Chapter 173 - 172: Surviving the Calamity

Chapter 173: Chapter 172: Surviving the Calamity

"Woof!" Bruce barked excitedly, pressing a paw against it.

Soon, the bald, translucent head emerged from the mirror’s surface. As if pulled by an invisible force, it transformed into a stream of light and shot into the Jackal-Wolf Skeleton’s body.

The skeleton’s frame shuddered violently. The Soul Fire in its eye sockets flared, growing much brighter and its color deepening.

It stiffly rotated its neck bones, which made a series of crisp CRACKLING sounds, as if it were getting used to its new shell.

"Go on."

Hesia said to Bruce, then walked to the side and sat down, seizing the opportunity to recover his nearly depleted stamina and Magic Power.

It was a good idea to let the overly energetic Bruce mess around a bit; it would also help Slag get accustomed to his new body more quickly.

「Ten minutes later.」

Hesia sat up and used [Assessment Skill] on the skeleton again.

The scene before him left him speechless.

The tall Jackal-Wolf Skeleton was in an extremely awkward pose, mimicking Bruce by propping one of its leg bones up against a nearby tree trunk.

Bruce was beside it, patting the skeleton’s leg bone with his front paw. "Yes! Just like that! Find the right angle! Now you can mark your territory on any tree you like!"

Hesia really couldn’t understand why a skeleton would need to learn that.

However, his exasperation was soon replaced by a satisfied smile.

The [Assessment Skill] returned a deep red halo of light—after being possessed by Slag, its level was now far beyond Hesia’s detection limit.

"Let’s go, Bruce," Hesia called out. "Our teammates are waiting for us. You can play more later."

After calling the reluctant Bruce back to his side, Hesia temporarily transferred the [Shadow Escape] ability to the Jackal-Wolf Skeleton.

Its figure quickly grew blurry and transparent, eventually blending perfectly into the light and shadows of the forest.

’Follow us, keep your distance, and don’t let anyone else see you.’

Hesia issued the directive to the skeleton through their Soul Link.

An affirming thought returned in response.

’It’s always good to have an ace up your sleeve,’ Hesia thought, ’especially in an unfamiliar party.’

’The Frogmen seem to have a combat power similar to goblins. If it’s not necessary, I’ll just have it act as a bodyguard from the shadows.’

’I should also find the right time, maybe during some idle chatter, to bring up some rumors about Necromancy and see how my teammates react...’

Lost in thought, Hesia led Bruce and hurried back the way they came.

...

As evening approached, the grayish-white mist grew thick once more, silently devouring the distant scenery.

The light in the forest grew dimmer, with only a few bleak rays of twilight filtering through the gaps in the canopy.

The carriage was stopped crookedly in the middle of the road, surrounded by the scattered bodies of caravan guards and Gnolls.

Under the hoarse but forcibly calm commands of the caravan owner, the surviving guards were silently digging in the mud off the side of the road with their daggers and shovels.

Most of the guards were wounded, wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. Their movements were slow and mechanical, weighed down by exhaustion and pain.

But their faces showed little grief; there was more numbness and relief.

"Praise the Goddess... That last attack, if it had been off by just a little..."

The young guard, still shaken, glanced at the mangled corpse as he dug, then quickly looked away as if he’d been burned.

"Pick up the pace!" the old guard next to him grumbled. "It’s almost dark. Every extra moment we spend in this godforsaken place is another moment of danger."

The bodies were buried hastily.

The survivors had an unspoken agreement not to discuss the specifics of the deaths, instead focusing their attention on planning for the future.

...

Grek sat leaning against a carriage wheel, his face still pale. He kept his head down, repeatedly wiping his recovered Broadsword as if trying to scrub away the shame and powerlessness he had just felt.

Hayley and Priest Hughes stood together.

A soft, white light emanated from Hughes’s hands as he performed a final check and purification on the wound on Hayley’s neck, which had already healed into a thin, faint red line. His expression was focused and gentle.

Hayley held her head slightly tilted up, her short, chestnut-colored hair stirring gently in the evening breeze. She glanced into the depths of the forest from time to time, a hint of worry in her eyes.

When Hesia and Bruce’s figures appeared through the thin mist, the nearest guard spotted them first. He gripped his weapon warily, but upon recognizing them, he let out a visible sigh of relief and shouted to the others, "It’s the Mage! He’s back!"

In an instant, all eyes turned to him, filled with curiosity, concern, and anticipation about the outcome of the Mage’s solo pursuit of the powerful Demon.

Meeting their gazes, Hesia didn’t explain what had happened in detail, but he didn’t lie either.

He simply stated, "It’s dead."

Grek’s movements faltered for a moment. He looked up at Hesia, his expression complex. His lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing, simply lowering his head and scrubbing his blade even harder.

Priest Hughes gave Hesia a slight nod, a silent expression of acknowledgment and gratitude.

As an experienced elder, he clearly understood the strength and courage required to single-handedly pursue and eliminate such a formidable foe.

Hayley’s tense shoulders finally relaxed. She let out a soft sigh, her bright eyes shining with unconcealed admiration and joy.

The caravan owner trotted over, his voice trembling with excitement. "Master Adventurers! It’s good that you’re back, so good! We owe you everything this time! Once we get to Trout Town, I’ll be sure to... the commission..."

Hayley was about to refuse out of habit, but the words caught in her throat.

She glanced at the fresh grave where Logan was buried, then gave a slight nod.

"Thank you. I’ll find a way to see if Mr. Logan’s share of the commission can be passed on to his family."

Of course, the Priest—this being her first time forming a party—had already silently decided to add a portion of her own pay to send to Logan’s family.

Nearby, the guards resting by the fresh burial mound spoke in low voices, their tone light with the relief of having survived the ordeal.

"Good thing that creature is dead. We wouldn’t have been able to get back otherwise."

"You can say that again..."

"Damn, at least we made it out alive..."

"...When we get to Trout Town, I’m definitely going to the "Gasp River Pufferfish" to drink my fill and wash away this bad luck."

"Hey, count me in! I just wonder if the boss will give us a little extra."

"Who knows. But we lost so many people this time, the commission for the rest of us should be higher, right?"

"Let’s hope so. At least we’ll be able to buy a few more drinks."

For them, while it was sad to see familiar comrades fall, surviving—and possibly even benefiting from the disaster—was a more practical matter.

Grief is a luxury, often reserved only for one’s closest friends and family.