Chapter 135: We Need Unity

  "They escaped?" Axsis's eyes and mouth opened so wide they nearly consumed his entire face.

  "None of us expected that bastard kid to have a Water Walking scroll, taking that bitch across the river," Hilton replied furiously. No one else looked pleased either.

  "A Water Walking scroll?" Axsis and the old man exchanged glances.

  Creating magical scrolls was no simple matter. Storing a spell that normally required slow chanting and precise magical manipulation, only to release it instantly—this seemingly convenient trick of instantaneous magic concealed unimaginable difficulty and cost. The mage creating the scroll had to master the spell perfectly while possessing skill beyond the spell itself; the slightest error during creation could cost them their life.

  Typically, only a high-level mage could create mid-tier scrolls, while great mages were needed for high-tier ones. Creating top-tier scrolls was practically a significant magical undertaking, with the finished products worth a fortune. Scroll creation consumed magical materials, and the higher the spell level, the more expensive the materials—costs rising almost geometrically.

  While Water Walking wasn't a top-tier water spell, it was hardly common magic that ordinary mages could use. On the entire continent, no more than twenty great mages could create such scrolls, and none would willingly spend precious magical materials to make one. The cost-effectiveness ratio was nearly the lowest of all scrolls. Unless faced with extraordinary emergencies, no one would spend hundreds of gold coins just to walk on water for a few steps.

  "Could it be... that kid planned this all along? So he prepared a Water Walking scroll?" Axsis scratched his nearly bald head, struggling to deduce the truth, but no matter how hard he scratched, he couldn't make sense of it. "But... how could he have known we'd rest here? If he decided after we rested... where would he get such a scroll... Did someone deliver it specially? Impossible, this... what's going on?"

  "I swear you woman have problems. You could have caught them, why didn't you rush forward to delay them?" Hilton stared at Jessica, the wound on his face twitching. "Even if you were no match, taking a couple of slashes wouldn't kill you, right? Risking two cuts to hold them back would have given us time to catch up."

  "You come take two slashes from me and see if you die or not," the masked woman toyed with the two short swords in her hands, giving Hilton a cold glance while deliberately scanning toward the man and the Druid. "It's not just me who couldn't run fast."

  Hilton stared at the two blue-glowing short swords in the woman's hands, startled, then immediately turned to the Druid. "Right! Anderson, since you caught up so quickly, why didn't you charge forward afterward?"

  "While transformed, my explosive power is good, but my own stamina is poor," the Druid revealed an honest, bitter smile. From his standard middle-aged paunch, this point was indeed undeniable.

  "Fuck, fine, fine. One afraid of getting cut, one without stamina, just let those two escape," Hilton turned away angrily. "That kid knows we're going to Tulalion for big things. If he tells that bitch, and she leads the Kingdom's Knight Order after us, what do we do?"

  The Druid said slowly, "I doubt that kid will talk. Even if he does, the Temple Knight might not seek help. Since she raided our gathering alone, it shows she's arrogant and disdains working with others. Relations between Celeste and Queen Katherine have always been poor, and the female knight said it herself—she wants to fight with knight's honor to cleanse her shame. So I think she might not seek help. At least she wouldn't ask the Kingdom's Knight Order for assistance."

  "Maybe? Should? Fuck. We're not out sightseeing, we're doing big things, making big deals," Hilton nearly jumped up. Thinking of the two elven maidens and piles of treasures he'd demanded from Sylka, his anger surged uncontrollably. "That's tens of thousands in gold! We can't afford any mistakes. Yet you say maybe, should. Maybe this deal is ruined, my elves and treasures..."

  "Shut up!" A volcanic roar exploded from Sylka's throat. He had been sitting on the ground, grim-faced, seemingly provoked by Hilton's words. He suddenly stood up. The muscles on his face twisted and writhed, the muscles across his body heaved uncontrollably, and his bloodshot eyes swept across everyone's face.

  When swept by those eyes that seemed to ooze blood, Jessica and Hilton instinctively jumped back, weapons drawn. The old man and Axsis scrambled away, and the Druid also retreated. They could instinctively feel the explosive anger and killing intent emanating from Sylka. This killing intent was so brutal, wild, and bloody. Others' or beasts' killing intent had targets and purposes, but this... this was killing without discrimination, killing for killing's sake, killing anything and everything. More murderous than any killing intent, as if he might suddenly grab someone nearby and bite them to pieces.

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  Only the man didn't move. He remained seated, his sharp eyes fixed on Sylka as he said softly, "You'd better calm down."

  Sylka's gaze immediately snapped to the man's face, the murderous light intensifying. Blood was already trickling from the corner of his mouth, dripping down—whether from biting his teeth too tightly or biting his tongue or lip. Suddenly, he gripped his left pinky with his right hand. A sickening "crack" echoed.

  The muscles on his face twitched. He released his hand. The pinky was now twisted and broken. In the moonlight, a shard of white bone could be seen protruding through the skin. Then he gripped his ring finger. Another skin-crawling crack echoed. This finger too was broken.

  Axsis had no idea what was happening. He wanted to ask or step forward to stop him but lacked the courage.

  The others, however, could see he was enduring.

  After breaking his index finger as well, Sylka shuddered, gasping for breath like a man groaning after release. The expression on his face finally calmed. It was as if the surging killing intent in his body had finally found an outlet, or as if he had crossed a difficult mental threshold.

  "Mr. Sanderfirth," Sylka sat down. His expression was now as calm as a monk after ritual purification. Even his voice carried a rational tone never heard before. The four fingers of his left hand were twisted like pretzels. Bone still protruded, blood still oozed, but Sylka paid no mind, as if it belonged to someone else.

  But what astonished everyone wasn't just this, but the name he spoke. Only when they saw him looking at the man did they realize he was addressing him.

  "Mr. Sanderfirth. I know this is a fake name, just like when you said your name was Sandro earlier. Someone like you would never have such an obscure name. But I care not one bit who you truly are." Sylka straightened his broken fingers, resetting them one by one, aligning the fractured bones with sickening crunches. But Sylka didn't even glance at them. His eyes remained fixed on the man he called Sanderfirth, calm and grave, like one regarding a respected elder. "Axsis's old friend Fodolen introduced you. He called you by this name back then. I didn't press for details. Fodolen and I have dealt for years. He's a notorious old fox from Ainfast, and I trust him. The key is, we've gathered here to make fortunes together. So what your name is, who you are, what you've done in the past—I don't care about any of it. I care about only one thing: whether you can achieve our common goals with me and bring benefits to everyone."

  The man called Sanderfirth said nothing. He just nodded silently.

  "Everyone, come sit. Please listen to me." Sylka waved to everyone, like a gracious host. "What I'm saying is, stop blaming and suspecting each other. It serves no purpose. Everyone must understand: we've gathered for the same purpose, acting toward the same goal. What happened has happened. We don't need to dwell on it. What remains is to focus all our energy on facing the situation ahead. Always remember: we have common interests."

  "What we need most now is unity." Sylka clenched his fist, his face and voice taking on a gentle fighting spirit—a textbook-perfect leader's expression.

  "Right," Hilton seemed deeply moved, nodding forcefully. The others nodded slightly too.

  Only Axsis tilted his head like a wooden carving, staring blankly at Sylka, mouth agape, his entire face askew. He suspected his leader had gone mad from excessive stimulation.

  At noon the next day, the group finally reached another stronghold of the Shamushi Thieves' Guild.

  Unlike the luxurious mansion near the capital, this was just an abandoned estate in a remote area. Quite a few thieves had already arrived here. The anticipated large-scale manhunt seemed not to have materialized; even ordinary patrols were absent. Without waiting for the other thieves, Sylka immediately convened a meeting.

  Sylka first informed everyone of his plan. Given the appearance of a traitor, action must be swift; they must reach Tulalion Forest at maximum speed.

  The plan was detailed, drawing frequent nods from Hilton, the old man, the Druid, and others. It was hard to imagine someone like Sylka possessing such strategic thinking, but the other thieves seemed unsurprised by this. What they found strange was something else: their leader Sylka seemed to have grown milder. The constant, surging killing intent and animalistic brutality that once defined him seemed gone, yet somehow, they sensed something even more terrifying.

  Though thieves, the Shamushi Thieves' Guild operated with efficiency rivaling any army. After announcing the plan details, Sylka immediately dispatched his thieves to make preparations, arranging rooms for Hilton and the others to rest and recuperate. However, the man named Sanderfirth said he didn't wish to rest yet, wanting to go out alone to make preparations.

  Once all outsiders had left, only the original Shamushi Thieves' Guild members remained.

  Sylka suddenly said to Axsis, "I recall that white magic-using kid who escaped was the one you recruited."

  "Yes," Axsis answered, trembling. For some reason, though their leader Sylka seemed less ferocious now, Axsis felt even more afraid of him. "But I had no idea that kid would do this! I just heard from two of my men that there was a skilled fighter looking for work, so I went to talk to him. Seeing his skills were decent, I brought him in. Boss, you can ask those two..."

  Sylka didn't look at anyone else. He just asked calmly, "Then you must have thoroughly investigated that kid's background?"

  "Investigated, investigated," Axsis nodded like a chicken pecking rice. "The guys in charge of intelligence investigated secretly. The information is absolutely reliable. The kid's grandfather was killed by a werewolf, his sister was scared insane, so he urgently needs money."

  "Good." Sylka nodded. His expression remained unchanged, his voice still calm. With the casual tone of someone discussing afternoon tea, he said to two thieves, "Go to that kid's hometown as fast as possible and capture his sister. First, cut off her hands and feet, but remember, absolutely do not kill her. Then bring her to me. You must remember," his voice paused, still casual and relaxed, but half the people present felt goosebumps rise, "Before she's brought before me, she must have been fucked in every possible way by at least fifty men, and she must still be alive. At least well enough for me to fuck her a few more times in front of that kid."

  "Yes." The two underlings practically fled.

  Sylka took a deep breath and said calmly to a nearby thief, "Immediately find five or six women for me."

  The thief froze, then said with difficulty, "Boss... out here in the wilderness... right away... where can we find women?"

  Sylka's face showed no anger, no expression at all. He just slapped the underling across the face and said calmly, "If immediately isn't possible, then as soon as possible."

  "Yes, yes." The surrounding underlings scattered immediately, leaving only Axsis and the one who'd been slapped.

  This slapped underling didn't want to leave but couldn't move. Half his head had been completely pulverized into an unrecognizable mess. It twisted from his neck—left to back, then to the right. He swayed a few times. His remaining half of a head seemed to still want to walk away, then collapsed with a thud.

  Sylka turned and walked toward the inner rooms, saying calmly to Axsis, "Come. I think it's time to notify our employer."