Chapter 273: Vaelorin’s Indignation

The Ratchyr leader vanished beyond the ruined temple with a speed that belied its size and predatory instinct, leaving only the fading beat of its wings to linger in the chamber.

For several uncertain moments after it’s disappearance, nobody moved.

The eight exiles remained where they stood, their weapons lowered but their bodies still tense, as though the slightest sound might announce the return of another wave of shrieking horrors.

They had spent the better part of the battle surrounded by relentless creatures, forced to defend themselves against successive assaults of claws and incisors. Now, with the colony all but annihilated and its final leader fleeing into the Crimson Forest, the sudden quiet felt almost unnatural.

The sounds that remained were small ones: the scrape of boots against stone, the rustle of torn clothing, and the occasional strained breath of someone struggling to recover from exhaustion.

Dust drifted lazily through the crimson light filtering between the broken walls, settling over the bodies scattered across the flagstones. The lingering stench of black blood and damp fur clung to the air, an unpleasant reminder that their victory had hardly been a clean affair.

Honestly, nobody would have believed it if they had been told that they would spend the better part of the morning and afternoon fighting a colony of oversized, bloodthirsty vermin inside an ancient temple.

They had come here at Regaleon’s behest, prepared for danger and expecting the possibility of a confrontation, but none of them had anticipated being drawn into a prolonged battle against so many Netherytes.

That unexpected escalation was what made the afternoon feel particularly absurd. They had set out to explore the ruins, yet somehow ended up participating in an extermination campaign that would have exhausted a professional hunting party.

At this point, they should have just listened to Vaelorin and left for the Sanctuary already. If anything, they were quite sure that after this battle, they wouldn’t be able to start the journey anymore, considering their exhaustion and whatnot...

Vaelorin was the first to break the tentative silence.

He lowered his staff, its Runes dimming as the flames surrounding its tip dwindled into a handful of orange sparks. The fading warmth brushed against his face before disappearing altogether, leaving him with the unpleasant realization that his reserves were considerably lower than he would have liked. He rolled one shoulder, grimacing at the stiffness, then turned towards Aelric.

The green-eyed youth was already retrieving his longsword, wearing the languid air of someone finishing an unremarkable afternoon shift.

He wiped the blade of the blood sticking to it’s edge before sliding it into its sheath, apparently unconcerned by the bloodstained chamber or the possibility that their escaped opponent might still be nearby.

"Aelric, why did you let it go?" Vaelorin asked, furrowing his brows. "Aren’t you worried that it might return to cause us trouble in the future?"

Aelric glanced at him without changing his expression.

Vaelorin honestly could not understand what went on inside that fellow’s head. Perhaps there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his actions, but Aelric had a remarkable talent for making even the simplest decision appear as though it had been made through sheer indifference, having a layer of enigma to it.

Allowing an enemy to escape was generally considered foolish in the cultivation world, where mercy could become an expensive habit and an overlooked opponent might return with reinforcements.

In a place like the Nether Lands, such carelessness was even more dangerous. The group had learned to eliminate hostile Animas and Netherytes whenever possible, only permitting stronger creatures to withdraw when confronting them would have been unnecessarily suicidal, as with the Alpha of yesterday’s wolf pack.

After all, an enemy that survived today could become tomorrow’s hunter and that principle had been reinforced multiple times by the Black Stalker, Vael’zhur.

"I mean, you could have stopped it, but you didn’t," Vaelorin continued, his voice growing more insistent. "That was after you had already killed two of them. Surely, with your sword technique and strength, you could have brought it down before it reached the opening."

His gaze tightened as he studied Aelric, searching for some indication that the youth had misunderstood the question or simply failed to appreciate the consequences.

Vaelorin had witnessed enough of Aelric’s abilities to recognize the difference between inability and unwillingness. Even accounting for the gap in cultivation between the group and the surviving Ratchyr, Aelric possessed the speed, technique, and composure necessary to make another attempt. If anyone present could have prevented the creature’s escape, it was him.

That realization made Aelric’s apparent lack of concern all the more irritating.

Meanwhile, Aelric merely shrugged, his expression betraying so little interest that Vaelorin briefly wondered whether he was speaking to a person or an unusually well-dressed wall.

"Probably." The reply was delivered with such effortless brevity that it sounded less like an answer than a door being closed in Vaelorin’s face.

The red-haired Pyromancer stared at him.

"Then why didn’t you?"

"Well, I didn’t care enough to chase it." Aelric adjusted his cloak and turned away. "There. Does that satisfy you?"

Before Vaelorin could formulate a response, the youth began walking towards another section of the chamber, apparently convinced that the matter had been settled with admirable efficiency.

For a moment, Vaelorin looked as though he might follow him and demand an explanation that contained more than three words. However, a slight shake of Regaleon’s head stopped him before he could give in to the temptation.

The Pyromancer pressed his lips together and muttered something under his breath. Whatever the words were, they were unlikely to improve anyone’s opinion of Aelric.

Nevertheless, Vaelorin eventually turned away, recognizing the folly of wasting what little energy he had left arguing with someone who appeared entirely immune to the concept of urgency.

Regaleon, meanwhile, surveyed the chamber with his usual practical expression. His golden eyes moved across the broken pillars, fractured flagstones, and heaps of rubble, taking note of the damage and the numerous bodies littering the floor.

The ruined temple’s open architecture had allowed the Ratchyrs to move freely through its upper openings, but it also meant that the scent of blood could escape in every direction.

And that was hardly reassuring.

The battle had been noisy enough to attract attention, and the thick metallic odor now hanging over the ruins would only make matters worse.

Whatever inhabited the surrounding forest might already have noticed the commotion. Some creatures hunted by sound, others by scent, and a few possessed senses that rendered ordinary precautions nearly useless.

Regaleon had no intention of discovering which variety might arrive first.

He turned towards the others, his expression growing sterner as he assessed their condition. Their victory had been substantial, but victory did not restore depleted Aether, mend damaged equipment, or erase the fatigue accumulating in their limbs.

Also, a second encounter before they recovered could turn their success into a very different story.

"I think we should take stock of our condition and secure anything useful before leaving this place immediately," he said, his voice grim with restrained urgency. "After all, we don’t know what else might be lurking nearby."

His gaze shifted towards the crimson foliage beyond the temple’s broken walls, where the shadows gathered beneath the twisted branches. The forest remained silent, but Regaleon had already learned that silence in the Nether Lands rarely meant safety.

And he had no desire to wait until something emerged from the trees to prove it...