This revelation alleviated their own concerns.
"Oh, I am fine, though a few of my guards did not make it back," Eric admitted, his expression dimming.
Fear not, young master Eric.
Those mercenaries each have their own fate.
The important thing is that you have returned safely.
Come, let us go home.
The master and mistress were frantic yesterday, the steward continued.
Eric, contemplating his return, addressed Fong, "How Mr.
Fong, I shall return home to assure my family of my safety.
I shall treat you to a drink when you have the time.
" He then lowered his voice, adding, "And do not forget to deliver the letter I wrote.
" Fongghao rolled his eyes.
The Roton fellow had little memory, having just survived yet again tempting fate.
Very well, Fongghao acquiesed.
As Eric departed, Fong Hao led the others toward their lodgings.
From the earlier conversation between Eric and the steward, it was apparent that news of the Dragon Scale mercenary corps had reached the city and been reported to the Lord's Manor.
According to the mercenary regulations set forth in the task hall, it would not be long before an inquiry into the Dragon Scale mercenary corps commenced.
With nearly a thousand mercenaries perishing outside, this matter would surely capture the attention of the Lord's manor.
As I observe, I wonder if the individual responsible for issuing the task will be unmasked.
Returning to our quarters, everyone retreated to their rooms to rest, only emerging again at dinnertime.
At the dining table, Fong Ho encountered Rana, who was still clad in her androgynous attire.
After the meal, Fong Hao contemplated sharing the matter regarding Eric with her.
Rana? Do you recall Eric? Fungho inquired.
Eric? Rolana furrowed her brow in recollection.
I don't remember.
Where is he from? He was at the auction held by the lord of the city last time.
He spoke with you for a brief moment, Fonga reminded her.
Oh, what of him? Rana<unk>'s tone remained indifferent.
During my recent task, I happened upon him.
It seems he harbors some affection for you upon learning that you are modeling for my shop.
He asked me to deliver a letter to you, Fongghao explained.
Relana had shown considerable improvement in her mood of late.
Now seated in the hall, though she spoke little, she no longer bore the icy demeanor of someone whom the world owed a debt.
Fong Hoa recounted the details carefully, wishing to avoid diminishing the loyalty he had painstakingly cultivated due to Eric s involvement.
Relana glanced at Fong Ho with a hint of curiosity.
The letter.
Fongghao produced the correspondence and slid it toward her.
She tore it open casually and began to read.
Once finished, she effortlessly crumpled the letter, reducing it to fragments with a surge of energy.
"The pros is utterly lacking," Rolana remarked, rising to stretch.
I'm off to the tavern.
Please convey to mister Eric my gratitude for the poem he pinned.
But I have no fondness for men.
With that, without waiting for Fonggha's response, she stroed away.
Fong Hao watch a retreating figure momentarily stunned.
What was a miss? This script was not as anticipated.
Was this truly the conclusion? Why was Rana so amunable today? Was there some fortuitous event that had transpired? Moreover, her nightly excursions to the tavern only fueled Fong House suspicions.
Could she be cultivating a bloodline faction within the city? With a tinge of worry, he promptly returned to his room.
Then, a window in the room was flung open, and a skeletal gray sparrow darted out.
A carriage delivered Rolana to the tavern's entrance.
However, once the carriage departed, Rolana did not enter the tavern, but stood at the entrance for a while before proceeding straight along the main road toward the central district.
As dusk encroached, the streets became deserted.
Occasionally, drunken revelers and gang members noticed Rolana masculine attire, but made no comment.
The skeletal gray sparrow followed from a distance, observing as Rana entered the Lord's manor.
By heavens, how reminiscent of a covert operation.
The night deepened over the bloodied mountains and the great horn ridge.
Thud, thud, thud.
Enormous skeletal rhinoceroses, bearing war drums upon their backs, marched forth.
Skeletal soldiers rode upon these beasts, rhythmically striking their bone mallets.
Surrounding the drummers was an endless legion of the undead.
The mountains are shrouded in a foreboating atmosphere.
It has been a week since the relentless assault of the undead army upon the blood soaked mountains.
During this time, nearly a 100 troll tribes, large and small, have succumbed to the onslaught of the undead.
The vast, boundless horde surged forth like a tidal wave, engulfing each troll village in its path.
The once valiant trolls, renowned for their bravery in battle, now exhibited only fragility and despair in the face of the relentless undead forces.
As the conflict progressed, the numbers of the undead army swelled from an initial count of three, 5 million to over four million.
The trolls who fell in battle would join the ranks of the undead, continuing to fight for their dark master.
Hood in the rear of the undead army.
A work scout raced forward on all fours, halting before a skeletal war chariot.
With a booming voice, he reported, "Lord Blackthornne, we have received word that the army has arrived at the horned ridge and the enemy numbers nearly 500 0.
Equipped with defensive machinery, the undead army, tireless and unyielding, advanced at a pace surpassing that of all living beings.
The frequency of this onslaught offered the trolls no respit, enough to wear down the remaining warriors.
A crack appeared in the chariotes window through which the voice of Blackthornne emerged.
What are our defensive measures? The word replied, "We have constructed a temporary wall of logs and rubble along with a few sharpened stakes and iron chains.
How tall is the defensive wall?" Blackthornne inquired.
Approximately 5 m, hastily erected and rather flimsy, came the response.
"Summon the remaining commanders and prepare the others for battle.
" Blackthornne commanded sternly.
Yes, my lord," the scout acknowledged before swiftly retreating to gather the heroes.
At the temporary troll encampment, the chieftain of the Rockhead tribe, Bgat, stood at top a stone, gazing at the dense throng of the undead army in the distance.
The hastily constructed defensive wall barely reached over 5 m.
"Can this wall withstand the undead forces?" he scoffed.
The undead halted their advance, and the ominous drum beats ceased, granting the trolls a momentary respit.
"Hood! H! Hood!" Just then, a troll underling hurried towards By, breathless.
"Chief!" By he exclaimed, "The chieftain's expression brightened upon seeing his subordinate.
Eagerly, he inquired, what news from the orcs, if they do not assist us? The undead will be upon them next.
" The trolls had reached a point of no return, remembering the Cold Wind Mountains, which shared the same range.
By promptly arranged for someone to contact the orcs, the timing of the troll s return could not have been more fortuitous.
The undead are the common enemy of all living beings, and By was confident that the orcs would agree to unite with the trolls against the undead.
After all, if the blood soaked mountains fell, the Cold Wind Mountains would be next.
Currently, the undead had yet to launch their assault.
And if the orcs consented to an alliance, there remained a chance for a strategic retreat to regroup with the orcs of Coldwind Mountain.
The trolls subordinate gasped violently, his expression grim as he spoke.
Chief, we cannot proceed.
We cannot reach the Frost Wind Mountains.
Upon hearing this, the faces of Bat and the others turned serious.
They reprimanded him.
What nonsense are you spouting? You didn't te just return without attempting to go, did you, Chief? The path to the Frost Wind Mountains has been fortified with a stronghold manned entirely by the undead.
The Frost Wind Mountains have likely already fallen under their control, the subordinate replied urgently.
The expressions of everyone began to change.