing his flesh with agonizing holy fire. "You dare lay a finger on the Lord?! Speak your last words, trash!"
The man gasped in agony, thrashing against the glowing chains as Leornars slowly knelt down before him.
Leornars's crimson eyes ignited with a terrifying, ethereal light. To the assassin's sheer, unadulterated horror, the noble human visage standing before him warped and expanded—transforming into the spectral phantom of a colossal black serpent, viscous green venom dripping from its massive fangs as its deep, hateful red eyes stared directly into his soul.
Leornars placed his bare palm firmly on the man's head. "You are going to talk. Now."
Instead of speaking, the assassin desperately fumbled his trembling fingers into a hidden coat pocket, pulled out a tiny glass vial, and swallowed its contents whole. Within seconds, his body convulsed violently, thick white foam bubbled from his lips, and his eyes rolled back into his head before he fell completely still.
Zaryter cursed loudly under his breath, kicking the corpse aside. "Dammit... that's the twelfth one this week! Who the hell keeps sending these suicide squads?!"
Leornars straightened his posture, his expression freezing over into pure ice. "Perhaps the Furverla family that Zhylyena warned us about. Regardless, we are wasting valuable time standing in this street. We leave Lutra—immediately."
He turned on his heel and pushed open the door to a nearby, high-end weapon shop without another word. The brass bell chimed overhead, and an elderly, middle-aged dwarf shuffled out from the back workshop, wiping his soot-stained hands on his apron.
"Twin daggers. A longsword. A greatsword. A katana. A shortsword. And a light fencing blade," Leornars listed curtly, throwing a heavy pouch of coins onto the wooden counter.
The shopkeeper blinked in surprise, eyeing the heavily armed group. "Adventurers, are you?"
"...Yes, we are," Stacian answered smoothly with a charming smile before her Lord could growl a lethal response.
The weapons were swiftly gathered and laid out across the long counter. Leornars inspected each blade with cold, unforgiving scrutiny, tossing aside several high-priced swords that Zaryter had curiously pointed out.
"Why do I even need a physical weapon anyway?" Zaryter complained, crossing his arms. "I have my divine chains and elemental magic."
"Mana is not infinite," Leornars said simply, balancing a dark steel dagger on his finger. "When your reserves run dry, a blade is the only thing standing between you and a grave."
Zaryter paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "...Fair point."
They each equipped their selected weapons. Stacian reached out to pick up a simple, cheap iron dagger, but Leornars caught her wrist and shook his head firmly.
"Your safety is priceless. Do not cheapen it."
He snapped his fingers, summoning Bellian directly from his shadow. The towering dark knight dropped gracefully to one knee before his master, receiving a massive greatsword, a secondary longsword, and a reinforced trench dagger to strap across his back.
Next, Zhylyena was called forth from the dark realm, gifted a razor-sharp shortsword and a pair of matching twin daggers. Leornars himself claimed a set of masterwork twin blades along with another pair of concealed, high-grade daggers.
Their very next stop was the grand apothecary down the street. Healing potions, mana restoratives, rare anti-toxins, and medicinal herbs—Leornars bought out the shop's entire high-tier stock without batting an eye.
"Oh," Zaryter realized aloud, a look of sudden enlightenment washing over his face as he nodded slowly. "Just like weapons... mana isn't infinite, so we hoard the potions."
Leornars's lips quirked slightly upward, the absolute faintest shadow of a smirk touching his face. Their long, bloody journey through the continent was only just beginning.