“TAKE COVER!”

  A loud roar echoed through the mountain foot, as arrows blocked the sky. Raising their heads, the mercenaries grimaced, hurriedly hiding behind the thickest tree nearby. If they could, they would've sung praises to the god of luck.

  After all, the trees alone weren't enough to save them.

  Dozens of arrows whistled down like maddened wasps, ripping through trees like they were pieces of paper. Although the trees blocked most of the arrows' momentum, they still stabbed the earth until only their feathers stuck out.

  Zethir narrowed his eyes.

  ‘How did they know our location?’ Grabbing Augustin by the collar, he shoved him to the side—just in time for an arrow to rip through the tree ahead of them, landing where Augustin was.

  “Fuck,” Augustin rubbed his arms, feeling goosebumps when he heard a sharp whistle pass by his ear. Zethir turned around, eyes slightly widening as an arrow tore through the tree behind Augustin, missing his left ear by the width of a hair.

  “Tch, run—” Zethir turned around, unsheathing his sword and slashing in front of him. A red trail followed his slash, and the arrow heading for his heart fell lifeless beside him.

  “Run back as far as you can!” He yelled, not bothering to look back at the rank 1 mage.

  Before hearing Augustin's reply, he took off, running toward Marco's group.

  ‘Where did that spearman go?’ He glanced to the sides, seeing nothing but arrows tilling the soil. ‘I didn't see him leave,’ he gripped his sword tighter.

  Marco's group was only a dozen steps away from them. He only had to dodge three arrows before he reached Marco.

  There, Zethir saw Marco surrounded by a translucent green dome of energy. Arrows were half buried in the shield, and the closest to Marco was just a finger away from touching his nose.

  Beside him, Marco's group of mercenaries were huddled together, their hands raised high as they maintained a thick, gray energy shield .

  “Hm?” Marco hummed, sensing someone approaching from behind him. “Mr. Zethir?”

  “It is me,” Zethir said, crouching behind Marco. As for the eleven mercenaries working together…

  An arrow penetrated their shield, managing to skewer one of them in the head before losing momentum. Squinting a bit, he saw that the energy shield thinned slightly.

  “Haaa… there he goes,” Marco grieved, though his voice remained light. “This is such a loss, don't you think so, mr. Zethir?”

  “Not for me,” Zethir replied in a heartbeat, when he remembered what he came there for. “Did you see the spearman?”

  Marco tutted. “Saw him running away!”

  “Oh… What's your plan?” Zethir asked, standing up and dusting his clothes. Then, he dashed past Marco, running without looking back.

  Marco’s voice barely trickled in his ears. “Of course, I'll continue the… mission… haa, what's the point of asking if you just run off?” He shook his head helplessly, watching Zethir disappear behind trees.

  Not long after leaving Marco's side, Zethir found Fernando kneeling on the ground with his soldiers, their swords stabbing the ground. In front of them, arrows piled up like harmless sticks.

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  Just as he saw them, Fernando suddenly looked back. “Where are the others?!” He barked.

  “Marco is maintaining a spell,” Zethir replied, crouching behind the kneeling soldiers. Looking around them, he squinted.

  ‘It’s less focused here,’ he thought. Back to where Marco and his group was, the surrounding trees had been mangled to the point that it looked like a storm had gone by.

  However, the trees surrounding Fernando barely had any holes from the volley of arrows.

  ‘Did they cast some sort of… technique?’ Zethir's brows furrowed lightly, a frown gracing his face.

  “He’s using a spell?” Fernando frowned as he nodded slowly. Glancing at Zethir, he asked, “What about that spearman?”

  “The spearman? Who knows,” Zethir shrugged, when a joyful whistle sounded behind him.

  “Man~ These nobles sure gave me a startle!” Lance laughed, walking toward Zethir and Fernando. “So~ What's the plan?”

  Zethir frowned, barely able to keep his face straight. ‘What’s that smell? Blood?’

  Fernando grunted. “Wait for the volley of arrows to subside.”

  Lance hummed, grinning widely. “But we can charge in right now~ It will force those bowmen to stop,” he said, casually swinging his spear around.

  Hearing him, Zethir looked up. The rain of arrows had weakened, but his frown couldn't help but deepen.

  “There's no need to risk it,” Fernando sneered at Lance, who simply chuckled.

  ‘...the arrows are avoiding us?’ Zethir looked at the arrows in front of Fernando and his men. ‘Did they even face The volley of arrows?’

  Frowning, he spoke to both men. “The arrows have stopped.”

  Lance blinked, looking up before saying, “Nope.”

  Fernando tilted his head up, seeing the volley of arrows persisting. Then, he stared right at Zethir. “We are using a special formation, rendering the arrows useless to us. That's why the nobles are avoiding me.”

  “Then why didn't you tell us before?”

  “This came too suddenly, I wasn't prepared,” Fernando answered smoothly, without missing a beat.

  Zethir glanced at him, before flicking his sword. Then, he turned around, running back toward Marco and his men.

  However, right as he went a few steps away from Fernando, he felt his back tingling. Turning around, he came face to face with half a dozen arrows, all coated in a light blue glow.

  ‘The bowmen are warriors… no wonder,’ Zethir sighed, brandishing his sword like it was a thin branch.

  All six arrows were cut in half and lost their momentum, but three managed to leave a cut on his arm and hand.

  “Tsk.”

  Paying the wounds no mind, he turned around and ran faster. When he reached Marco's group, his mercenaries had turned into hedgehogs. Marco's shield was flickering as well, and a few arrows were starting to inch toward his face.

  ‘It’s only been a minute,’ Zethir felt morbidly amused.

  “...mr. Zethir?” Marco called out, his voice barely audible.

  “Marco,” Zethir nodded, about to run past the mage.

  “Do you mind if you take me with you?” Marco asked as loudly as he could, and when Zethir reached him, he didn't bother saying anything.

  Instead, he yanked Marco out of his shield, and ran back to Augustin.

  When they reached him, the sight left both of them speechless.

  Augustin was laying flat on the ground, arrows outlining his body. The trees around him had fallen, but none landed on him.

  The poor guy was too scared to even move, pale and frozen.

  “Mr. Zethir, do you know about the god of luck?” Marco whispered as he was dragged like a curtain by Zethir.

  Zethir's lips downturned. “No. Quiet down.”

  Marco continued. “There's a saying; no god is omnipotent, but the god of luck is half.”

  Zethir glanced back at him.

  “Marco. Has anyone told you about the chicken god?” Zethir said, his voice stale as he grabbed Augustin by the back of his neck.

  Then, he threw him on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, before leaping off into the distance.

  “The god of chickens?” Marco’s brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly in bafflement.

  “The chicken god talked too much, so the gods butchered him for dinner,” Zethir nodded seriously.

  “...”

  {=|=}{=|=}{=|=}

  It wasn't long before the three of them ran far enough from the arrows’ range, but it also put them a fair distance away from Fernando and the rest.

  They were currently hiding behind a dense group of trees and bushes. Marco was sitting on a tree stump, while Augustin was cross-legged on the ground.

  Meanwhile, Zethir was standing in place.

  “My, what to do now?” Marco cupped his chin, his eyes focused on a book he was reading.

  Next to him, Augusting was unable to stop trembling as he drank water from a gourd. ‘How about we leave now?’ He looked at Zethir.

  “We will regroup with them after the volley of arrows is over,” Zethir looked at Marco. “You're a mage. Do you know any royal formations?”

  Marco lifted his head up, catching Zethir's gaze. “Royal formation? What could you mean?”

  “Fernando and his soldiers were kneeling with their swords piercing the ground. According to him, they were using a special formation to shield from the arrows,” Zethir said in a flat tone.

  Marco hummed in thought. “Oh, you might mean an array. Or do warriors call it a formation?” He shrugged.

  “Nevertheless, there are many mysterious kinds of arrays. I don't know the one you described, and it's the first time I heard of a defensive array.”

  Zethir raised an eyebrow. “Is it uncommon?”

  Marco smiled. “No. It's unheard of. Arrays are meant to boost attacking prowess. Using it to defend is like pointing a sword at yourself and calling it a shield.”

  Zethir nodded, rubbing the hilt of his sword absentmindedly. “Then, could Fernando have betrayed us? What would be his purpose?”

  Marco laughed. “Well, maybe it's a thing between the royals and the nobles… However, mr. Zethir, have you heard of the god of blood?”

  “Tsk. What is it about?” Zethir stepped back, leaning against a tree.

  Margo covered his smile, trying to lower his light-hearted voice. “Legend has it, warriors who worship the god of blood get stronger through slaughter. Unfortunately, while the religion… or rather, the cult, exists, the ritual is just a legend,” he sighed, shaking his head like it was a pity.

  “However, there were witches who uncovered the secrets of life. They would trigger massacres, and then use a ritual to collect life from blood. After which, they consume the harvested life to make themselves stronger… ho-ho-ho~”

  Marco patted his thighs.

  Zethir's hands froze. “...why haven't I heard of these witches before, then?”

  Marco giggled. “Why, of course. Because you're too weak. The witches practicing this are beyond the elite rank.”

  Zethir's clenched the hilt of his sword. Letting out a curt hum, he lowered his head, hiding his thoughts.

  ‘...if that ritual truly exists… Then Falco, what do you want to do?’ He closed his eyes, remembering Falco's request a few days ago.

  ‘Are you working with a witch, my dear friend?’