The brilliant sunset, like a dying golden eye, was slowly swallowed whole by the horizon.
As the last rays of light faded away, a cold and profound darkness descended, completely shrouding the land.
The crimson canvas of beauty was replaced in this moment by an eerie, ominous blackness.
Tonight there was no moon; everywhere the eye could see, there was only endless, deep black, enough to drive a person to madness.
Under the cover of night, a village littered with corpses was ripe for breeding the undead, creatures like zombies and evil spirits.
They awakened in the darkness, filled with resentment and hunger, silently trailing behind the living, waiting for their chance to feed.
The rotting corpses themselves would also spread deadly plagues and curses targeting the living, making them extremely dangerous.
With only Ronald, a single priest, there was simply no way he could consecrate all the bodies from over a hundred households in the entire village.
After consideration, Ronald used a blessing ritual, spending a full hour and a large amount of silver powder to produce barely half a pint of holy water.
Ronald chanted prayers while sprinkling this holy water on the villagers' corpses in the village center, hoping to prevent the resentment of the dead from growing too concentrated in that spot.
Even so, the members of the Ice Hawk Company couldn't spend the night in Locke Village.
They had to retreat several kilometers away to the upstream part of the river, setting up a temporary camp by the stream.
The roaring bonfire dispelled the surrounding darkness, bringing light and warmth to the survivors sitting around it, each one with a grief-stricken face.
At this moment in the camp, besides the four members of the Ice Hawk Company (Orum, Raygore, and the others), there were also five survivors found in the houses of Locke Village.
Apart from a swaddled infant, there were two adult men and two adult women. Each had dark, weathered skin and hands covered in calluses, clearly hardened laborers who had endured years of wind and sun.
At this moment, aside from the wailing infant, the other adults all seemed completely lost, their eyes filled with uncontrollable terror.
Their bodies were in a state of extreme tension and alertness, occasionally twitching involuntarily, like frightened birds.
At the slightest rustling nearby, these traumatized villagers would immediately jump up in panic, nearly bolting away, having completely lost their reason and judgment.
Fortunately, the powerful adventurers who had rescued them from certain death were standing guard by the bonfire, ensuring the camp's absolute safety.
Occasionally, when these villagers glanced toward Orum and the others, their eyes were filled with gratitude and worship, as if they were gazing upon heroes who had stepped out of a legendary tale.
Of course, to these people whose lives had been saved, Orum and his companions truly were heroes.
This rescue itself could already be called a miracle.
Among the survivors, there happened to be a woman who was still nursing.
She carefully took the infant from Ronald, first washing the soiled swaddling by the stream, then cradled the baby in her arms, gently comforting it and softly coaxing the child to sleep.
As she continued to hum, looking at the surviving infant in her arms, the woman's voice grew quieter and quieter until it caught in her throat, unable to make a sound.
Large tears rolled down her weathered cheeks, silently shattering on the baby's smooth forehead.
The woman bowed her head, her trembling hand covering her mouth, yet she couldn't stop the suppressed, mournful sobs escaping from her throat, wailing in despair like a wounded beast:
"My... child..."
Her grief infected the other survivors sitting around the bonfire in the camp. Sorrow and anguish spread through the air like a virus.
Though the surviving men appeared tougher on the outside, their eyes were now equally red-rimmed.
They silently lowered their heads, their clenched fists white at the knuckles. Who knew what thoughts were going through their minds?
Orum watched this tragic scene unfold in the camp, sighing silently in his heart.
The rules of this cruel world were too much about survival of the fittest. Without power, one couldn't protect the lives of loved ones.
He had to become stronger, become a true powerhouse! Only then could he survive in this age of rampant monsters and constant turmoil! Only then could he control his own destiny!
After making up his mind, Orum walked toward the back of the bushes, stepping into the cold stream.
He scooped up water with a wooden ladle and poured it over the grime on his body.
During the day, he had killed dozens of goblins. Sticky, foul blood had long since covered Orum's body, congealing into a thick layer of dried blood.
After the bloodstains dried, new blood was splattered on top, layer upon layer.
It was almost like he was wearing a second skin of blood over his chainmail, emitting a nauseating stench.
Washing off this stubborn filth was extremely difficult.
As for the linen undershirt he wore beneath, it had been completely soaked through with blood, filthy beyond salvation. He could only discard it without hesitation.
Fortunately, Orum had brought spare clothing, so he could focus all his attention on cleaning his armor and body.
The chainmail, leg guards, and helmet covered in blood needed to soak in water for at least half an hour to soften, allowing the dried blood to slowly dissolve.
Then he had to use rough cloth dipped in water, scrubbing back and forth with all his strength to gradually remove it.
For the gaps in the armor, he used a soft-bristled brush to clean carefully, avoiding any residual blood that could cause rust and affect the armor's defensive capabilities.
While the chainmail was soaking, Orum also finished washing his body.
For the blood in his hair, under his nails, and in the creases of his joints, Orum used soapberry [a natural cleanser] to wash repeatedly several times, making sure not to leave any trace.
Though all the surface blood was washed away, Orum could still smell that lingering faint scent of blood coming from his body.
This faint bloody smell could also be detected on Raygore's body.
Perhaps this was the fate of all frontline fighters: using their own bodies to block the most dangerous attacks for their teammates behind them, engaging in close combat with monsters, being drenched in blood after every battle, both the monsters' blood and their own.
After experiencing such cruel and real combat, Orum recalled the legendary heroic swordsmen from stories, who were supposedly elegant and refined at all times, and whose cloaks didn't even get dusty when slaying dragons...
That seemed far too unrealistic.
With a dragon's massive, sky-blocking body, when it bled, it would probably be like a downpour.
During fierce battle, would a swordsman really have time to dodge the splash?
Lost in these thoughts, two hours of scrubbing passed without him noticing.
During the cleaning process, as Orum watched the chainmail become cleaner and cleaner until it gleamed like new, an inexplicable sense of satisfaction rose in his heart.
Indeed, washing something dirty until it was clean gave a very satisfying feeling.
Just as he finished packing away the cleaned armor and helmet, a rich meaty aroma wafted over from the bonfire.
"Gurgle..."
Orum's stomach let out a protest, and hunger surged up like a tide, urging him to carry his cleaned armor and helmet back to camp at a quick pace.
Tonight's dinner was stewed smoked meat with hard bread chunks. Though it was still preserved food, after stewing, the smoked meat slices became tender and juicy, with a mouthwatering aroma.
The head chef for this pot of stewed smoked meat was Ronald. As he ladled out soup for everyone, he boasted proudly:
"In this pot of smoked meat, besides salt, I also added dandelions I picked by the stream.
This balances out the bitter, woody taste of the smoked meat.
Good thing I learned this skill before the mission, otherwise who among you would know that dandelions have this effect!"
Orum tasted a mouthful and found that, indeed, as Ronald claimed, the stewed meat soup was rich and delicious, completely lacking the usual bitter, woody taste of smoked meat.
Instead, it had a fresh, wild herb fragrance that made the smoked meat even more savory and appetite-inducing.
Clearly, Ronald had truly mastered this "wilderness survival cooking" skill.
The steaming pot of smoked meat soup was also ladled out by Ronald for the several survivors from Locke Village.
When these unfortunate souls saw that their bowls actually contained smoked meat, panic immediately appeared on their faces.
They didn't even dare reach out to accept it.
These men and women who had barely survived shook their heads frantically: "M-milord! How could we possibly drink your meat soup!"
However, when it came to communicating with common folk, Ronald had considerable skill.
Ronald patiently reassured them with a kind and gentle manner. Feeling the sincerity and warmth conveyed in his words, and driven by both emotion and hunger, these survivors finally couldn't resist.
They picked up the smoked meat soup and wolfed it down.
"How does it taste?" Ronald asked with a smile.
"This meat soup is absolutely delicious... It's as good as the harvest festival feast!"
the survivors replied excitedly, their eyes shining.
"That's good," Ronald nodded with a smile. Then his voice suddenly became more serious: "I need to ask you a few questions now. I need truthful answers. This is extremely important."
Orum sat not far away, dipping his hard bread chunks in the soup to soften them, then swallowing them along with the tender smoked meat in large bites, recovering the stamina he'd expended during the day's fierce battle.
Hearing Ronald's change in tone, Orum immediately realized that the priest was inquiring about critical information from these survivors, trying to reconstruct the truth.
For example, where did the goblins that attacked Locke Village come from?
Had that Black Gate opened once again?
However, even after several hours had passed, these villagers were still in a state of shock, their eyes vacant and their thoughts confused. They simply couldn't describe what they had seen and heard in a clear and coherent manner.
It was like taking witness statements at a police station. Often, several people's accounts would differ greatly, full of contradictions and vagueness.
It required repeated verification and careful analysis, spending several hours to finally piece together the full story of even a small incident.
Seeing Ronald's furrowed brow, Orum estimated that in the short term, the villagers probably wouldn't be able to provide a complete and reliable answer.
Orum raised his gaze and surveyed the entire camp.
Raygore was nowhere to be seen in the camp. He was still by the stream washing his massive suit of armor.
After all, his plate armor was more than ten sizes larger than the standard design, making it several times more difficult to clean than Orum's.
So by the bonfire, there was only the dinner portion Ronald had deliberately saved for Raygore, waiting for whenever Raygore finished cleaning to come and enjoy it.
The several surviving villagers sat around the other side of the bonfire, quite far from Orum's position.
Normally, they didn't even dare make eye contact with Orum, showing the immense awe they held in their hearts for the adventurers.
At this moment, Ronald sat beside the villagers, patiently comforting them while inquiring about clues in a gentle and guiding tone.
Right now, sitting beside Orum was only Felix. He held a quill pen in his hand and was writing something rapidly on parchment with a focused expression.
"What is it?" Noticing Orum's gaze, Felix put down his pen and looked up with those emerald eyes, smiling. "Something on your mind?"
During today's battle, Orum had been like a tireless killing machine. His incredibly lethal form, dispatching goblins with one precise and merciless sword strike after another, had left an extremely deep impression on Felix.
This kind of talent being invited to join the Ice Hawks by Felix was certainly a correct and forward-thinking decision.
"Captain, what are you writing?" Orum asked curiously.
"This is a mission report, Orum,"
Felix answered while picking up a piece of parchment covered in dense text with his fingers and handing it to Orum.
"It's an official document that only adventuring companies registered with the Adventurer's Hall are qualified to submit."
Orum took it and saw that the parchment was written in elegant and precise Common Script, detailing everything from the mission's departure, passing through the Grass Inn, all the way to the wagon approaching Locke Village.
All details, large and small, were clearly listed, with rigorous and meticulous wording that made it feel as vivid as being there in person.
The page of the mission report in Orum's hand was the section Felix had just completed.
From this, it could be inferred that what Felix was currently writing was the bloody and critical battle portion of the Locke Village encounter.
"Submitting a mission report isn't just about completing the guild's procedures.
It can also provide additional merit rewards for the adventuring company," Felix added, a shrewd glint flashing in his eyes.
"What are merits?" This was the first time Orum had heard this term.
"Orum, you've never joined an adventuring company before, so you really haven't been exposed to this concept," Felix thought for a moment, then patiently and thoroughly explained to Orum:
"Merits are a special reward system that only adventuring companies can have. The main sources are slaying powerful monsters and completing commissioned tasks.
The higher an adventuring company's merit level, the more privileges it can have, and the better the rare resources and intelligence it can access."
"Besides being able to exchange for rare magical materials and precious combat technique manuals, after accumulating enough merits, you can even obtain an audience with the king and exchange for an exceedingly rare treasure from the royal treasury!"
At this point, Felix shook his head helplessly and said with a laugh:
"However, most of what's stored in the royal treasury are antiques whose magic has dissipated, flashy but impractical, and far behind the times."
"Especially in recent years, as adventuring companies have made more and more exchanges, truly valuable items in the treasury have become increasingly scarce. Basically, all the good stuff has been claimed by the top powerhouses."
"Do our Ice Hawks have enough merits to exchange for treasures from the royal treasury?"
Orum asked curiously.
Felix calculated briefly and replied: "Not yet. At our current pace, we'd need at least another ten years of accumulation."
"But by then, I'll have long since become a Dragon-Blooded Sorcerer and advanced to a professional class.
Naturally, the rate at which I acquire merits will increase dramatically."
The two chatted about various information related to the kingdom.
Orum gained a vague, preliminary understanding of that magnificent royal capital in the distance and the king with lofty ambitions who called himself "the Sun."
"Orum, do you think these goblins came out of the 'Black Gate'?"
Felix picked up his quill pen again and continued scratching away on the parchment while asking Orum, his tone seeking Orum's opinion.
"I think it's very likely." As Orum answered, he picked up a charred wooden stick.
The tip slowly traced across the ground, sketching out a rough circle, as if simulating the village's layout.
"Although the Misty Forest is overrun with goblins, this area is on the west side of the Kingdom Road, still dozens of kilometers from the edge of the Misty Forest.
By all logic, large goblin groups shouldn't appear here."
"Furthermore, judging from the positions of the village militia's bodies, they were all killed in the village center, and all the corpses faced inward toward the village.
This means the enemy didn't attack from the perimeter but suddenly appeared from the center."
Orum tapped the wooden stick right in the center of the circle:
"And in the very center of the village, there are several goblin corpses that were crushed flat, yet there are no traces of any rolling stones or heavy objects nearby."
"The only explanation is that these goblins, when teleported here, were directly crushed by the subsequently arriving, much larger bugbears, their bones broken and bodies flattened."
"Therefore, I believe the 'Black Gate' has opened once again, and its location was right in the center of Locke Village."
"An excellent deduction, Orum."
The response came from Ronald's slightly weary yet affirming voice.
Orum turned to look and saw Ronald walking toward them. He grabbed his waterskin and tilted his head back, drinking deeply.
Water spilled down the corners of his mouth, soaking his beard and washing away some of the exhaustion from his face.
Ronald wiped the water from the corners of his mouth, looked toward Orum and Felix, and said in a grave voice:
"You guessed correctly. It was the opening of the 'Black Gate' that brought a horde of goblins to our plane!"
Ronald then reported in detail to Felix and Orum the intelligence he had obtained from the survivors:
After the mercenary Reid left, Locke Village briefly returned to its former peaceful calm.
The goblin group from before never appeared again and seemed to have wandered off to other areas, leaving the village's threat range.
This situation further reinforced the villagers' suspicions about Reid. They thought Reid had simply gone crazy, and they couldn't wait to quickly divide up the house and property Reid's family had left behind.
However, on the afternoon of the third day, the surviving villagers suddenly heard many heavy objects falling and striking the ground with dull "thud thud" sounds coming from the village center.
At that moment, no one yet knew that what awaited them next would be a bloody nightmare created by monsters.
The militia guarding the village had no power to resist before the bugbears and were instantly slaughtered.
The able-bodied men were torn apart and devoured alive, blood and flesh flying everywhere, staining the earth.
These goblins were like starving mad dogs, cramming every scrap of flesh they could grab into their mouths, frantically chewing and swallowing.
What happened after that was the part the Ice Hawk Company members had personally experienced and were well aware of. When they arrived, the village had already become a bloody hell.
Although none of the survivors had personally witnessed the opening of the portal, based on the sound clues, it could be confirmed that...
The culprit responsible for summoning these goblins and bugbears was indeed that "Black Gate" that had descended once more!
"These goblins were so starved... they even ate the women."
Hearing this, Orum couldn't help but feel a chill in his heart, an indescribable sense of nausea welling up.
If the world behind the "Black Gate" was Earth, what kind of scene would that be?!
Ruined, famine-stricken, monsters everywhere!
How could that be possible!
At this moment, Felix's calm voice came through, interrupting Orum's chaotic thoughts:
"At dawn tomorrow, we will quickly explore Locke Village, focusing on finding any 'planar residue' or clues that fell from the 'Black Gate'!
Regardless of any discoveries, two hours later, we immediately withdraw from Locke Village!"