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Fortunately, there was no second attack from the black orcs during the descent. The surviving mercenaries gathered themselves, supporting one another as they moved.
The mercenaries’ shoulders slumped, much like those of defeated soldiers. Some wept, sniffling for their fallen comrades.
Those severely wounded and struggling to move either consumed their potions or received urgent treatment from Hay.
Three more succumbed to their injuries during the journey. Among them were a mercenary and their hunting dog s*ave, both bound by a master-servant imprint, much like Hay and Renki.
When the master died, the s*ave, terrified, fled and then collapsed, their life extinguished as well. Witnessing this, Renki froze completely.
‘If the master dies, so does the s*ave.’
‘In that moment, he truly cursed the one who had created this master-servant imprint.’
‘Was it truly necessary to design it so that the s*ave also perished with their master?’
‘Indeed, human selfishness is the most terrifying thing in the world.’
“Don’t worry, that won’t happen to you.”
That was all Hay could say to the frightened Renki. Renki offered no reply.
Wearing a mask and with his head bowed low, it was impossible to discern his thoughts.
Lord Mesht led the private soldiers and mercenaries at the front, while Hay and Kisen followed at the rear, guiding the wounded.
Lexa, who had sustained internal injuries from using magic, became completely revitalized after drinking Hay’s healing water and a high-grade potion.
A strange, unsettling sensation suddenly clung to the back of his neck. Hay turned to look behind him, but only corpses littered the path they had traveled.
Hay gazed upon those who had died so brutally.
Most of them, despite only a few days, had laughed and conversed with each other face-to-face. Yet, Hay remained impassive at their demise.
“Once the subjugation is complete, the bodies will be buried. Do not worry.”
Kisen, who had also paused, spoke to Hay with a slightly softer gaze.
Leaving behind the bodies of those they had fought alongside was not a new occurrence, so it didn’t bother Hay. However, Kisen seemed to have misunderstood, believing Hay was distressed by them.
“Yes, of course, we should.”
Hay allowed Kisen to remain under that impression.
“Ugh!”
Suddenly, Renki stumbled and fell to the ground.
He had failed to see and stepped on the corpse of a ‘Six-Eyed Crimson Crow’ beneath his feet. Kisen helped Renki up.
“Oh dear, are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I-I’m fine.”
The mask, slightly too large for his face, had slipped down a little.
Renki adjusted his mask, staggering slightly. His eyes seemed vacant, as if his spirit had wandered.
Perhaps from the release of tension, he couldn’t stand properly. Hay gripped Renki under both armpits and helped him to his feet.
“Can’t you walk? Should I carry you?”
“Huh? No! I can walk by myself!” Renki shrieked as if being carried by Hay would be a monumental disaster.
“Don’t overexert yourself.”
At that moment, a gust of wind swept down from the mountain peak. Leaves and branches rustled together, and faded autumn leaves scattered through the air.
Hay’s head snapped around, his gaze fixed on the summit.
An unpleasant sensation, as if someone was slimily licking the back of his neck, crept over him. A chilling feeling crawled up his spine.
“Master?”
Renki called out, his voice laced with unease.
“Mr. Styles, what is it? Do you see something?”
Kisen asked, his face grim, as he gripped Hay’s shoulder. Hay silently stared at the summit for a moment before turning back with a composed expression.
“It’s nothing. Let’s go, Renki.”
Then, as if he couldn’t afford to lose him, Hay tightly grasped Renki’s hand and quickened his pace.
****
The village at the foot of Mount Senugel.
Just hours earlier, three hundred soldiers and mercenaries had set out confidently for the beast subjugation. Now, seeing them return with their numbers halved, the villagers’ faces visibly paled.
Though they uttered no words, their disappointment was palpable.
The soldiers headed to the private barracks erected in the village square, while the mercenaries, one by one, returned to the homes they had borrowed from the villagers. Their hunched backs conveyed a sense of profound misery.
Kisen and Lord Mesht, bickering over how to report the failure of the first subjugation to the lord, entered the village chief’s house.
Hay watched the two for a moment before stepping into the yard of Mrs. Ethel’s house next door.
“Oh, my dear grandchild is here!”
Mrs. Ethel exclaimed, taking Hay’s hand.
Aged and suffering from dementia, Mrs. Ethel mistook Hay for her grandson.
“I’m back.”
“Aren’t you hungry? Shall your grandma cook for you?”
“I am hungry. But Grandma, could I have some water?”
“Of course, of course! Wait here for a moment. Your grandma will bring it.”
“No, I’ll just—”
Before Hay could protest, Mrs. Ethel quickly shuffled into the house.
A moment later, Mrs. Ethel returned with a glass of water.
As Hay sat on the stone steps outside the entrance, drinking the water Mrs. Ethel offered, the wounded began to gather in front of the house. Renki lined them up and counted their numbers.
“Master, there are fifty-nine people requesting treatment.”
‘The money earned today for treatment alone would exceed double the living expenses he’d spent in Nudan over four months.’
‘Should he be happy about this, or not?’
“Send those with severe injuries to the front first.”
“Yes, don’t worry.”
He couldn’t treat everyone anyway. Therefore, it was only right to treat those in the worst condition first.
“My dear grandchild, what should I cook for you? Would you like some vegetable stew? With potatoes, carrots, and pumpkin?”
Hay nodded at Mrs. Ethel’s question.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
“Alright, alright, go play with your friends. Grandma will make it for you quickly.”
Mrs. Ethel chuckled softly and went inside the house. Hay watched her small, stooped back for a moment before taking off his outer garment.
Renki was already asking for the understanding of the waiting wounded, sending those with severe injuries to the front.
Fortunately, no one voiced any complaints.
After all, at a time when even one comrade to share life and death with was precious, such shameless behavior would surely earn them a torrent of curses.
“Shall we begin the treatment then?”
Hay said, looking at the wounded.
Rolling up his sleeves, he began to examine the condition of the first person in line.
It was a man with wooden splinters embedded in his body. Typically, such fragments would be surgically removed before the wound was stitched. However, Hay was no doctor and had no knowledge of such intricate procedures.
He simply pulled out whatever he could see and administered the healing water.
For any fragments that might remain inside the body, he could simply ask the spirits for their assistance.
Checking each patient’s condition and preparing the healing water took a considerable amount of time. Fortunately, there were fewer truly severely injured people than he had anticipated.
This was because those with genuinely grave injuries had already been treated during the descent or had consumed their own potions.
Essentially, those who sought Hay’s help were either without potions or looking for affordable treatment.
As dusk settled, lights and torches began to appear outside homes, one by one.
‘If this were Nudan, the curfew bell would soon be ringing.’
“I will stop here for today. Please come back tomorrow.”
Hay concluded the treatments, retaining 45% of his spirit energy. More than ten people remained untreated, but their wounds were minor enough to endure without healing water.
“What, already? What’s so difficult about treating just us few who are left?”
“Couldn’t you just treat us today too? Please, Spirit Master?”
“I apologize. I cannot do any more for now. Instead, I will give you some medicine to prevent infection. If you return tomorrow, I will treat the first ten of you.”
There was no other choice. Hay himself needed to conserve his energy for any potential emergencies.
The remaining wounded grumbled as they departed. Those truly desperate for treatment would likely go to purchase potions made by Chen.
‘Normally, he would have treated everyone, leaving only 30% of his spirit energy.’
‘But today, something felt truly unsettling.’
“You’ve worked hard.”
Renki, having retrieved it from somewhere, offered a clean, water-soaked cloth.
“Ah, thank you.”
Hay took it and wiped his sticky, sweaty face. The cloth was stained with dirt and blood.
Since battles had raged everywhere, it seemed a lot of other people’s blood had splattered onto him. No matter how much he wiped, more stains kept appearing.
“Sit here.”
Renki gently pulled Hay by the arm and sat him down on the stone steps by the entrance. Then, taking the cloth, he turned it to a clean side and carefully wiped Hay’s face and neck.
“I wish I could take a bath.”
“You feel grimy, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Shall I ask Mrs. Ethel to prepare bathwater for you?”
“It’s fine. I can just use a
Silently, Renki undid Hay’s tied hair.
It turned out that his hair was also stained with blood. Renki meticulously wiped his hair with the damp cloth.
“Master, the black orcs we saw today, they were from the ‘New Moon Tribe,’ weren’t they?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Hay recalled the book Briana had given him, titled *Fairy Tales*. It was the book Briana used to read to him during dictation practice. It contained stories about various fairy folk and non-human races.
The ‘New Moon Tribe,’ one of the nine orc tribes, consisted of orcs with skin as black as if painted with ink and eyes of bluish-gray, just like the black orcs they had encountered today. They were a demonic race that invariably appeared in the recurring wars against demons, wars that seemed to happen whenever people forgot them. They were also the most representative of the ‘Fallen Fey.’
“People say that the orcs returning and killing people is all to summon a Great Demon. Is that true?”
Curiosity tinged Renki’s voice as he asked the question. Hay stared intently at him.
His green eyes were utterly pure. Hay averted his gaze and shrugged.
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
‘Nor do I particularly want to.’
“If a Great Demon is summoned, what happens?”
“If a Great Demon is summoned?”
Hay recalled the old tales he had heard orally since childhood.
“A catastrophe would begin.”
‘If that happened, humans might find themselves starring in an unexpected survival film.’
Hay gently pushed away Renki’s hands as he wiped his hair. He took the wet cloth, quickly wiped his still-sticky neck, and then tied his hair back up.
“But orcs can’t summon demons.”
“Why not?”
“They’re inherently unable to use magic. Only mages can summon demons. Orcs, who cannot become mages, cannot summon demons. Those rumors are just nonsense spread by people who are anxious, so ignore them.”
Hay brushed off his backside and stood up.
Just then, the mages who were staying with Mrs. Ethel returned. Each of them carried something to eat in their arms.
“Mr. Baeksu, are you done with the treatments?”
“Are you hungry?”
“Brother! I got some potatoes! They’re hot!”
At that moment, Mrs. Ethel opened the front door from inside the house.
“The stew is ready, would you like a bowl?”
At her words, everyone quickly set their roasted potatoes aside in a corner of the yard and rushed inside. Feeling hungry, Hay also gave Renki a gentle push forward.
“Let’s eat.”
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