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 from balconies, voices raised as if worshiping heroes.
Leornars, however, wore no smile. His crimson gaze swept across the crowd, cold and calculating.
"Enjoy it while you can," he said flatly, noticing Zaryter's beaming grin. "Soon, we'll be walking in lands where we are despised."
"Don't ruin this for me, Lord Leornars," Zaryter shot back, half-playful, half-annoyed.
Stacian tilted her head, her thoughtful expression cutting through the noise of celebration. "My lord, forgive the question… When we first arrived in Lutra, you said you commanded only three hundred and forty undead, correct?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?" Leornars replied without hesitation.
"At the banquet, I counted closer to four hundred and fifty." She narrowed her eyes. "Where did the extras come from?"
"I took a walk," Leornars answered as if speaking of the weather. "Through the cemetery. Raised adventurers slain by the Black Acers. A few knights who fell fighting demons at the border as well."
Stacian's lips curved into a delighted smile. "Adventurers…?"
"All C-rank," Leornars said simply. "A mix of mages, archers, and swordsmen."
Zaryter froze. "And you're just telling us this now?"
Leornars turned to him, voice like steel. "You're not going to betray me, are you? Even if you did… I would simply kill you."
Zaryter's expression soured, but Stacian placed a calm hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Just don't do anything stupid."
Without further explanation, Leornars drew a piece of parchment from his coat, scribbled a message, and with a flick of his wrist summoned two undead—a skeletal knight and a hulking wyvern.
"Deliver this to the address," he ordered. "Do not be seen."
The knight bowed, mounted the wyvern, and with a screech the beast soared into the sky.
"Good. One major problem solved," Leornars murmured. His gaze shifted forward, expression unreadable. "It will take us six months to reach our land."
"Six months?" Stacian blinked. "But it's only a six-day journey."
"As I said. Six months." His tone brooked no argument. "We will visit other races. The Elven Princess we came with first… and after that, a hostile race."
Zaryter's jaw dropped. "Excuse me, what?!"
Leornars didn't even glance at him. "I'm aware you have ears, boy."
Stacian chuckled, eyes shining with approval. "Ah… of course. A marvelous idea. I should have realized sooner."
Zaryter threw up his hands. "Would someone explain this insanity to me?"
"You do it, Stacian," Leornars muttered. "If I try, I might accidentally slap him."
Suppressing a laugh, Stacian explained gently, "The Lord wishes to understand our neighbors. To see which races are threats, and to learn their culture, food, and traditions. Knowledge that will serve us for trade and diplomacy in the future."
Leornars gave a sharp nod. "Exactly. Know your enemies, and know who to keep at arm's length. That is preparation."
But before he could continue, a man lunged from the crowd, knife flashing toward Leornars.
Steel rasped.
But Stacian was faster. Her movements blurred, and in a blink the assassin was pinned to the ground. Leornars had already half-drawn his blade but calmly slid it back into its sheath.
"Who is this pathetic creature?" he asked with a frown.
Zaryter stepped forward, divine chains snaking from his hands. They coiled around the assassin, burning his flesh with holy fire. "You dare attack the Lord? Speak your last words."
The man gasped in pain as Leornars knelt. His eyes glowed, and to the assassin's horror, the noble visage before him warped—transforming into a colossal black serpent, venom dripping from its fangs, eyes glowing a deep, hateful red.
Leornars placed his palm on the man's head. "You are going to talk."
Instead, the man fumbled into his pocket, pulled out a vial, and downed it. His body convulsed violently, foam bubbling at his lips before falling still.
Zaryter cursed. "That's the twelfth. Who keeps sending them?"
Leornars straightened, his expression like ice. "Perhaps the Furverla family Zhylyena mentioned. Regardless, we waste time. We leave Lutra—immediately."
He entered a nearby weapon shop without another word. The bell chimed, and a middle-aged man shuffled out.
"Twin daggers. A longsword. A greatsword. Katana. Shortsword. A light blade," Leornars listed curtly.
The shopkeeper blinked. "Adventurers, are you?"
"...Yes, we are," Stacian answered smoothly before her Lord could growl.
Weapons were gathered. Leornars inspected each with cold scrutiny, rejecting several that Zaryter had chosen.
"Why do I even need a weapon?" Zaryter complained. "I have divine chains and magic."
"Mana isn't infinite," Leornars said simply.
"...Fair point."
They each equipped themselves. Stacian reached for a cheap dagger, but Leornars shook his head.
"Safety is priceless." He summoned Bellian, who kneeled before him, and handed him a greatsword, a longsword, and a dagger.
Then, Zhylyena was called forth, gifted a shortsword and twin daggers. Leornars himself claimed twin blades and another pair of daggers.
Their next stop was the apothecary. Healing potions, mana potions, herbs—Leornars stocked them all.
"Oh," Zaryter realized aloud, nodding slowly. "Just like weapons… mana isn't infinite."
Leornars's lips quirked, the faintest shadow of a smile. Their journey was only beginning.