After pushing through the dense underbrush, Blake and his companions soon spotted the figures locked in battle not far ahead. Clad in leather armor and wielding bronze longswords, each of them bore a distinctive yet identical emblem—a single cyan feather pinned to their chests—that shimmered faintly in the moonlight and the glow of their torches.
"The Azure Feather Mercenary Corps."
Blake didn't need to look twice to recognize their affiliation.
The Azure Feather Mercenary Corps was one of the most renowned mercenary bands on the continent. Their influence spanned the entire Nathan Plains, and their banners could even be seen flying in the orc cities far to the southwest. Famed for their unwavering commitment to their contracts, they enjoyed an impeccable reputation across the land. Though their ranks numbered a mere five thousand—pale in comparison to larger mercenary legions—their strength was not to be underestimated. This was not only because the corps boasted the Azure Council, a ruling body composed of three High-ranked Swordsmen and three High-ranked Mages, but also because the sense of honor and relentless courage they displayed in battle left other mercenaries dumbfounded. Mercenaries lived by the creed of "doing the job for the coin" and "trading lives for money"; if a mission grew too perilous, they would wisely cut their losses and retreat to safer ground. But such pragmatism was anathema to the Azure Feather. No matter how dangerous the task, these feather-cloaked mercenaries rarely chose to abandon it or flee. Even their rare tactical withdrawals were merely preparations for an impending counterattack. To many mercenaries, this was sheer foolishness. They even whispered behind the corps' backs that the Azure Feather fighters were not true mercenaries at all—they were more like soldiers.
For mercenaries, this was no compliment. Mercenaries prided themselves on their freedom, far greater than that of any soldier. They were not bound to die for a piece of parchment bearing a general's signature, nor would they sacrifice themselves for a commander's foolish orders. They had the power to choose, the chance to choose, the right to choose—and this was precisely why they looked down on soldiers, whom they dismissed as nothing more than puppets dancing on strings, devoid of any personal worth.
Nothing more than lapdogs.
Though the Azure Feather's ways were considered eccentric among their peers, it did little to hinder their expansion. In truth, even those mercenaries who scorned the corps dared not provoke them openly, cowed by their formidable strength. Their complaints were confined to hushed whispers in tavern corners. Few understood why the Azure Feather clung to such a bizarre combat doctrine, let alone why so many warriors flocked to join their ranks. And almost no one knew that the Azure Feather Mercenary Corps had long been bound by an ancient vow.
Now, what lay before Blake and his party was a small detachment of this very corps.
Ten mercenaries in total. From the formation they had adopted, it was clear that these were seasoned veterans. On the perimeter, four burly shield warriors held aloft massive wooden shields as tall as a man, forming a solid wall of defense to protect their comrades within. Peering through the gaps between the shields, two swordsmen and two archers launched coordinated attacks, driving back the foes that surrounded them. At the very center of the formation huddled a young mage, his brow streaming with sweat, his body trembling uncontrollably. The gray hue of his robes marked him as a mere mage apprentice. He was straining every muscle to maintain a *Light* spell, casting a dim glow over his companions to pierce the forest's darkness. He knew full well that the bright light might attract the attention of more powerful creatures, but it was far better than being picked off one by one in the pitch-black night. Standing beside the apprentice was a tall, wiry old man clad in red leather armor—clearly the leader of the mercenary squad. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the treeline vigilantly as he barked out crisp orders.
A mage apprentice, eight Low-ranked Peak Swordsmen and Archers, plus a Mid-ranked Standard Swordsman leading them—this squad was by no means extraordinary, but it was a relatively formidable fighting force. Unfortunately, the enemies they faced were far from ordinary.
Six massive wolves circled the formation, snarling and lunging in repeated probing attacks. If these had been ordinary wolves, the mercenaries would have had no trouble dispatching them; they were seasoned adventurers, after all, more than capable of handling a handful of wild beasts. But the wolves before them were grotesquely oversized, their eyes glowing with an eerie blue light, their movements impossibly swift—undeniable proof that they were **Aberrations**.
These mana-mutated beasts were clearly not easy to deal with. Despite the Azure Feather's considerable skill, their attacks seemed to bounce off the wolves' hides harmlessly, even as they maintained their composure and fought back valiantly. Blake watched as two arrows from the archers struck a wolf mid-leap, sending it yelping and tumbling to the ground. But in the blink of an eye, the beast shook off the impact and scrambled back to its feet. Its fur had hardened into a steel-like hide, rendering the arrows—nowhere near powerful enough to pierce metal—completely useless. At that moment, the wolves suddenly accelerated their assault. While two of their packmates distracted the mercenaries, a third wolf that had been circling the perimeter darted forward like a bolt of lightning, slamming headfirst into one of the wooden shields. The shield warrior was caught completely off guard by the sudden charge; the immense impact sent him grunting in pain, his body staggering backward. But the burly fighter quickly regained his footing, his jaw clamped tight as he forced the shield back into place, preventing the defensive line from collapsing on the spot. However, his arm, now bent at an unnatural angle, told a grim tale—the formation was already on the verge of breaking. Even with the protection of his thick wooden shield, he would never be able to withstand another such attack. The wolves sensed this vulnerability instantly. Abandoning their hit-and-run tactics, they concentrated their full force on the weakened point in the mercenaries' defense. The archers' frantic volleys and the swordsmen's desperate slashes could no longer hold them back.
After their mutation, these beasts had evolved far more than just their physical forms.
"My lord?"
Judy turned to Blake, the red glow inside her helmet flaring brighter—a question, and a request for confirmation.
"Take them out," Blake replied, waving a hand casually, his intent crystal clear. "Leave the mercenaries alive. Kill the wolves. Think of it as an appetizer—first come, first served."
"Understood."
No sooner had the words left Judy's mouth than the spectral warriors sprang into action. Raising their longswords, they burst out of the bushes at blinding speed. After all, there were only six wolves, and ten spectral warriors vying for them; with too few prey to go around, it would have to be a race to claim the kill.
At the sight of the spectral warriors' sudden appearance, the mercenaries froze in unison. Their eyes darted warily from the black-armored figures emerging from the trees—and instead of relief at being rescued, their faces were etched with deep suspicion. It was hardly surprising. No matter how one looked at it, the spectral warriors' imposing, otherworldly armor was far from approachable. Who knew what kind of creatures these eerie figures really were?
Soldiers? Bandits? Mercenaries?
The wolves reacted just as quickly to the new arrivals. They immediately abandoned their siege of the mercenary formation, retreating a few paces to circle the spectral warriors warily. Unlike humans, the wolves possessed a keen instinct that allowed them to sense the soul energy emanating from the spectral warriors—the cold, lifeless aura of the undead that filled them with primal unease. Thus, they promptly disregarded the now-irrelevant mercenaries, focusing all their attention on these unexpected intruders. Though the wolves knew nothing of tactics, years of hunting had taught them that these new foes were scattered and unorganized, far less cumbersome than the shield-walled "barrels" they had been attacking moments earlier. And when it came to "isolated" prey, wolves were never ones to hesitate.
With a chorus of ferocious howls, the wolves lunged at the black-armored warriors. And at that exact moment, the specters moved.
The mercenaries stood rooted to the spot, their defensive stances still half-raised. They watched as the wolves transformed into streaks of black fur, hurtling toward the spectral warriors—and then their vision blurred, and a chorus of shrill, agonized whimpers shattered the forest's silence. When their eyes finally refocused on the scene before them, they were left staring in stunned disbelief.
The ferocious wolves that had been roaring and snapping at them moments ago now lay impaled on the spectral warriors' massive two-handed swords. They let out helpless whines as their once-bulky bodies shriveled up like deflated balloons before their eyes. Then, the eerie black-armored figures swung their greatswords, flinging the wolves' limp bodies aside like rags to land in a crumpled heap on the ground.
The mercenaries could only gape in astonishment. The old man in the red leather armor, in particular, stared with eyes wide with disbelief, for he had seen it clearly—the greatswords in the spectral warriors' hands were wreathed in powers of every element: crackling red flames, glistening white frost, dancing bolts of lightning, and swirling banks of misty green fog. Though the manifestations differed, they all signified the same, earth-shattering truth.
**Elemental Affinity!!**
The old man felt his head spin. Elemental Affinity was the ultimate pursuit of every swordsman. Only after awakening their elemental affinity could they begin to tap into their true soul power, eventually ascending to the ranks of High-ranked Swordsmen and even Knights. Awakening elemental affinity was the hallmark of a Mid-ranked Peak Swordsman, and the essential prerequisite for breaking through to the High-ranked tier. A Mid-ranked Swordsman who could wield elemental power was never far from making that critical breakthrough.
Yet even so, elemental affinity came with strict limitations—especially for humans. In truth, most Mid-ranked Peak Swordsmen, even after awakening their affinity, only manifested abilities related to physical enhancement: increased speed, reinforced defenses, heightened strength, accelerated healing, and the like. Elemental affinities tied to the forces of nature were an extreme rarity among swordsmen. For one thing, awakening such affinities required an innate, profound attunement to mana and the natural world—a gift that usually marked one as destined to become a mage, not a warrior. Thus, swordsmen who could wield elemental power were few and far between.
But now, standing before him, were ten such swordsmen. Ten.
The old mercenary knew full well that compared to physical enhancement affinities, elemental affinities were vastly more powerful and infinitely more versatile. A swordsman who commanded the elements did not fight alone—they wielded the very forces of nature as their weapons, a power far beyond the capacity of ordinary humans to resist.
Of course, the old mercenary could never have known the truth. In the era when Judy and the others had been alive, becoming a mage had been far more stringent a path than it was now. Though all of them had possessed the raw talent to become mages, none of them had had the potential to rise to the rank of Archmage. Thus, in their time, even if they had chosen to study magic, it would have done little to aid them on the battlefield. So these young women had chosen to become swordsmen instead, finding another way to fulfill their ideals and fight for their cause.
The danger was over.
The spectral warriors twirled their longswords in their hands, dispelling their elemental auras before sheathing the blades back at their waists. Those who had managed to kill the wolves and absorb their soul energy preened with obvious pride, while the unfortunate ones who had been too slow to land a blow looked distinctly dejected and disgruntled. They clustered together nearby, muttering complaints to each other—clearly displeased by the paltry number of enemies to go around.
Fortunately, however, there were still ten mercenaries standing nearby. Their numbers matched the spectral warriors' perfectly.
"No fair! You lot already had your fill with the wolves! If we're fighting again, it's our turn this time!" one spectral warrior huffed.
"Oh? Still acting like petulant little girls, I see," another retorted. "The lord said it plainly enough—first come, first served. Are you lot going back on your word now? It's all about strength, you know. Strength."
"Hmph!"
The mercenaries couldn't hear the silent soul-link communication passing between the spectral warriors, but they all felt an icy chill creep down their spines—as if something truly dreadful were about to happen.
"We owe you our thanks for coming to our aid," the old mercenary said, stepping forward from the group and bowing respectfully to the spectral warriors. The black-armored figures made no move to form a cohesive formation, instead lingering in small clusters nearby—giving no sign of hostility toward the mercenaries. But the old man knew better than to be fooled by appearances. With their overwhelming strength, even fighting individually, these warriors would be more than a match for his ragtag band of ordinary mercenaries. Even he, a Mid-ranked Standard Swordsman, doubted he could escape the swing of their massive greatswords, let alone his companions, who were only Low-ranked Peak fighters. Thus, the old mercenary wasted no time in offering his gratitude. After all, it was said that you never strike a man who offers you a smile; now that they had thanked their rescuers, surely the warriors would not attack them unprovoked. Still, he couldn't shake the question from his mind: who exactly were these people? Ten Mid-ranked Peak Swordsmen with elemental affinity—with the Azure Feather's extensive intelligence network in the region, how had they heard nothing about such a formidable force? Where on earth had these warriors come from?
"We are members of the Azure Feather Mercenary Corps," the old man began, introducing his group. "Might we ask who you are?"
Just as the old mercenary was about to finish speaking, a young man's voice cut through the air.
"Azure Feather? What brings a mercenary corps all the way to the Duskwood Forest?"
As the words rang out, the mercenaries turned to see a young man emerging from the trees. Unlike the rugged adventurers clad in leather armor, he wore the refined attire of a nobleman. A jet-black longsword was slung diagonally across his back, and his raven-black hair and dark eyes held a hint of an unreadable glint. The corners of his lips curled upward into a graceful, amused smile.
Who was this man?
The old mercenary froze for a moment. The stranger's clothes marked him as a noble—but what was a noble doing in the middle of this desolate wilderness? Though confusion flickered in his mind, the old man quickly answered Blake's question.
"We are the Fifth Squad of the Azure Feather Mercenary Corps," he said. "We received a commission from Azure Village, reporting that some unusually aggressive beasts have been sighted in the Duskwood Forest. They hired us to investigate the source of the infestation and eliminate the threat. That is why we are here. Might we ask who you are, sir?"
"My name is Blake. Blake Felix."
Under the mercenaries' fixed gazes, Blake smiled faintly.
"And I am the Lord of the Duskwood Forest."
Lord?
The mercenaries all drew in a sharp breath. By the grace of the Divine—they had never expected to encounter a lord in this godforsaken place! In the mercenaries' minds, nobles were creatures who dwelt in their lofty castles, sending servants to handle their dirty work. Why would a lord leave the comfort of his keep to wander in the middle of a forest? But before that thought could fully form, another, more pressing concern reared its head: if he truly was the Lord of Duskwood, then they were in deep trouble. They had accepted a commission to enter the forest without the lord's permission—this was nothing short of trespassing. Would this noble seek to punish them for it?
At the mere thought, the mercenaries shifted uneasily, taking a collective step backward. They were desperate to flee, but the black-armored warriors standing beside Blake kept them rooted to the spot, any foolish thoughts of escape quickly evaporating.
"Lord Felix," the old mercenary said, gritting his teeth and forcing the words out. "Might we ask what brings you to this part of the forest?"
"As the lord of this land, it is my duty to patrol my territory," Blake replied, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, I heard rumors that this area has been growing unusually restless lately. I thought it best to come and see for myself."
"I see," the old mercenary nodded slowly. While it seemed odd for a lord to lead a patrol personally, it was not entirely unheard of. Still… the old man's eyes drifted involuntarily to the black-armored warriors flanking Blake. To command such a retinue of Mid-ranked Peak Swordsmen, this young noble must hail from an extremely powerful family. So why had he never heard of the Felix name before? In truth, before venturing into the Duskwood Forest, the old mercenary had made a point of gathering intelligence on the region's current ruler. All he had learned was that a young noble had recently been granted the fief and named its lord. At the time, the old man had paid little mind to the news; after all, the noble was just a youngster, and his squad was heading deep into the forest—surely their paths would never cross.
But plans, as always, were foiled by reality.
The old mercenary lowered his gaze, his mind made up. He wanted nothing more than to avoid getting entangled with a noble.
"We are deeply grateful for your assistance, Lord Felix," the old mercenary said, bowing his head respectfully. "Now, if you will excuse us, we really must take our leave. We apologize for the intrusion, but—"
"Wait a moment," Blake interrupted, holding up a hand to halt the old man. "You said you were here to investigate the abnormal activity in the Duskwood Forest?"
"That is correct, my lord," the old mercenary replied, eyeing Blake suspiciously. What was this young noble playing at? Did he intend to press charges against them? He didn't seem like it—but then again, the minds of nobles were always unfathomable to ordinary folk. Thus, as he faced Blake, the old mercenary tensed his muscles, his guard raised high, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Then how about this?" Blake said, breaking into his signature smile—elegant, warm, and utterly charming.
"Let us join forces to investigate the source of the Duskwood's anomalies. As you have seen, my subordinates possess formidable combat prowess—but they are not well-suited to tasks like tracking or searching. You, on the other hand, are seasoned mercenaries. I imagine scouting and reconnaissance are second nature to you, is that not so? Since you are here on a commission anyway, why not combine our efforts? Besides… to be perfectly frank, I doubt your squad has the strength to complete this mission on your own."
Though Blake's words were phrased delicately, the mercenaries understood his meaning loud and clear. They had barely survived an encounter with six mutated wolves; if they ventured any deeper into the forest, who knew what horrors awaited them? Getting into trouble would be the least of their worries—if they failed in their mission, it would bring irreparable shame to the Azure Feather Mercenary Corps.
But partnering with a noble?
The old mercenary hesitated, his eyes sweeping up and down Blake's figure once more. The general perception of nobles among common folk was overwhelmingly negative—and these mercenaries were no exception. Though the young man spoke sweetly enough, only the gods knew what ulterior motives lay behind his smile.
But… retreating without completing the mission was not the way of the Azure Feather.
The old mercenary made up his mind. He stretched out his hand.
"I agree," he said firmly.