Translator: CinderTL
"Is it an unstoppable demonic beast attack?"
Roland frowned, exchanged a wary glance with his companions, then grabbed his Mithril Longsword, gripped the hilt tightly, and strode out of the tent.
This wasn't an overreaction.
During his time in the military camp, they had faced demonic beast attacks before, but their complete defensive facilities had always swiftly neutralized the threats, rarely causing major disturbances.
Often, by the time Roland sensed something amiss, the demonic beasts had already been wiped out.
But the current commotion—a cacophony of shouts and panicked cries—was unprecedented since his arrival.
His vigilance spiking, Roland swiftly lifted the tent flap, his sharp gaze instantly fixed on the source of the noise.
What met his eyes wasn't the expected horde of grotesque demonic beasts, but a fleeing tide of soldiers.
Hundreds of soldiers, supporting each other, poured through the camp gates. They stumbled forward, their armor shattered, weapons broken or lost, their faces smeared with blood and undisguised terror.
Covered in mud and crimson bloodstains, they were clearly survivors of a brutal defeat, fleeing back to this temporary fortress in utter disarray.
Roland's gaze swept over the remnants of the army, finally settling on the figure at the front.
A man was attempting to maintain order.
His movements were precise and efficient, almost silent, and even exhaustion couldn't completely mask the agility ingrained in his very bones.
His dark, form-fitting armor was riddled with tears, but the most striking wounds weren't the physical ones.
Around several deep gashes that exposed bone, the skin had taken on an unnatural gray-purple hue, as if flash-frozen by extreme cold and then left to slowly rot. A faint, ethereal black chill seemed to linger around the edges.
He wore no cloak, only tattered cloth clinging to his withered, shrunken shoulder and back muscles.
"That's... negative energy!"
Roland's eyes widened slightly as he sensed the familiar aura.
Just then, the man abruptly raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the chaotic camp like a poisoned dagger.
This movement allowed Roland to see his face clearly.
It was a face of harsh lines, as if molded from shadow itself.
Yet, despite its rugged features, the face now bore the marks of fatigue and a deep-seated anguish that caused his tightly pressed lips to tremble slightly.
Even so, his eyes remained extraordinarily bright, their sharpness piercing like daggers.
A cold killing intent and a hint of animalistic wariness churned deep within him, like a top-tier predator forced into the sunlight.
"That's..."
Roland's brow furrowed deeper as he recognized the slightly familiar face.
After a moment of careful recollection, he finally confirmed the man's identity.
It was the same figure who had single-handedly eliminated a massive threat in the distant sea during their voyage to the River Domain Nations, when they encountered a demonic beast at sea.
"If I recall correctly..."
Roland withdrew his probing gaze.
"His name is Jashu... Galvis mentioned he's also a member of the Shadow Veil."
Recognizing the man's identity sent a chill through Roland's heart.
He clearly remembered Graham mentioning that Jashu was one of the commanders of the other two units that had ventured deep into the Mistland.
More importantly...
This was a transcendent professional!
"To wound a transcendent professional to this extent... and with negative energy..."
Roland's gaze swept over the ominous, frost-tinged wound on Jashu's back, a sense of impending danger like an ice spike piercing his spine.
"That means the opponent was at least his equal... a spellcaster!"
Ancient texts detailing powerful spellcasters flooded Roland's mind.
Compared to knights, transcendent professionals who rely on physical strength and Battle Qi, spellcasters might not have an obvious advantage in absolute power. However, their unpredictable and诡谲 spells make them incredibly difficult to defend against.
If fighting a knight allows for a clear understanding of how one died, battling a spellcaster could leave you clueless about your demise if you're even slightly careless.
This is why, after transmigrating and learning about this world, Roland had gone to great lengths to avoid confronting demonic beasts with spellcasting abilities.
Even a mind flayer casually slain by Graham had nearly cost him his life in the deep sea. What about a spellcaster of Graham's caliber, wielding transcendent power?
Thinking of this, Roland exhaled softly, suppressing his rising anxiety. He quickly scanned the chaotic crowd around him.
When he failed to spot Commander Fisher, his already sinking spirits plummeted further.
"Where's the other transcendent, Fisher? Still on his way... or..."
Roland forced himself to remain calm, but the worst-case scenario already filled his mind.
Taking a deep breath, he tightened his grip on the sword hilt at his waist.
A spellcaster proficient in negative energy had appeared...
This meant that even staying by Graham's side was no longer absolutely safe.
Of course, this didn't mean he wanted to break away from the forces Graham led and act alone. Only a fool would do that.
But...
He had to inform his companions and...
Prepare as thoroughly as possible.
As Roland was secretly making his plans, Jashu had already settled the soldiers and entered the central command tent.
After hearing the report from the Shadow Veil Organization's renowned assassin, the tent fell silent for a moment.
"I intend to..."
The throbbing pain in his right shoulder and Jashu's miserable state made Graham's voice hoarse.
"...evacuate this area as quickly as possible. I will take full responsibility for the consequences."
Jashu shook his head gently.
"We cannot retreat."
The assassin's rough, raspy voice filled the tent, his icy eyes fixed on the map spread across the table.
"Dean Graham, you must have noticed the unusual terrain surrounding us..."
He extended his arm, withered and nearly dried out from severe negative energy exposure, and tapped the map lightly.
"My reconnaissance indicates that this Mistland is completely encircled by towering mountains. We are now..."
Despite the dire situation, Jashu's tone remained completely emotionless.
"...trapped like caged beasts. As for the mountains' impregnability, Dean Graham, I must be frank..."
"Unless we can summon the King of the Golden Valley Kingdom, there's no way you can carve a path through this place for an army to pass through with your strength alone."
"Tsk..."
Graham didn't question Jashu's words. He knew the assassin's nature—he never exaggerated.
After a long silence, Graham spoke slowly. "So you're saying..."
"Two options..."
The assassin, draped in a tattered black robe, struggled to raise two fingers.
"Before we set out, to prepare for the worst-case scenario, I obtained Lord Derek's formal permission. If the campaign against the Mistland exceeds three months, it would prove that the situation here is beyond the capabilities of you, me, and Fisher..."
At the mention of their fallen comrade, a flicker of pain crossed Jashu's cold eyes.
Graham sighed heavily, grief etched on his face.
But Jashu remained unmoved. He continued, "...to handle."
"Therefore, Lord Derek will dispatch a large army to provide support and reinforcements. Counting the time, if nothing unexpected has happened, this army should be nearing our location. However, I believe..."
His voice grew weaker until he finally collapsed into his chair, unable to stand any longer.
"Even though their motives remain unclear, they won't give us the luxury of waiting for rescue in peace."
"So you're saying..."
"Counterattack."
(End of the Chapter)
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