That night, outside Rockseeker Camp—
Dark shadows gathered in the moonlit gloom: the soldiers of the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers. They came from every tribe—human, half-orc, minotaur, even hobgoblins and goblins...
Yet regardless of race, all of them now gripped their weapons tightly, brimming with murderous intent and ambition. They knew a feast of killing and plunder was about to begin, waiting for them to enjoy.
At the front of the assembled ranks, Ilarode, Torun, and Luger stood together—vanguard and high commanders of this battle. The Chimera Chief, aged and lame, was absent; the Green Vines’ young lamb, too small for war, was also not present.
Still, their tribes would not be left out of this conflict.
As the moon climbed to its zenith, their assassins must have already dealt with the Rockseeker Camp’s sentries. The time for the attack was nearly upon them. Ilarode’s face was severe, Luger Stonehide’s eyes burned with a hunger for violence, and only Torun wore a look of unease.
"Archdruid, aren’t we acting a little too hastily?"
The minotaur finally voiced his anxiety. Though he was the war’s main advocate, barely seven days had passed since the decision to attack was made.
They’d received news of Willo and Danche’s rescue, but had not waited for their return. Now, watching Ilarode push for an advance tonight, he could not shake his nervousness.
Surely a military operation of this scale needed a much more thorough and careful plan:
Early-stage scouting, drafting strategies, gathering supplies, organizing, preparing back-ups, feints...
If not for the setting, Torun would truly have told Ilarode, "You are rushing things."
Ilarode’s response carried an air of resignation. He couldn’t exactly admit that their tribe was hiding an enormous subterranean Elemental Creature about to slip out of their control.
This beast is about to rampage; if we don’t act, our tribe could be destroyed by it!
That could never be said aloud. Instead, Ilarode forced a smile. "Weren’t you the one shouting all over camp that we should start fighting? How is it you’re timid now?"
He feigned composure, but inwardly heaved a sigh.
He understood all too well the crisis Willo and her daughter Adele spoke of. He was no ignoramus when it came to magic—he was a powerful druid himself, so naturally he knew the moment Shudde M’ell awoke, the entire mountain range would be doomed.
Yet if they didn’t let the Earth Dragon loose, the Mountaineer Tribe would be destroyed by dawn. Continuing to struggle with it was a losing proposition; freeing it into the deep mountains would only deliver it into the hands of the demons, and sending it back to the Elemental World meant abandoning the sacrifices made through the years...
Only by attacking Rockseeker Camp could he salvage anything from the disaster.
Such calculations could never be shared. Torun was left awkward, unable to protest. "Of course not—um..."
Still uneasy, he finally blurted, "I just feel that some tribes aren’t quite prepared..."
Ilarode favored him with a light smile. "Our Mountaineer Tribe is always ready for war. At a moment’s notice, we can muster all resources."
"What, are you saying the Highmountains or the Stonehide haven’t prepared for war after all?"
In a few deft words, he put them on the defensive.
Torun’s face turned sour. Nearby, the towering Luger Stonehide held his head high—either supremely confident or just prideful—as he declared, "The Stonehide Tribe has always been ready for this war. We’ve been prepared to fight to the death at any moment!"
He stood in human form, nearly two meters tall, round-headed, muscle-bound, bald—a burly hulk that looked as if he could swallow a child whole.
Different from the dark-skinned Mountaineer humans or the Chimera’s orcs, this man’s pale complexion resembled Liberl Port’s nobility—though his bear form looked nothing .
With both sides posturing, Torun’s frown deepened. Though Highmountain and Stonehide tribes shared goals and had acted together lately, their relationship was far from friendly.
Both, plus the Chimera, needed copious meat—making them constant rivals, with much history of conflict. Those old grudges were only suppressed for now by the even greater feud with Liberl Port.
Unwilling to lose face, Torun spoke up stiffly. "The Highmountain Tribe has also been ready, and will ensure tonight’s victory without fail."
Ilarode simply smiled, letting the tension ease. "To be honest, I have my own worries. Matriarch Willo is expected back soon, and with her influence, if we convened again there might not be any war at all."
This was also true. Torun could only accept it. At that moment, a pigeon-calling whistle echoed from the front lines—a special, urgent signal well-known to all.
"The assassins have succeeded. It’s time to attack," Ilarode announced, gaze alight with fire. "Let’s take this town!"
He began to chant an incantation. As the earth trembled, a colossal Elemental Creature burst from the depths, charging straight for the town.
The Earth Dragon had begun its assault!
A piercing alarm shattered the stillness. Charles, sleeping soundly in Theresa’s warm embrace, bolted awake. His first act was to shout at Theresa, "Hurry, teleport to your room!"
Theresa’s body vanished in a flash of light, heading back to her own room. Charles exhaled in relief—at least now, even if Anno burst in, she wouldn’t find anything amiss.
He threw on some clothes and rushed to the corridor, flinging the door open. "What’s going on?"
He found that all the adventurers—men in nothing but trousers, women still frantic, everyone half-dressed and panicked—were pouring into the corridor asking the same question. "What’s going on?"
Shrieks from women and dwarves’ booming shouts mixed in the halls as heads of every hue bobbed about, but no one had any answers.
Charles frowned—and then the ground shuddered violently, as if a thousand wild bulls were stampeding beneath the building.
"Get to the open ground, quickly!"
"Didn’t expect earthquakes in these mountains..."
The adventurers shouted and argued, using their own judgment as they surged toward the ground floor. Charles, recognizing the signs, paled—he’d seen the Chthonian before, and instantly made the connection.
Is this the Abyssal Lord’s move?
Have the Chthonians arrived to destroy the camp?
He gritted his teeth, and rather than follow the crowd, he sprinted for Anno’s room and began battering on the door. "Anno! Wake up, Anno!"
No response. A sense of dread rose in his heart—he ignored decorum, fired off four Eldritch Blasts at the lock, reducing it to twisted slag!
He kicked the door open and rushed inside in a panic—only to see Anno, in pajamas under a blanket, peacefully asleep in her soft, broad bed. The alarms and tremors hadn’t disturbed her at all.
Charles was momentarily speechless. He shook her shoulders hard. "Wake up, Anno! There’s an earthquake—the building’s about to come down!"
Her pajamas were a bit loose, and her curves full—so with Charles shaking her, there was a fleeting glimpse of skin. Anno slowly woke from her dreams, barely about to speak, when another low wail of warning sounded from the window. "Woo—!"
Her confusion vanished, replaced by a look of fierce focus. "That’s an assault alarm—someone is attacking the camp!"
Charles nodded. "Right—the Chthonians have come, the ground’s been shaking! You’re just now waking up—the alarm’s gone off twice already!"
"No time for talk, get dressed—prepare for battle!"
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