Divine Beast Ascension

584 Wait Till The Signal

The old fart scrambled to the cart and hopped on, swinging his feet off the back while laying his back against a crate. “Ahh… That’s much better…”

Before they had even crossed the gate, the old drunk was already sound asleep.

Plenty of people laughed as they left the city behind them and watched the drunken fool cuddling with his wine gourd. Since the trip wasn’t short, they would be marching for hours just to enter the Taltin Mountains. Betting on the old man and his sleep schedule quickly became one of their favorite past times.

Most everyone bet that the old man would sleep past the first break. Plenty bet that the old man would sleep past two breaks. A few bold betters even bet that the old man would be passed out the entire trip.

When the first break arrived, the whole fifteen minutes passed without the drunk even flinching. After three hours of travel, they stopped for another short break.

“Hmm!” The drunk shot up to his feet and rushed to the nearest patch of trees without saying a word.

Everyone in the group was amazed to see the old fart move so swiftly and so suddenly. That was until the drunk came hobbling back while readjusting his pants. “Finally… Been holding that in for too long…”

As the old man hopped back onto the wagon and passed out once more, all the mercenaries broke out in laughter.

Even Tranton and his family couldn’t help but smile and chuckle. Their faces were red while doing their best to hold it in.

.....

“As I thought,” Dollon boldly laughed from behind the cart, “it was free money after all. I guess your territory leader doesn’t mind milking a fool for gold after all. Eh, Reuben?”

“... HA! HA! HA!” Louder than everyone else, Reuben broke out in gut-busting laughter. “You’re so right! Ha, ha…”

Dollon and the other mercenaries all joined in with the booming laughter, but the old man only snored louder in response.

The next leg of the journey passed by fast at first and then came to a slow drag as the midnight hours set in. No one commented or asked to make camp, but everyone was thinking it. And seeing the wagon full of supplies and food only added to their unspoken enthusiasm.

“Stop! We’ll camp here.”

The men cheered at the sound of Tranton’s voice.

“We’ll camp here. After four hours, we get moving. We have to reach the beast’s den by nightfall tomorrow, even if that means fewer breaks,” Tranton finished what he was saying, splashing cold water all over the mercenaries’ cheerful attitudes.

Leader Tranton locked the wagon wheels. Fulkar tied the horses to a nearby tree. Freele and Trantor set up their family tent on one side of the wagon. In minutes, the entire group had finished the basic chores and set up camp. They even made a fire pit between two mercenaries with earth and fire essence respectively.

“Reuben, make sure they ration the food. I don’t want it all gone in a single meal!” Tranton ordered.

The Mottz Patriarch agreed and climbed onto the wagon. He opened a food crate and handed out portions of jerky, small bags of sauce, and bread to everyone. For water, Reuben brought out an empty barrel with a tap. “You two, fill it up!”

Both mercenaries followed orders, using essence to fill the barrel with water and setting it on the back of the wagon for easy access.

Though they were only staying there for a few hours, the mercenaries made the most of it. Such was the ever-changing life of soldiers-for-hire. So long as they were treated fairly and paid, that’s all that mattered.

Tranton and his family retired to their tent the moment they got their portion of food, only nodding to Reuben and Dollon before disappearing behind the tent flap.

A silent formation was suddenly thrown up around Reuben as Dollon asked, “So, what do you think? Here? During the battle with the beast? Or after it all?”

Sighing but keeping up his casual expression for anybody watching, Reuben replied, “I’m not sure. I may be a perennial, but your track record is much more impressive than mine. We do whatever you order.”

Dollon smiled. “Good answer… Then just play along until the signal.”

“You mean tonight?” asked Reuben.

“Wait till the signal. Whenever that happens.” Dollon dropped the silent formation. With everyone able to hear him, Dollon laughed, “What? No wine for a hunt? If they won’t supply it, allow me!”

All the mercenaries cheered while they were each given a small cup of wine. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep them happy and shine a brighter light on their new chief of staff, Dollon.

Fulkar was eating around the fire with the mercenaries. After all, Fulkar had no reason to share the Forell Family tent. But he enjoyed the liveliness of the mercenaries. What shocked Fulkar was how they ate and somewhat partied for almost an hour before hastily passing out for the rest of their four-hour break.

Apart from those in the Forell tent, everyone else slept under the stars.

One mercenary, in his sleepy stupor, had the thought to peek at the crate of cores. And if one core or two happened to disappear, then no one would even know about it and no one would probably care to notice.

However, that mercenary slowly approached the wagon to find the old drunk laying on top of the very same crate. His huge gourd was uncorked but nothing spilled out since it was all empty now.

Frustrated, the mercenary kicked the dirt and walked back to where he was sleeping. He was out cold within a few minutes.

An hour passed with everyone sleeping soundly. No one was worried about leaving a night guard while on the outskirts of the Taltin Mountains since the weakest mercenaries among them were early and low-elders. There wouldn’t be anything too threatening in those parts and the natural senses of powerful cultivators should’ve been enough to alert them if something happens.

Amidst the blackness of the night, a small silent formation appeared around three people’s heads, who were all resting beside each other.

“What do you think?” asked Dollon.

“This is either the perfect chance or the perfect trap. I’m not sure which it is,” replied the first man.

The second man added, “However, I don’t think we’ll get a better chance than this. Even if he is on to us, Tranton won’t give us another opening like this if he’s wary of us. If he’s not wary of us, then skipping out on tonight would be a waste of time and opportunity.”

“But if this is a trap, then he’ll have countermeasures in place,” disputed the first man. “Are you saying we should attack anyway?”

“Think of it this way. If we don’t do it now, and Tranton is onto us, then this will turn into a widespread battle and not an assassination. Plus, we have to do this while we know that leopard is away,” the second man reasoned. “Our mission will fail the moment Tranton officially sides with that leopard. We have to do this now.”

“And what about the countermeasures if Tranton is onto us?” asked the first man, nodding in agreement despite not liking the situation.

“We signal the others. So long as we take everyone out, we can pin the whole thing on the beasts in the mountains,” said the second man. “With the camp surrounded and us on the inside, worst-case scenario we have a battle. That still gets the job done and satisfies Prodson… Do you agree?”

The first man sighed. “... Yes. I agree. Dollon, the signal.”

“Yes, Boss.”

The silent formation quickly faded as Dollon raised his hand straight up. A small flare of fire shot straight up without a sound. It burst into a small fireball above the camp and fizzled out a second later.

With the signal launched, the three men waited patiently. Now, they were counting. Only after giving their men five minutes to surround the camp could they make their move. A job of that caliber couldn’t be botched, not when all of Prodson was under war from Iron. The last thing Prodson needed was the Forells Territory attacking from the other side. And the last thing Blood Moon Order needed was to ruin their highest-paying job in decades.

Seconds passed.

Minutes passed…

Once five minutes were up, all three men carefully got to their feet. They didn’t need silent formations to keep from making noise. With deft movements and careful thinking, the three men each positioned themselves where they wanted to be.

The perennials were on opposite ends of the Forell tent, preparing to strike in unison. Dollon stood over Fulkar Libarn and smiled at Reuben.

The Mottz Patriarch sighed softly but nodded back after getting to his feet and positioning himself between the mercenaries and the tent. Or course, Reuben was facing the tent flap, putting him in the most dangerous position and making him an immediate target.

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