Chương 97: Hope in the Shadow of Grief

We cut off the Longrong's head with trembling, weakened hands. The work was grim and heavy for every one of us still standing. The head alone was enormous. It was salamander-broad with whiskers still wet and horns cracked from the last thunder. It took a full formation just to lift it. Black blood ran from the severed neck in slow ropes, painting the bone-floor, then the cave mouth, and finally the road. Mo took the front. His massive frame bent to the weight like a man carrying a second mountain.

He did not speak; he only walked. Zhuofing spat on the dead snout.

"That's for Woushal, you old bastard of a beast." Mo's voice cut through the air without him looking back.

"Stop doing that. I understand your pain, and I also want to bash it in, but we carry a trophy for someone else, not a toilet." Zhuofing wiped his mouth, his jaw tight, and put his shoulder back under the jawbone. He did not spit again. Woushi took the back. Even under the loss of his father, he wanted the job done in a way his old man could be proud of, now that Woushal had truly passed on. His hands shook on the dripping scales, but he did not let go.

Every step was a vow to himself and to his father, a silent promise to show him that he would keep his spirit running high, just like he did. Guofon, Xhife, and I took the sides with the others. The head rolled slightly with each pace, its whiskers slapping against our armor. The stink of reptile blood and cave rot rode the cold wind down off Changsoubaili. Vulutures found us before the first kilometer was done, but nobody had the strength to wave them off.

We dragged that prize toward Xishhang at a slow, emptied pace. The Hollow Mountain sat behind us like an open grave that had finally shut its mouth. Our minds stayed again with the dead. Some who had stood close. Brothers we trained with, laughed with, bled with. Some we barely knew, who still fought beside us in that last desperate hour. Silence between us was thick. No one had the strength to speak about it.

When we finally returned to Sheioufan, the Cold Mother looked at the massive head with cold satisfaction, as if she had finally gotten her revenge for something. Her eyes gleamed as she examined the horns and scales, her fingers running over them almost reverently. Beneath that frozen expression, which had cracked to reveal a deep fragility, you could see a trembling anger. It was a personal grudge she had carried for years against the beast that terrorized her city, as if the victory meant something deeper to her.

No one dared to ask about it, as the memory seemed both personal and deeply painful. Without another word, she went and brought the desired item, handing over the iridescent pearl and the promised 10, 000 osmium coins to Mo. She told us to leave, warning us that things were about to get ugly and that she did not want to be disturbed while she did her work. We had succeeded at last in gaining another pearl. That was what counted, though the deaths of our comrades came at a devastating cost.

Perhaps the victory was worth it, or perhaps that was just escapism to deny a bitter truth: that this mission was foolish and we had lost our brothers and sisters for nothing. As those dark thoughts swelled among us, Mo took control of the situation and spoke to us with sudden vigor.

"Look," he said, "we just got a new key to the Progenitor's art. We had lost two leaders and many comrades to get it into our hands, but looking at this, we should finish it to honor the fallen." Though our feelings remained mixed, the leaders stepped up to act as our pillars, and even Zhuofing was no longer distracted. When we finally left the blue temple, the gloomy sky hung over us as if it had copied the heavy weight inside our questioning chests.

The hunt for the remaining pearls had reached a new peak, bringing us closer than ever to the final answer. Back at the central square, heavy-hearted, we wanted a moment to pray for the dead. The square was quiet, and Xishhang's usual bustle was muted by what we had been through. We gathered in a loose circle with our heads bowed, some of us kneeling in the dirt. The air still carried the faint scent of blood and mountain smoke.

Many closed their eyes and whispered silent prayers for Woushal, for Shiqifan, and for every brother and sister who fell so that we could stand here. The grief was raw. Shoulders shook, and fists clenched white. Historian Seeker Doushingu greeted us before we could finish. He saw our defeated faces and knew that losses like these always hit hard. His usual adventurer energy came down a notch, replaced by genuine respect to the fallen.

"I won't ask for details," he said gently, his voice low.

"I can see it in your eyes. Losses like these carve deep. They leave scars that never fully heal. But I have one last tidbit of information for you." He looked at the leaders.

"I am going to connect with my mentor in one month. That man knows rare items like no other. He has a peculiar skill for such things with artifacts, and he can help you if you bring him something worthy of his time." We took the offer without hesitation. One month was enough time to recuperate. It was also enough to find a new direction, a small light in the dark of our grief. We returned to our respective agencies. The following days were filled with training and quiet mourning.

The agency grounds felt emptier than before, as every corner reminded us of those who were no longer with us. Even the surviving elites trained in their respective quarters, pushing themselves harder than ever, as if their pain could be turned into raw strength. I trained with Xhife and some of the other surviving boys in the open field every morning. We pushed each other without mercy, running again the 1000 Mountain with weights strapped to our backs until our legs burned.

We sparred until our bodies gave out, trying to awaken new techniques through sheer willpower. Everyone of us already healed back to a base state. We that in mind we fought hard, sweat pouring and breathing ragged, encouraging each other through the pain with hoarse voices.

"Come on, Erumes!" Xhife shouted as he blocked one of my flame slashes.

"That new technique, bring it out again! Don't let hidden for nothing you will need for your brothers and for yourself... danger will only scratch over so many times. Grab it by its horn and make sure to not die!" I tried again and again to awaken Ignis Ardente over the period, but it remained elusive and rarely succeeded. However, my Elsa di Fuoco, the Hilt Fire Blaze, grew noticeably stronger. The flame aura slashes became sharper, hotter, and far more precise.

The boys watched with quiet respect, and I felt a silent bond forming with them through our shared pain and effort. Every strike was for those we lost. In the training hall, Xihua trained with her father Zhuofing and the elders. Whenever I had free time, I watched from afar as she sparred with her Phantasmal Incense Vestuto, her thorn whips cracking through the air like living serpents. Her father pushed her relentlessly, correcting every mistake with a firm but proud voice.

There was clear pride in his eyes whenever she landed a perfect strike. The elders watched in silence, nodding with approval, though their faces carried the same quiet grief we all felt. The reason I watched over her was because, during the nights, we trained together in secret to further master my own soul Vestuto. Mo trained with his elders at his own agency, his three-meter earth Panda form clashing against their strongest fighters in brutal sessions that shook the training grounds.

The sounds of stone-shattering punches and roaring earth could be heard from many kilometers away. He trained with such intensity, as if trying to outrun the ghosts of those who had fallen under his command and ensuring that a tragedy like that would never happen again. The other agencies had to find new leaders. Woushal's son, Whoushi, officially took over the Treasure Seeker Agency because the elders were too old to lead.

They had been deeply surprised by his combat exercises, marveling at how much he had grown in such a short amount of time. He was already equal to them, and they struggled to defeat him, proving he would soon overtake them completely. He stood tall during the ceremony, and though the grief for his father was still fresh in his eyes, he carried the quiet confidence of his victory over the elders.

Meanwhile, the Safety Delivery Agency had no elders left, as it was a remarkably young agency, and it sadly broke apart because of that. Many of their surviving members joined the Treasure Seeker Agency to form new connections. Some had greedily eyed the leadership spot for themselves, only to find out that Whoushi was already taking over. It was saddening news to learn from an elder, but it made sense as time went on.

The alliance was already beginning to reshape itself through loss and necessity, building a new foundation of preparedness. With the time having passed for our alliance to gather and continue the mission, we returned to the city of Xishhang. We were using our coin this time for a massive recruitment advertisement. Once we made it there, with two weeks of training behind us and two days spent traveling back, Mo decided to use our remaining time to hire vagabonds and mercenaries.

We would need them, as better numbers meant a higher chance of survival for the core elites. Everyone agreed, allocating a total of 5, 000 osmium coin for hiring personnel. The city was bustling as usual, but our group carried a heavy atmosphere. We gathered in a private room inside one of the larger inns, the table covered with maps and notes. Mo laid out the coins and spoke with calm authority, telling us that we needed reliable fighters.

He emphasized that we were not just looking for numbers, but quality, requiring a C to B rank at the minimum. He planned to offer good pay and a share of future rewards from the obtained keys, advising us to spread the word carefully because we did not want opportunists poking their noses into our business and causing trouble within our ranks. The recruitment process took just over one week. It was long, tiring, and filled with endless conversation.

We posted advertisements in the main square and several auction houses, offering competitive pay and the chance to be part of something bigger than simple escort work. Many came to inquire. Most of the one hundred strong C to B rank mercenaries we hired were rough around the edges but reliable. They were battle-hardened men and women who had heard of our growing reputation after the Bamboo Sea and wanted a share of the bigger prize.

Some were former soldiers, while others were independent fighters who had lost their groups to their own failures. We interviewed each one personally, asking about their past, their skills, and why they wanted to join. Many spoke of wanting more than coin, seeking purpose and a chance to chase real power. Two peculiar individuals stood out among them. The first was Qilianchi, an old man with a surprisingly soft, female-like voice. He was a C-rank fighter but carried himself with quiet confidence.

His presence was calming and almost soothing, despite his age and the many scars on his hands. He spoke gently during the interview, noting that his eyes showed decades of experience. He told us softly that he might look frail, but he had survived things younger men did not, promising to provide wisdom on the battlefield if we needed it. The second was Houshou, a powerful B-rank warrior who felt far too strong for his current rank.

His aura alone made the air feel heavier when he entered the room, marking him as the kind of fighter who could turn the tide of a battle single-handedly. He was blunt and direct during the interview, testing our resolve. Crossing his arms, he told us that he did not join weak causes, demanding we show him this was worth his time so he could fight for us until the end. They both joined after long talks about the art of mission and the promise of true power that could be potentially be gained.

The negotiations with them were particularly memorable, as Qilianchi spoke softly but wisely, sharing stories of past battles, while Houshou remained blunt, pushing us to prove our vision before he agreed. With that, we finally met at the appointed time, prepared to see the mentor with a positive mindset and great hope to secure a new location. The road ahead was still long and dangerous, but for the first time since the Bamboo Sea, we felt a spark of real hope burning in our chests. We had survived hell.

We had formed bonds through blood and loss. Now, with new allies and a clear goal, we were ready to chase the remaining keys of Wujiren-Dao.