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Dollon extended two fingers and pointed them toward his resting target. A small, focused flame burst out of his fingers as he prepared to assassinate the young, sleeping Fulkar. He raised his other hand, preparing to cue everyone for an all-at-once strike.

“Hm? Wh-whatz going onnn??”

All hands steadied as that slurred, groaning statement quietly called out from the wagon.

One eye open and squinted, the drunken old man itched his booze-stained beard and tried to peer through the dark night. Suddenly, the half-awake drunk hopped off the cart and walked right through the camp without a word.

Dollon cut his fire off the moment the drunk had spoken. At first, he was worried about alerting the rest of the camp.

But Dollon and the others next had to contain their laughter when the old drunk walked straight past them without a single glance at anyone. The drunk stopped at a nearby tree and took a piss instead.

“Ohh… Datz betterrr…” the old drunk quietly groaned while fixing his pants.

Then, the drunk turned around, looking straight at the wagon. He took a moment to stretch his old bones and joints, attempting to drink from his empty gourd. “Hohh… All gone??”

.....

Without warning, the drunk suddenly threw his gourd in a drunken, half-asleep rage. And it was heading toward Dollon’s feet.

The drunk had already started walking back to the cart again and wasn’t looking at Dollon or the gourd at all.

So Dollon played things close to the chest. He cautiously and silently leaned over to catch the gourd while the drunk wasn’t paying attention whatsoever.

‘Now.’

FWOOSH! Frrrsh…

As Dollon caught the gourd, the tent was blown apart by an enormous fireball from within! All three men surrounding the tent rushed to activate essence armor as the fireball expanded further and tried to consume them.

At that same moment, while all assassins were astonished and focused elsewhere, a sword suddenly appeared in Fulkar’s hand on Oli’s telepathic command. Fulkar only had a split second to act. But that was all the time he needed. Before Dollon could turn his head back to Fulkar, a broadsword was run through Dollon’s neck.

The explosion of the fireball wasn’t strong enough to do any of the perennials beside the tent. However, it was more than loud enough to wake everyone else up.

As the flames cleared and the mercenaries rustled awake, the perennial assassins maintained their essence armor and looked to Dollon to send the next signal. But both of them saw Fulkar getting up while shoving Dollon’s corpse off of Fulkar’s sword instead.

“Now–”

“I’ll rip your arm off and beat you to death with it!” a bestial roar rang out from the center of the dispersing fireball.

While one perennial assassin managed to shout the call for all surrounding forces to engage, both assassins and the Mottz Patriarch felt a ferocious surge of essence along with that roar. All three of them readied weapons and steeled themselves to fight and kill whoever it was that dared to interrupt, with Reuben genuinely confused and terrified for his life.

Two figures rushed out as the flames fizzled, shocking everyone, especially the startled-awake mercenaries. The confused men didn’t even have a chance to notice their fallen chief of staff beside Fulkar.

A huge jaguar roared as it charged at one cloaked assassin, hurling bolts of lightning at its prey. And a hulking, three-brome gorilla bounding out of the tent’s remains and toward the second cloaked assassin, sharing a mad leer of disgust and fury with its elusive target.

On top of that, both assassins were donning full essence armor, unable to conceal their cultivation any longer under such drastic, sudden threats. Thus, the entire camp could feel their power as perennials stronger than the Mottz Patriarch.

Then, in the midst of all that confusion, over two dozen surges of essence appeared, surrounding the camp.

“Mottz!” one assassin shouted while using dark essence to evade the thundering claws threatening him.

Reuben realized that he wasn’t facing a surprise opponent like the others. He was still under the assassins’ command, technically, and it was only him that could help his confused men in the middle of the messy situation.

But Reuben hesitated. He spotted a hole in the ground, placing it in the middle of where the tent used to be. Out of that hole leaped Leader Tranton, his son, and his daughter-in-law, unscathed and unafraid.

“Choose, Reuben! Now!”

That booming voice drew the attention of everyone. All it took was a glance for their shock to be recaptured by a new sight.

The drunken fool they had dragged along was suddenly standing perfectly straight. His speech and stance were perfect as he wielded a sword in each hand, a blue one and a yellow one. Despite the booze stains on his drabby clothes, the majestic presence and pressure surrounding the man emanated were undoubtable. He was a perennial… And he might be stronger than the raging gorilla…

“HURMAN PRACTOR!”

One assassin shouted without reserve, making sure everyone in the surroundings understood the identity of the man with the drunken facade. All the while, that assassin bobbed and weaved the gorilla’s charge with lightning essence.

Though the mercenaries were stunned and too shocked to even attempt to grasp what was happening, Reuben’s hesitation was replaced with a relieved smile. “MEN! Protect Leader Tranton from the ambush!”

“IT’S ABOUT TIME!!”

Just as the mercenaries yelled and prepared to face the incoming attackers, the wagon was blown apart by a burst of wind blades.

Dropping to the ground, Lambier landed on his feet. He caught his wife, Ceela as well, helping her do the same. Marsel and Opal, on the other hand, both tumbled to the ground. They rolled and got to their feet in a jiffy, but quickly stretched their sore, long-stationary bodies.

“And thanks for gifting the Libarns a smugglers’ wagon,” Tranton scoffed loudly at the assassins, finally able to let loose some of his pent-up anger. “We put it to good use!”

“Forell Territory has already allied with Iron?!” the lead assassin facing the jaguar shouted.

Neither Hurman nor Tranton replied. It was already obvious the moment an Iron-body Gorilla appeared and Hurman took action.

However, two others did have something to say moments before the ambush set in.

“Tag us in!” Marsel and Lambier shouted.

The axe-wielding Marsel rushed to the jaguar’s aid, who threw a few lightning bolts before switching places with Marsel.

Lambier, however, didn’t have such an easy time.

“This one is mine!” Hurdo roared.

“There are two dozen incoming, including more than a dozen perennials!” Lambier retorted, using his wind to dash in front of the unwilling gorilla. “It’s not because you need help. It’s because I need his blood to avenge my blood!”

Pounding his chest and turning toward the incoming attackers, Hurdo laughed, “Then lead with that!”

Both cloaked assassins were fuming mad but they could only do one of two things. Sacrifice a lot of men and flee to a country that will try to kill them for failing their expensive mission. Or, go all-out to kill everyone here with their superior numbers.

Given how difficult it would be to escape from so many mid-perennials, including a wind user like Lambier and a dark user like Tranton, escaping had too many uncertainties and too many sacrifices.

“Mottz!” The assassin now fighting Marsel shouted, “If you want your wife–”

“SHE’S DEAD ALREADY!” Marsel and Lambier shouted in unison, shutting the assassin up seconds before the ambusher collided with the camp.

Twenty-seven figures were rushing the camp from all sides at full speed, not even trying to hide themselves while all attackers prepared their first attacks.

“Men–”

“Defend, don’t advance!” Hurman’s orders overwhelmed Mottz’s shout. And just in time.

A new aura abruptly around one side of the camp, but it didn’t feel quite like essence. It seemed to come from one of the trees just outside of the camp. Five attackers stepped into it at once before they had a chance to understand what was going on.

Frrrip! Frrrip! ROOOAAR!!

In the blackness of the night, with only the light of people’s essence and the cinders of the destroyed tent, a speeding, black blur raced out of that tree’s shadow. Two men felt murky black essence collide with their essence armor, mostly protecting them from the tainting dark-death essence. But their essence armor failed to protect them from the beast’s claws.

With an ear-shaking roar, Oli appeared on the other side of those ambushers, flicking blood and flesh off of his claws. “Who’s next?!”

Those two attackers dropped to the ground. Oli had ripped their necks and shoulders apart, targeting ambushers with weak essence armor, who used wind and lightning respectively. They were fast enough to dodge, assassinate, and delay fights. But neither of those men could escape a surprise attack from so close with too many other distractions taking place.