A Feeling Mutually Shared

Annie poured the liquid, worth at least three hundred gold coins, into a bucket of river water to dilute it, then distributed it to the injured according to the severity of their wounds. Those with minor injuries received only a cup's worth at the bottom, while the seriously wounded got a full cup.

The mercenaries had clearly used holy water before, as they expertly dabbed some on their external wounds first, then quickly drank the rest.

The effect was instantaneous. A faint white light appeared as the holy power took effect. Under the light, small wounds quickly closed and scabbed over, and even the most severe ones stopped bleeding.

Richard watched the entire process from the side, practically drooling with envy. If one thought magic's help to an army was limited solely to destructive power, that would be too narrow-minded and unimaginative. A small crystal bottle had an effect no less than a field hospital; aside from its high cost, it had no other drawbacks.

Well… aside from the high cost…

Annie caught sight of Richard's surprised expression out of the corner of her eye, a subtle smile playing on her lips. While this pioneer lord's armed guards were extraordinarily powerful, he seemed to be as financially strapped as most pioneer nobles.

The caravan's situation was currently dangerous; the mercenaries had almost completely lost their fighting capability, and their temporary ally was overly strong. Showing a little of the merchant house's true strength would help maintain the situation when the power imbalance was so stark.

The improved situation somewhat invigorated the mercenaries. Those with lighter injuries voluntarily stepped forward and began setting up tents and building bonfires about thirty to forty paces from the wooden house at the foot of the hill.

Their chosen spot was clearly well-thought-out: not far from the riverbank but not right next to it, ensuring easy access to water while keeping the ground from getting too damp. The terrain was flat with an open view and was perfectly on the leeward side of the hill.

In Richard's judgment, apart from the location occupied by the wooden house, their chosen spot was the best in the vicinity.

The caravan's camping equipment was complete and practical, and the workers were all experienced veterans. In less than half an hour, a standard temporary camp was set up.

Richard squatted at the entrance of the wooden house, cracking melon seeds and watching the mercenaries orderly settle the wounded. That sense of order was not to be underestimated. Then he looked back to see his own group of barbarians seemingly fighting over something, almost coming to blows.

"Give it to me, give it to me!"

One barbarian had an especially loud voice. Richard recognized him; his name was Rosell, and he was the first to advance to Barbarian Great Axe Warrior.

The barbarian soldiers now spanned three ranks: Barbarian Spearman, Barbarian Warrior, and Barbarian Great Axe Warrior. Rosell, being the highest-ranked, had an overwhelming strength advantage over his fellow barbarians who remained Barbarian Spearmen. However, there was no status differentiation within the barbarian ranks because of this.

Their strength improvement relied entirely on external forces; the difference between the strongest and weakest was merely time and luck, with no insurmountable chasm. Those who got ahead had nothing to be proud of, and those who lagged behind wouldn't be disheartened.

The battle with the Gnolls was the most profitable since arriving in the wilderness, yielding many weapons and armor. The barbarians were gathered around a pile of spoils, sifting through them for anything they liked, occasionally bickering loudly over uneven distribution.

Rosell snatched a pair of double-bladed battle axes and proudly showed off his most flamboyant techniques to his companions. The two heavy axes spun into two spirals in his hands, creating a dull, chilling whooshing sound, yet they remained firmly in his grip as if rooted.

He hadn't been particularly skilled with axes before, but after two "Asura Elixir" activations during battle, he inexplicably developed a familiarity with the weapon. Now, trying them out, it wasn't just a feeling—he had truly completed "Battle Axe Usage: From Beginner to Master" in a single day!

"Isn't this amazing?" Rosell smiled widely, facing his fellow tribesmen.

For some reason, his tribesmen suddenly fell silent, no longer bothering with the spoils they had been fighting over. Rosell interpreted this quiet as admiration and performed even more energetically.

"Amazing, my foot!" Richard kicked him from behind, sending him sprawling. "Got nothing better to do here? All of you, go run laps!"

The barbarians immediately scattered like startled birds.

Annie sat cross-legged on a straw mat at the tent entrance, tidying her bowstring. Several mercenary leaders sat respectfully not far away, each with a cup of reddish-brown tea in front of them.

This was sour berry tea, which had become popular in Pompeii in recent years. It was quite tart at first sip, but a rich, complex aroma could be discerned upon closer taste.

They were not far from the wooden house, and everything happening there could be seen and heard with a glance.

"Although I don't know much about martial arts, that axe warrior seems very powerful," Annie said, putting down her bowstring and mimicking Rosell's axe-wielding movements.

"He is very powerful," the One-Eyed Man said in a deep voice. "That kind of high-level technique, making heavy things seem light, is not something an ordinary warrior can master."

He then lowered his head and took a sip of tea. He didn't actually like this slightly tart drink, but he instinctively wanted to do something to hide his shock. Though he was unwilling to admit it, based on his years of seasoned experience, it was possible that no mercenary in the caravan was a match for this axe warrior.

"But I feel his status in High Mountain Keep seems quite ordinary for a high-ranking warrior," Annie said, spreading her hands. "Is everyone there that powerful?"

"That's impossible!" The One-Eyed Man didn't seem so confident either, adding, as if to convince himself, "It defies common sense, defies common sense."

Annie's delicate brows furrowed together; she didn't seem satisfied with this explanation.

The military was always the most hierarchical place, where strength and status were absolutely proportionate, even among relatively lax mercenaries. If the axe warrior was truly exceptionally strong, how could his status be ordinary? This couldn't simply be explained away as "defying common sense."

The impromptu tea party in the camp fell silent for a moment. Finally, Annie spoke up again.

"What about this Lord Richard?"

"Extremely strong!"

"I saw him with my own eyes lift a lance and three impaled Gnolls with one arm," the One-Eyed Man said, appearing somewhat agitated, blood seeping again from the wound on his neck that had already stopped bleeding. "His pure physical strength is probably stronger than some lesser giants!"

"Hiss~" A collective gasp filled the air, as if sucking all the oxygen out of the space in front of them.

"Unimaginable," another mercenary leader said, shaking his head and sipping his tea. "If a warrior like that were to don three layers of heavy armor and ride his three-blade-tall Iron-eating Armadillo, he would be an unstoppable meat grinder on the battlefield."

"This pioneer lord is very powerful."

Annie gazed blankly at the wooden house not far away, her eyes holding an unreadable emotion.