novelraw Chapter 17 : [A Suspiciously Lucky Day]
Chapter 17 : [A Suspiciously Lucky Day]
Chapter 17: [A Suspiciously Lucky Day]
Knock, knock.
A soft knocking echoed through the room of Barrack No. 3.
“Excuse me, are the two knights ready?” Randall’s voice came from outside the door. “The enlistment procedures are done. Everyone’s waiting at the city gate—we’re about to set off.”
Thaleia gave Samael a hard shove, pointed to her mouth, then to Samael, and finally gestured toward the door.
Samael shook his head, pointing first to the door, then to the spread-out empty wrapping cloth, a few ropes, and iron chains on the floor—the things they had made up an excuse to borrow from Randall, claiming they needed them to pack “adventuring supplies.”
We don’t have any supplies at all! But if we walk out empty-handed, we’ll definitely be suspected!
Thaleia bared her teeth irritably, extending her clawed fingers, drawing a slashing motion across her neck, then pointing at the door.
Samael shook his head frantically, stepping between Thaleia and the door, waving his hands in alarm.
You can’t just kill him because our cover’s blown! We still need his team to earn travel funds and cross the Edric Empire!
“Two… knights?” Outside, Randall had no idea what was happening inside. Oblivious, he added fuel to the fire. The poor fool had no idea he was one step away from being fertilizer in the garden of Londoran’s royal descendants.
The two of them argued in fierce silence, gesturing wildly, spinning around, pushing and pulling at each other in confusion. At last, Samael patted his chest, signaling to leave it to him.
“Almost! Almost ready! We just need to… tie up the supplies a bit.” He called out to Randall through the door.
“Do you need my help?” Randall asked.
“No! Thank you!” Samael answered crisply.
Where the hell are we supposed to find any supplies?
Thaleia pointed at the scattered empty wrapping cloths and iron chains on the floor.
Samael glanced around the empty barracks room.
Mattresses, bunks, tables, chairs, iron chests… Iron chests?
They were the large metal chests provided by the barracks for temporary storage of personal items—half a man tall, and currently empty.
Samael lifted two of them from beside the bed, covered them haphazardly with wrapping cloth, bound them with rope and chain into neat, square “bundles,” and, without discussion, slung one of the half-man-tall boxes onto Thaleia’s back.
Are you kidding me?! Are we seriously going to march around like a pair of turtles carrying empty iron boxes?!
Thaleia pointed to the chest, then to herself, spreading her hands in disbelief.
Samael nodded.
Thaleia raised both arms, crossing her forearms into an X, mouthing, No!
……
Two hours later.
Samael and Thaleia trudged behind the [Scavenger Beasts of Thornfall Outpost] squad across the wasteland.
The iron chains wrapped in an X across their breastplates, securing the enormous, square “bundles” to their backs—like two giant, armored turtles with square shells.
The charred wooden gates of Thornfall Outpost had long since disappeared behind them on the horizon.
“This is insane…” Thaleia muttered. “Carrying an empty iron box this big?”
“Shh! It’s our supplies…” Samael whispered back. “Remember, these are our supplies—we just brought a bit more than usual. Nothing weird about that. Look at Randall.”
Thaleia looked up at the figure leading the group.
It was a walking mountain of a backpack—nearly as tall as a man.
The pack bulged and strained, and if not for the thick hemp ropes wrapped around it, it might have burst open at any moment.
Two legs stuck out from beneath it, wobbling and swaying but still trudging forward with unyielding resolve.
Strapped to the pack were rolled bedrolls, a bundle of beast-repelling torches, chains of potion bottles filled with healing brews, and a familiar black bow of gnarled wood. A quiver hung diagonally, swinging with each step.
For reasons known only to Randall himself, a frying pan and an iron kettle were also tied to the back, clanging loudly with every step he took.
“The dung-scooper’s an anxious lunatic—don’t take him as a standard adventurer! He even brought a kettle, and he’s still worrying if he forgot something!” Thaleia hissed. “Look at the others! Look at the normal ones!”
The other members of the squad each carried a simple backpack, a light bedroll on top, a few refined tools, and a plain pouch at their waists.
“That’s because Randall’s the leader,” Samael muttered in defense of his good buddy. “Maybe he’s in charge of carrying what everyone else forgot.”
“Lunatic,” Thaleia commented objectively.
At the front of the formation, the assassin Elliot walked with his gear and supplies, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to him.
Casually, he edged closer to the massive backpack with legs at the very front.
“Ryska, where did you find these adventurers?” Elliot asked quietly.
“...Huh? What?” The giant backpack—like a slug made of random clutter—lifted its front half.
A hand lifted the map half-covering its view, revealing Randall’s head.
“I’m asking where you found those knights! Did they fall from the sky after you made a wish upon a star? Or did you dig them out of some temple ruins from the Age of the Gods?” Elliot snapped, snatching away the map and compass from Randall’s hands. “Damn it, give me that—I’ll navigate! Just tell me—where the hell did you find those two temple-statue-looking knights?! They’re at least Level Seven! And they volunteered without pay! How’s your luck this good?!”
“The gate guard uncle introduced them,” Randall said honestly.
“The Guild Guards have connections like that?!” Elliot gawked. “I underestimated them… I thought those guys barely ever left Thornfall Outpost! Who’d think they’d know adventurers this powerful…”
“Isn’t that normal? They’re on good terms with nearly every adventurer in the city,” Randall explained. “Anyway, could you help me carry some of this stuff? I might’ve brought a bit too much.”
“I told you already—you’re too cautious! Why can’t you just pack normally? Standard five-piece kit with maybe one or two extras!” Elliot barked. “Why the hell are you carrying a frying pan and a kettle?!”
“If we’re surrounded or cut off by bandits, or forced to fight them in the wasteland, we can use these for survival—start a fire, boil the demonic-contaminated water and purify it for drinking, or hunt some Riftclaw Birds. High-temperature searing removes about seventy percent of the demonic essence from ingredients—Ruby taught me that,” Randall said. “This kettle can boil enough for seven, and the pan can fry meat.”
“…It’s just a mid-tier mission. Two days, tops,” Elliot said. “We’ve all got the standard five-piece set—Weapons / Potions / Camp Gear / Food / Task Tools. Enough weapons and armor, standard potion kits for healing and buffs, bedrolls with beast-repelling smoke and torches, flasks of purified water, tin cups for boiling, rations of hard biscuits, and our class-specific anti-bandit tools—that’s all we need!”
“Tin cups only boil a tiny bit at a time; the efficiency’s too low. If we’re blocked off by bandits, we might not have time to boil enough water…” Randall said hesitantly.
“Do you have anxiety disorder? Or paranoia?” Elliot asked flatly.
They stared at each other in silence for a moment.
“Neither,” Randall said after thinking. “Probably. It’s just my first time on a bandit-clearing mission. I’ve never even seen a bandit before.”
“For heaven’s sake, can you stop overthinking everything?! Do you spend every day worrying the sun’s gonna fall out of the sky?!” Elliot groaned, slapping his forehead.
“I have to ensure the team’s safety! It’s thanks to my caution and overthinking that I’m still alive today! Half the rookies who started with me are already dead!” Randall said righteously. “Speaking of which, don’t you feel like something’s off today?”
“You’re doing it again! What’s off? Did you step out of the house with your left foot first or something?” Elliot retorted.
“No.” Randall looked around warily. “I was just thinking—why have we barely seen any demonic creatures on the road today?”
Elliot froze for a moment, then frowned and looked around as well.
The wasteland stretched endlessly ahead, with only three or four tumbleweeds rolling weakly across the plains.
“Aren’t those?” Elliot squinted, pointing at the tumbleweeds in the distance. “Root-Creatures disguised as tumbleweeds.”
Beneath the tumbleweeds, a pair of root-like claws could be seen, wiggling little legs as they crept furtively away.
“No, no, that’s not what I mean. I mean—why aren’t they attacking us today?” Randall said. “They even look afraid. They’re using tumbleweeds as camouflage and sneaking away in the opposite direction.”
Elliot blinked in surprise.
“Normally, a squad of Root-Creatures that size—three or four of them—should form a small-scale tribal group.” Randall pointed at the distant, sneaky figures. “At that level, they should’ve attacked us already.”
“Yeah… that is strange.” Elliot frowned in thought. “Can’t believe you noticed that so quickly—impressive, Ryska.”
“It’s because I bought twenty-five Beast-Repelling Torches. Three hundred and seventy-five gold coins!” Randall said honestly, his tone pitiful. “I was hoping Root-Creatures would attack, so I could finally use a few torches—then it wouldn’t feel like wasted money, and my pack would be lighter! I’ve been scanning the horizon all day waiting for monsters to show up, but not only are they not attacking, they’re running away! If I don’t use them, I’ll have to carry all this weight for another forty kilometers!”
“You shouldn’t have brought so many Beast-Repelling Torches in the first place! Damn it, this is a mid-level surface mission! Normally, ten minimum, twelve perfect, fifteen extra! Twenty-five means you’ve got a hoarding problem!” Elliot rubbed his temples, exasperated. “But yeah, it’s weird… why are all the demonic creatures avoiding us today?”
He frowned deeper, lost in thought.
“Not just demonic creatures—no Undead Constructs either,” Randall added. “It’s really strange. According to the map, the Beastbone Hills of the Kanna Plains used to be an ancient Edric Empire frontier outpost. There should be plenty of ancient skeletal warriors buried here, waiting to ambush the living—so why haven’t we encountered a single one?”
“Yeah… our luck’s suspiciously good today,” Elliot said thoughtfully, fiddling with a skull-patterned gold coin. “Not a single hostile creature the whole way? How’s that even possible?”
He suddenly glanced back at the last two figures in the group—two knights in heavy armor, each burdened with a massive iron chest. The black-armored knight was bickering softly with the copper-armored one.
Could it be…
No… impossible.
That’d be too insane—and the undead part doesn’t even add up. Elliot shook his head and said nothing.
After all, only demonic creatures would be suppressed by demonic aura.
The undead, on the other hand, attacked all living beings indiscriminately—including demons themselves.
No demonic or undead attacks… maybe it really was just good luck today.
That had to be it.
……
The setting sun dipped low.
The twin moons—one pale, one bronze—rose together into the darkening sky, illuminating a man-made structure on the horizon.
It was an ancient ruin, built of the white stone native to the Kanna Plains, its surface eroded and pitted by demonic dust, looking as though it might crumble at any moment.
However, thick timber beams had been wedged across its structure, crudely propping up the collapsing walls.
A squat two-story tower rose at the center, topped by parapets and arrow slits, surrounding a huge, empty brazier.
Behind the building stood a crude stable with two horses.
Around it were scattered looted wagons and makeshift barricades of sharpened logs, forming a messy bandit camp.
A few torches flickered weakly, barely lighting the scene.
The sun-stained walls were hung with bloody strips of Riftclaw Bird jerky, and the tower’s first floor was crammed with burlap sacks of grain—so many that some were stacked outside the entrance to be used as seats by the bandits.
Several rough-looking men in tattered cloaks, faces half-covered by scarves, patrolled the camp with broadswords, whips, daggers, and bows, swearing and drinking cheap liquor as they tossed dice. Two of them were brawling bare-fisted, while others cheered and placed bets.
“Perfect… lots of grain sacks. Must be the goods stolen from the guild convoy.”
Randall lowered his telescope, hastily dropped his enormous backpack to the ground, and nearly toppled over with it.
Panting, he peeked over the slope of white stone, scanning the ruins ahead.
“According to the map, that’s the remains of an Edric Empire signal tower—a beacon outpost from ancient times. The bandits have taken it over and turned it into their camp.” Randall passed the telescope to the others, dragging his feet as he pointed at the map.
“Finally, we’re here. Let’s go, Samo. We’ll charge in now,” Thaleia said casually.
“No, no, no—night’s just fallen. The bandits just lit their torches and are still on high alert.” Randall instinctively raised a hand. “Besides, we’ve been traveling all day. Everyone’s exhausted. It’s better to rest for a while. Wait until midnight—when their vigilance drops and most of them are asleep—then we strike at our best condition.”
“No need,” Thaleia replied offhandedly.
“Monk Talan, bandits are reckless desperadoes. If we assault their camp while they’re awake, and they realize they can’t win, they might set the whole place ablaze to go down fighting,” Randall explained. “But we need the loot—including the stolen grain. If we can’t recover it, our pay will be greatly reduced.”
“Hmm… fine.” Thaleia hesitated, then huffed coldly and sat down beside Samael.
“Alright. We’ll… rest here for now. Eat and drink a little, but don’t light a fire. Six or seven hours from now, once their torches are out, we’ll sneak into the camp,” Randall said, collapsing onto his oversized pack with a sigh. “Heavens… we didn’t use any of our supplies today! I haven’t even opened my pack! I prepared all this just in case—and yet, no demonic creatures, no undead, not even a single Dragon-Gryphon sighting!”
“Uh… yeah, I wonder why that is,” Thaleia said. “Really strange.”
“Exactly! It’s so weird! Usually we can’t walk two steps in the Wasteland without a fight—it’s brutal out there!” Samael agreed quickly. “Today’s been really lucky.”
“Guess it just means luck’s on our side,” said the potion master Ruby. She stood on tiptoe and patted Randall’s head. “That’s a good thing, silly captain. Don’t complain about good fortune. The extra supplies will come in handy next time anyway… ew, your hair’s soaked with sweat.”
She shook her hand in disgust and wiped it on his shirt.
Elliot struck his flint, lighting the head of a Beast-Repelling Torch.
The torch didn’t burn with flame—the potion-soaked head turned to smoldering black charcoal, releasing a harsh, acrid scent.
The odor dulled the senses of demonic creatures and filled them with nausea and revulsion.
In a pinch, it could even be used as a weapon—the fumes could disrupt attacks or blind a creature outright.
He circled the resting site, tracing a thick, black, stinking line in the dirt with the torch’s smoking head. Then, he glanced back at the two knights resting near their massive square bundles.
Was it really just luck?
……
The twin moons—one pale, one bronze—hung high in the sky.
The team ate their rations quietly, checking their equipment and powers as they waited for dawn.
Potion master Ruby laid out seven or eight leather pouches in a ring on the ground, carefully checking the labels and quantities of her bottles.
Mage Selina’s wavy, seaweed-like hair framed her face gently as she held a short staff inlaid with a rune stone.
She sifted through her material pouch, choosing the proper catalysts and inserting them—by sequence and type—into the runic sockets of the staff’s miniature spell circuit.
As a transmigrant, Samael was fascinated by magic. He couldn’t resist inching closer, metal armor scraping softly as he shifted toward Selina, eager to watch her work. It reminded him of something from his past life… like that game “Noita,” where one could program spells by combining materials in sequence for different effects.
For reasons Samael didn’t understand, Thaleia’s shoulder plate “accidentally” bumped into him, forcing him to turn away from Selina.
Unaware, Samael placed his hands on his hips, glaring at Thaleia in protest—and bumped her back, the metal giving off a soft clink.
The greatsword warrior Grad had switched to a long spear before departure.
He stood on the perimeter as first watch, leaning on his weapon while scanning the distant bandit camp with a telescope.
“Why are you two just sitting there? Want some rations? I brought extra flatbread.” Randall asked sincerely. “Please—if you don’t eat it, I’ll have to carry it all the way back.”
“Thank you, Brother Randall, but I’ll pass. I’m currently fasting—to show devotion to the gods,” Samael replied.
“No. We’ve offered our names and faces to the gods. We can’t remove our helmets to eat before mortals,” Thaleia said casually.
For demons, hunger tolerance rivaled that of camels—seven or eight days without food was nothing.
“Ah, my apologies! I didn’t mean to offend your religious customs,” Randall said quickly, bowing his head.
How strange… stranger by the minute.
Elliot crouched in the shadow of Randall’s enormous pack, quietly checking the edge of his poisoned curved blade, his expression hidden by the night as he watched the two armored figures.
The two knights leaned against their square “supply boxes,” resting—though it was obvious those boxes were just props.
Too many inconsistencies.
He pulled up his dark red scarf to cover his lower face, adjusted his rough leather black outfit and the chainmail beneath, leaving only his sharp eyes exposed—fixed on the two knights beneath the twin moons.
No demonic creatures.
No undead.
Could today’s luck… really be just luck?
…A suspicious kind of luck.