"Anbi can smell what's inside—lots of people, and a terrible stink. They probably don't like bathing, and they rarely leave the cave, or the smell wouldn't be so strong."
Peering through the gaps in the leaves to watch the cave, the little girl could still see nothing but darkness. She anxiously rubbed her paws together. "But they can't stay inside forever. What if—Mr. Arthur, are you still not ready?"
"We need to wait a little longer."
To make concealment easier, Arthur had dug a pit in a suitable spot, dyed the outer shell of [Leomon's Cabin] emerald green, then covered it with broad leaves to hide their position as thoroughly as possible.
Watching the blazing sun sink inch by inch into the clouds, he too felt anxious, afraid that further complications might arise. Still, he had no choice but to wait for Twilight, the safest option.
Wendy polished her longsword, running a thin cloth over the uneven grooves of its engraved runes.
Apart from Arthur, the three of them were in good shape, showing no sign of having stayed up all night. With a priest helping them fall asleep, after all, four hours was enough to restore their energy. Only Punk had been knocked unconscious and brought along. He had yet to wake, a precaution in case he possessed some item that could circumvent [Domain of Honesty].
Hubble Hall estimated the time. There should still be an hour before sunset.
He felt uneasy.
Past experience told him that every decision had to be made decisively. Hesitation meant defeat—the longer they dragged things out,
the less controllable the variables became.
The best choice, naturally, would be to lob a few Fireballs inside while the mercenaries were off guard, then worry about the rest.
But against a fully organized mercenary company of