novelraw Chapter 22 : “The Twin Moons at the Edge of Night”
Chapter 22 : “The Twin Moons at the Edge of Night”
Chapter 22: “The Twin Moons at the Edge of Night”
The Demonic Raven clutched a clump of brown-yellow mold in its beak, fluttering its wings as it landed on a large wagon at the front of the bandit camp.
Samael and Thaleia nervously turned their heads toward the hut, then looked at the raven perched on the wagon’s frame.
They waved frantically yet silently, pointing toward the dead tree far beyond the camp, trying to remain as quiet as possible.
The raven, its eyes blood-red, tilted its head, watching the two as they gestured at each other like mimes.
“Idiots.” It placed the brown-yellow mold on the wagon frame and cackled, “They’re busy. No one’s paying attention outside.”
“Shh! Shh!” Samael gestured anxiously. “Keep your voice down, old man! They’ll hear you!”
“Your raven scout can leave now, Varak.” Thaleia snatched the fungal clump from the frame. “We’ll handle the rest… You shouldn’t linger here any longer—it increases the risk of exposing us!”
“I used to wonder why you were pretending to be low-ranked adventurers.” The crested Demonic Raven strutted arrogantly along the wagon’s beam. “Now I see. Adventurers’ chatter contains interesting bits of information—like fallen leaves in the wind, worms in the soil, footprints in ruins, or scars on corpses. They’re fragments of something grander—just like the Rootrot Spheres in the great dungeons.”
“Pick up a fallen leaf, and you’ll know autumn’s on the way. Perhaps I should listen more to adventurers’ conversations instead of killing them outright.” It hopped to the top of the wagon. “After all, the news of autumn’s arrival is far more important than the leaves themselves.”
“What did you find out?” Thaleia asked quietly.
“More than twenty years ago, when the Adventurers’ Guild was newly founded, a human assassin was hired to kill me. He failed and was captured.” The raven’s blood-red eyes gazed silently at the sky. “I valued his talent and spared his life. Instead, I allowed him to serve me—and even granted him the chance for demonic transformation.”
“I used a Hanged Demon—a thin, spider-shaped monster found in the dungeon—as the sacrificial core. I transformed him into a stealth demon warrior who could vanish into shadows, strike from ceilings, and strangle his prey. His body grew chitin armor, his strikes infused with venom, blades, and garrotes.”
“Yet, only half a year later, he betrayed me and escaped from my dungeon. Disguised and nameless, he disappeared—after stealing a bag of Crown Skull Coins from my treasury as travel funds.” The raven gave a cold snort. “He ran far enough… Anyway, back to business. Do you see those grain sacks in the hut?”
“I see them. What about it?” Samael peeked into the house, making sure Randall’s team hadn’t noticed.
“If I’m right, Thornfall Outpost, the Guild’s stronghold, has recently been buying up grain and Riftclaw Bird meat at high prices.” The raven looked at Samael and Thaleia. “Because three grain convoys from the Edric border were ambushed. The Empire won’t be able to send more for a while, so Thornfall is being squeezed for every stored grain it has.”
“High prices, yes. So what?” Thaleia asked.
“These grains,” the raven gestured with its wingtip toward the bandit camp’s sacks, “no longer have their wild dog guards. If you bring these back as spoils, the Guild will buy them back at high prices—and send them underground.”
“The mold I brought is enough to contaminate more than ten sacks. You’ll need to taint all the grain here, make sure the spores take root. You’re traveling with that adventurer squad, so follow them to Thornfall’s granary—make sure every wagon in that convoy gets contaminated.”
“If something goes wrong, both you and the adventurers won’t escape the fallout.”
“That’s too much.” Thaleia frowned. “We helped you deal with the convoys from Edric’s border only to make up for the mistake of killing your underlings by accident. Now you want us to handle Thornfall’s granary too? We’re not your subordinates…”
The raven let out a low, throaty laugh.
Flutter—flutter.
Two dark shadows descended from the sky.
Seven or eight ravens carried two heavy coin pouches between them.
“Ancient God-era Coins. From the Ruins of the Divine Era, the only currency the proud, ancient demons ever accepted.” Varak’s crested raven hopped onto the pouches and kicked them with its talons, producing a crisp metallic jingle. “I always reward merit and punish failure. This is your reward for a job well done.”
“Well… if it’s just some follow-up work,” Thaleia hesitated, reaching for a pouch, “then… it’s not impossible.”
“That’s the spirit. Don’t mess it up this time.” The ravens took off, wings beating the night air.
“These bags… hurry, hide them!” Thaleia instinctively grabbed the heavy pouch and stuffed one into Samael’s arms.
“Where am I supposed to hide this!?” Samael caught it reflexively. “If I hang it from my belt, Randall and the others will see it right away!”
The pouches were as big as pomelos, made from scaled black-green leather bound with metal wire, stamped with a gilded serpent crest.
“Stuff it inside your armor!” Thaleia grabbed Samael, forcing the pomelo-sized pouch into the seam between his chestplate and shoulder guard.
Clang! Clang!
The pouch slid down through his armor, tumbling into his greaves, jingling with every step he took.
“No way!” Samael struggled to dig it back out through the armor’s joints.
The two glanced around, then hurried to the luggage area, opened one of the two empty iron chests they’d used as props during departure, and tossed the pouches inside.
“Didn’t think these useless boxes would come in handy…” Thaleia threw the pouches in, locked and wrapped the chest tightly with chains, then exhaled in relief.
“As for the bandits’ grain here… should we seed the mold now?” Samael whispered.
“Do it.” Thaleia took the fungal clump from her pouch, broke it in half, crushed it between her fingers, and sprinkled the powder into three or four open grain sacks before tying them shut again.
——
By dusk, the sunset blanketed the land. Night was falling.
Everyone gathered at the entrance of the Ancient Imperial Watchtower Ruins, sorting and inspecting the loot.
“Mostly grain—wheat and dried Riftclaw Bird meat.” Randall tallied with pen and paper. “Lots of low-grade weapons and gear, some potions, a few beast-repelling torches, and other junk…”
“In the bandit chief swordsman’s room, we found an old safe with a small box of gold coins—an extra bonus.”
“Judging by their hunting trophies, they often crossed the border to trade with the black market, getting supplies and making a bit of cash.”
“Three wagons, two horses…”
“And… a magic sword.”
When the tally was done, Randall sighed in relief.
During the afternoon, Grad and Randall had loaded most of the loot into two wagons, preparing to depart for the city early the next morning.
Elliot’s condition had improved—he could now walk slowly with the wall’s support. Though Ruby and Selina lacked much experience treating wounds from Bloodsteel Greatswords, simple healing spells and potions, plus rest, had worked.
The two horses were docile, standing in the stable behind the ruin, snorting softly and chewing dry hay.
Thaleia seemed to like horses. She leaned on the stable railing, watching them chew.
“Like animals?” Samael leaned against a post nearby, watching Randall’s squad work in the distance.
“Warhorses.” Thaleia replied softly. “My father commanded a demonic cavalry, riding giant beasts similar to broad-hoofed white horses across the snowfields. Though they were monsters, they were herbivorous—chewing snow-lichen and cold ferns in the dungeon stables.”
She gazed at the horses, lost in thought.
“When we build our dungeon one day, we should have something like that too,” Samael said quietly.
Thaleia smiled faintly.
“These two are Imperial Warhorses,” she murmured, “their horseshoes bear the Edric Empire’s shield crest—you can see the prints in the stable.”
“What does that mean? Bandits raiding imperial troops?” Samael asked.
“Unlikely.” Thaleia shook her head. “But it worries me. The Edric Empire is the strongest of the four human kingdoms—rich plains, vast mines. Grain and metal fuel their military. Even after demobilization and the rise of adventurers, their army remains immense.”
“But maintaining such a force costs dearly. The ancient empire sustained itself through war and conquest. The current Edric Empire hasn’t waged war in thirty years. It’s been surviving on revenue shares from cooperation with the Guild.”
“For their warhorses to appear here… perhaps the Empire is preparing for something.” She chuckled bitterly. “Only dungeon lords and monarchs worry about that sort of thing. For exiles like us, it hardly matters what the Empire does.”
“No, I think it still matters,” Samael murmured. “But that’s for later. It’s getting dark—we should head out soon. I’ll tell Randall we’re going for a walk.”
He pushed away from the post and walked toward the firelit camp.
“I’m telling you, Elliot, these things will come in handy!” Randall leaned proudly against his huge pack, frying Riftclaw Bird jerky in an iron pan over the fire.
A kettle beside him boiled, while Selina adjusted the runic circuit on a stone, purifying the water with a spell.
“That’s no excuse for you to drag all this useless junk, you paranoid idiot captain!” Elliot grumbled, taking the cooked jerky, wrapping it in a dry bread flat and biting in greedily—his spirits clearly much better. “You’d better learn from this trip. Next time you bring this much crap, I’ll be the first to smack you.”
“Hey… Brother Randall?” Samael approached the firelight.
The glow reflected on his armor. Instinctively, he lowered the hood of his tattered cloak a little further.
“Hm?” Randall turned. “Brother Samo, come have some food with Brother Talan. A moment’s rest in this wasteland is precious—you two were the real heroes of this mission.”
“No, thank you. I… plan to patrol the area around the camp.” Samael said.
“Leave that to us! You’ve done enough. We’d feel bad making you handle chores like that.” Randall replied automatically. “Unless you’d like me to come with…”
“No… it has to be just me and Brother Talan. After all…” Samael hesitated, mind blank, eyes darting—then finally blurted out, “The moonlight’s… beautiful tonight.”
Oh no. He realized too late what he’d just said.
Randall immediately waved his hands apologetically. “Ah, I see! My apologies! I won’t intrude. I understand! I wish you both… a pleasant evening.”
“So even ascetic monks can pursue—” Ruby began gossiping, only to have Selina cover her head with her cloak.
“Wishing you both all the best,” Selina said with a knowing smile.
Samael didn’t understand what misunderstanding he had caused. He simply nodded politely and stepped back toward the camp’s edge.
At the boundary of firelight and night, Thaleia stood silently beneath the Twin Moons, her Hammer-Spear slung across her back.
He pulled his hood low, his heavy armor clinking softly as he hunched his shoulders slightly, walking toward her.
Together, they stepped into the night.
“What excuse did you use this time?” Thaleia asked quietly.
“…Not sure. Something about patrolling.” Samael shrugged. “Anyway, they seemed understanding. Maybe we can take our time.”
“Good.” Thaleia chuckled hoarsely.
Their tall silhouettes strode across the plains like monarchs trampling their domain, passing the hills and leaving the campfire far behind.
Under the vast dark sky, Thaleia spread her arms, and blue ghostlight flickered in her eyes. From the distant black horizon came a howl—the beating of enormous wings gathering above, circling in the air. Clawed shadows swept over the barren fields, converging toward their sovereign.
Samael drew his sword and shield, the night wind whipping his tattered cloak.
【Nether-Copper Resonator activated.】
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sound of Nether-Copper weapons striking echoed beneath the twin copper moons, like ancient war drums revived once more.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Hundreds of skeletal hands clutching broken swords and rusted spears burst from the soil beneath the moonlight, rising to form a disciplined legion—just as they had a century ago, marching once more at their monarch’s command.
Old crossbows, fractured shields, shattered swords, and corroded spears—the army assembled into a wedge formation, pointing straight toward the caravan at the edge of the plains.