"What was that?"
Sylutia stopped in her tracks, removed her hood, and listened closely to the faint sound drifting from the distant mountains.
Had someone encountered a powerful monster? She stood there for a long while, but no further sounds came from the mountains in the distance. She could only shake her head and continue onward.
Meanwhile, Mick had finally caught up to Jero's group, but what lay before him was an incomparably gruesome scene.
Someone had died.
He looked at the scattered belongings on the ground, the clothes soaked in blood and bits of flesh, and the broken sword blades. A chill crept into his heart.
Where was Brother Jero? His gaze swept about anxiously, but fortunately, he found no armor or weapons resembling Jero's.
At one corner of the scene, he picked up a weapon whose blade had curled and bent. Silently, he made an estimate.
Such a powerful enemy had actually twisted an iron sword until it snapped and bent. Nearby lay half a shattered suit of armor, offering a glimpse of the tragedy that had unfolded. The person who had been inside it had probably had half their body smashed to pulp.
Brother Jero was a powerful warrior. He wouldn't die here so easily. Mick could only encourage himself that way. He had now completely lost any desire to take part in the assessment; all he wanted was to find his former companions as quickly as possible and help them escape danger.
He silently searched for tracks, then set off once again along the faint trail.
About half a day later, he finally found markings and traces in a secluded mountain hollow.
He rushed inside, but before he could call out his companion's name, he was attacked.
A black greatsword came down along the mountain