In the moments when breaths were held, the footsteps ceased; the rusted door opened with a groan like a demon taking its last breath.
"It's not just that one can't sleep because of your noise, one can't even drink a glass of wine with pleasure!"
When he finished his words, the bottle in the hand of the man whose face couldn't be distinguished due to the hair covering it slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. The blood-red wine filled the gaps between the stones, seeping through the dirt and disappearing from sight.
"Are you going to start explaining yourselves before I throw each of you down?"
The Merchant Guild Leaders hadn't overcome their astonishment, but this warning brought them back to life.
"Sir, the rebel forces on the continent and the invading Hell Realm armies continue their advance!"
The first to react was Zlato. The old man with one foot in the grave stepped in, furrowing his golden eyebrows, and Tirkizna, who was at least as wrinkled as him, was not far behind.
"Idiot Izumrud died during the battle he fought with his son. The Middle Region under his control has been left completely defenseless!"
In the voice of the woman swimming in emerald color, the whining of a little child trying to put the blame on someone else could be felt, whereas Dijamant, the youngest among them, looked quite confident.
"We also lost the Machine Empire and Lands of Light forces that came for help. We think they will send more help; if you permit, we want to make our last defense here, in the Golden City."
When his red nose slipped through his hair, the hiccup sound of the mysterious man echoed on the rusted walls. If it were another time or another person, this action could have been a cause of death, but not a single word came out from the leaders of the mighty merchant guilds.
"What will you do if I don't permit? Do you have any other choice than to go and get yourselves killed? Especially after the Orc Empire forces have already captured half of the continent!"
When the words Orc Empire were mentioned, the eyes of the three leaders gleamed. They weren't stupid; they could guess the forces inside the continent were externally supported, but they weren't aware that the orcs were directly here.
"The invading leaders of the orcs, the Blood God Nafız and Alyon, are in the Northern Region. I know the members of the Dynasty Family are also in the other parts of the continent. You had no choice but to wait in the Golden City anyway!"
The man whose lips couldn't even be seen while speaking continued his stinging words; his tone became even harsher as he received no response.
"Pull back all your forces and protect this place by joining with the forces that will come from the other two civilizations. If you can manage this, you can continue to stay at the head of your guilds, but if the opposite happens, whoever has breathed with you to this day, I will put you all in the same hole and bury you alive!"
This was the last word of the person whose face couldn't be seen. While leaving the sun behind and going down the rusted stairs, the body language of the trio remaining at the top of the tower confirmed his words weren't an empty threat. At the same moments, a superfluous shadow that had been among them since morning disappeared too and, minutes later, appeared next to the man walking with hiccups.
"Did our Master want us to do it like this?"
The shadow took shape and stood on its two feet; how much it looked like the thing Nafız fought in the Northern Region.
"Our Master is in the healing process; during this time, we have to protect the things entrusted to us as the Apostles!"
The blowing wind accompanied the words of the drunk man; the green energy was as if approving him. His hair fluttered, and his face became visible for a few seconds. The street wasn't crowded; a few people were walking on the sidewalks, but the moment they saw his face, they sighed once, and then they were all on the ground.
The two Apostles met at the place where the final battle would be fought to prevent the continent entrusted to them from slipping out of their hands. While the Master was heavily wounded due to the blow he took from Draco, the founding leader of the Holy Blood Cult, the responsibility lay entirely with them.
The Golden City, the city open to anyone with gold in their pockets almost since the day it was founded, closed its gates. Entries and exits were taken under strict control; there was no need to hide it, the war was at the gates.
As for the people bringing the war to them, they hadn't met yet. Two-thirds of the three-year period had ended, and they had managed to come all the way to half of the continent, but they had a long way to go ahead of them. Even though the Mercenaries designated the magnificent Golden City as their last fortress, they didn't hold back from doing what they knew best along the way leading there.
Traps; there were traps everywhere, at every step. Sometimes they manifested as energy weapons hidden on both sides of a valley, sometimes as the poisonous waters of a pond at the end of a journey under the sun, and sometimes as a bomb placed inside the body of a child withered from starvation.
It was impossible for the invading forces to dodge all of them. Even if the leaders of the armies intervened in most and eliminated the danger, it was certain they couldn't escape suffering casualties. This was endured up to a point; the enemy's trying to protect itself was respected, but when push came to shove, Nafız communicated this order to the others using a mechanical hawk.
"There is no stopping until you reach the last cities over the regions. Clear your way using the people you captured!"
With the order of the Blood God, bored of dealing with traps, whoever was captured in the war was released towards the direction the armies would advance. The bewildered Mercenaries looked once at the army coming behind them, and once towards their ultimate target, the Golden City, and making a choice didn't take much of their time.
If they turned back, death was certain, but if they chose to advance, they could have a chance to survive. Besides, their equipment other than their weapons had been given to them; once they disappeared from sight, they could run anywhere.
Some of the mercenaries, not thinking their enemies could think of this too, thought of crossing into the other regions or even hiding. Their actions were logical to themselves; they were doing whatever it took to live, but they were unaware when they threw away perhaps the last chance they could get their hands on.
Of the thousands of mercenaries released by the forces under the auspices of the Orc Empire, only a number of less than a hundred managed to come all the way to the gates of the city that looked even brighter than the sun. They were saved; they thought they could breathe easily again until they were hit with the energy attack that would turn their bodies to ash. The Mercenaries didn't even approach them with suspicion; they chose to prevent the possible danger by directly killing them.
Each of them was a potential orc spy; there was no way to be sure they weren't Trojan horses sent to conquer the castle from within. The most logical solution was for them to die, and the energy cannons designed by the architects and produced by the hands of the engineers were tailor-made for this job.
Not only outside, but a witch hunt had also begun inside. By identifying people who posed a potential threat, possible unpleasant situations were being tried to be prevented, but the anxiety of the future had already unsettled everyone.
Even if the relatives of those whose freedoms were restricted or even lost their lives as a result of implementations whose basis and targets were unclear couldn't do anything, the hearts of the others seeing them were filled with fear.
As days and months passed, the glitter of the Golden City was disappearing. The darkness rising from within, together with the clouds gathering in the sky, managed to suppress the dazzling yellow color. The news reaching the Golden City every day, crossing the Mercenaries continent and overcoming the giant walls, also had a great share in the formation of the gloom.
For the orcs seeing the retreat, the necessity of secrecy disappeared. The Staff of the Orc Empire Army, knowing well the meaning of the enemy retreating to its last fortress, ordered the support forces to land on the continent.
The mechanical formations intended for transport built over the abyss separating the Mercenaries' Home continent from the Savage Swamp continent became active in a short time. In one day, thousands of orc warriors were boarding these and stepping up onto the Mercenaries' Home.