Chapter 102: The Challenge

Wendy and her companions moved swiftly, each capturing a level 13 Reaper Dragonfly. Then, midair, they opened a portal, lining up and flying back one after another to the Highgore Camp.

“My goodness…”

“I’ve seen dragonflies pair up like this, but never ones so large!”

“And there are people on their backs, and they’re beautiful women at that…”

The squads stationed on the outskirts of the Land of Divine Lament, the onlookers and spectators, found themselves swept from one spectacle to the next. They had just witnessed the infamous henchman Orlan suffer a setback and slink away, only to see the Gale Squad arrive en masse, putting on a dazzling show of dragonfly-riding.

The level 13 Reaper Dragonflies, suppressed by the level 15 ones, seemed compelled to bow to fate, surrendering meekly, not daring to resist. Thus, they passed through the portal, escorted into the camp.

At that moment, the sound of beating wings disturbed everyone in the camp; all eyes turned to witness a sight that would linger long in their memories.

“By the Holy Light, what am I seeing?!”

“Oh! Great Lord of Darkness…”

“Hey? You’re an evil heretic!”

“Ah! No, I’ve been discovered!”

“Don’t run! Holy Light spell!”

“Ah—”

Buzz! Amidst the orderly, strangely aggravating drone, a row of Reaper Dragonflies descended slowly.

Wendy leapt from her dragonfly, facing the camp guards who had rushed over after hearing the commotion. Seeing their stunned expressions, she gave a radiant smile and said, “Please send someone to take over quickly. These are living Reaper Dragonflies, only temporarily subdued.”

“Incredible!” The usually stoic guard forgot his duties, circling the captured dragonflies, muttering, “Rare indeed, how on earth did you do this?”

He glanced at the women mages of the squad formerly known as Fury, now renamed Gale Squad, knowing they alone couldn’t have accomplished such a feat.

So…

What exactly had Royong done?

“Haha, that Royong kid is impressive! I always knew he was extraordinary!” The bearded guard took a swig of his drink, boasting, “When he first came to camp, I personally questioned him!”

“Reaper Dragonflies?!”

“So many all at once!”

“And all alive!”

“If I’m not mistaken, those on top are mounts, while those beneath are quest items…”

At that moment, the Matthew Squad, having just rested in the camp and about to set out, craned their necks from the crowd to catch a glimpse.

Listening to the surrounding discussions, their mouths hung open in astonishment, unable to utter a word.

“They’ve brought back so many intact Reaper Dragonflies at once—will there be any Glory sets left by the time we get ours?”

“Yeah, our squad’s been waiting, haven’t acted yet. Looks like we need to hurry!”

“Sigh, if only we’d joined the Gale Squad earlier!”

“Hmph, even if you want to join, they have to accept you—hey, where are you all off to?”

“The handsome ones are already on the move, heading toward the Land of Divine Lament…”

“That’s Fatty… Geer!”

“He’s already doing better than us…”

Unable to speak, Matthew was accompanied by Phaeton and Rita, who each muttered sourly.

“Not only has his level increased, he now has gear and a mount too…”

“Indeed!”

Matthew sighed deeply, reflecting that people are much the same, yet somehow the gap between them keeps widening.

Their four-person squad had struggled desperately through tasks, always teetering between life and death. Now, Matthew, the highest-level among them, was only level 7. Phaeton and Rita were both level 6 and should soon reach 7. The new member, Jack, was also level 7.

Yet, the fat one they’d kicked out of the squad was already level 9… or perhaps 10. The distance was too great, the scene too chaotic; it was hard to judge the magic fluctuations coming from Geer.

“There’s no point envying this. Let’s go!” Matthew suppressed the urge to greet his former teammate, shook his head to clear it, and, somewhat downcast, led his companions away from the camp.

“Perhaps we never should’ve expelled Geer.”

“It was a mistake!”

“We were the first to encounter Royong, after all!”

“Enough!” Matthew’s face darkened, his demeanor stern, a flicker of anger rising in his heart—only to be quickly replaced by disappointment.

He looked at his teammates, wanting to say something, but in the end said nothing.

“Let’s go…”

Land of Divine Lament.

Royong, still emotionally detached, sat astride the Reaper Dragonfly, like some aloof deity surveying the world below.

Ahem.

Truthfully, he’d never seen so many people hunting at once and wanted to watch the spectacle unfold.

Besides, he enjoyed the feeling of being admired by the masses.

But then again, who wouldn’t?

Yet, his lingering presence was seen as provocation by some members of the Fearless Guild.

“Captain, that guy doesn’t take us seriously. Let me go teach him a lesson!” a red-haired warrior declared.

“Oh?” Among the crowd, the tall, striking Handsome, famed as the Son of Wind, smiled radiantly. “But how do you plan to attack a target in the sky?”

“Uh…”

“Captain, let me handle it.” A cloaked man behind Handsome spoke up.

“Very well,” Handsome nodded.

The man immediately floated upward, wind howling around him, magic swirling, flying toward Royong.

“Again?” Royong, noticing the man, instantly understood his intent and was speechless.

To him, the other’s posture was arrogant, lacking any desire for equal dialogue. These repeated, bombarding negotiations were meaningless—a waste of time.

Between the strong and the weak, there’s no fairness.

Better to fight directly: victor speaks, loser stays silent. Simple and efficient.

“Royong, shall we talk?” The cloaked man approached, not posturing like Orlan had, but his tone was stiff—whether by nature or design, Royong couldn’t tell.

“And who are you? Handsome?” Royong asked.

“I am Byron, steward of the Fearless Guild,” the man replied.

“Steward? What’s that supposed to be?” Royong muttered, exposing his lack of education.

“Not the captain?”

“Just a steward…”

“Go fetch your captain,” Royong waved dismissively, not even sparing him a glance.

“You—” Byron, usually influential in the Fearless Guild, hadn’t been rebuffed in ages. Seeing Royong’s indifferent attitude, realizing so many watched below, he felt a surge of anger.

“Don’t bring ruin upon yourself!” Byron growled, his face twitching.

“Go on, go on, fetch your captain. I don’t deal with your rank—a mere steward pestering me!” Royong said, growing impatient.

“Hmph, you refuse a toast, so you’ll drink the penalty!” Byron’s figure blurred, ready to strike—clearly a melee mage.

But in a flash, he recalled Royong’s ease in subduing a level 15 Reaper Dragonfly; Royong clearly had formidable power.

If he rushed in recklessly, in front of so many, he could easily fail—and lose more than just his own face.

So, his eyes flicked as a plan formed. He pulled out a card, flicking it toward Royong.

Yet Royong, though acting unconcerned, was already wary. Seeing Byron’s movement, he activated his gravity field.

To the crowd, it looked as though Royong did nothing, while Byron, steward of the Fearless Guild, threw the guild's conquest card—the symbol of their might—straight to the ground…

Since Byron was midair, the card dropped plummet-like, landing with a thud in the mud.

“Huh?!”

Byron was stunned. He’d sensed Royong’s magic wave, but dismissed it.

No matter what Royong did, if he destroyed the Fearless Guild’s conquest card, or if it hit him and he ignored it, letting it fall…

Byron would have every reason to teach this upstart a lesson.

But—

Damn it!

The card had flown from his own hand, still far from Royong, and simply smacked into the dirt.

It appeared as though Byron had tossed the card deliberately to the ground…

For a moment, Byron was flustered, but quickly regained composure, ignoring the fallen card.

He acted as if nothing had happened.

Then he pulled out another card.

Magic surged in his palm, infusing the card with wind magic.

He flung it hard!

Whoosh!

This specially crafted card, thrown with such force, could easily smash the skull of a common level 8 monster.

Yet, as it neared Royong, a strange magical wave swept through, like an invisible gust.

The card didn’t fall down, but seemed to lose momentum halfway, fluttering upward like a flower, then falling straight down.

With a soft thud, it sank into the dust.

“Huh? I…” Byron cursed, fists clenched inside his cloak, eyes blazing with fury at Royong.

He was certain Royong was behind it all, but couldn’t discern the type of magic used.

“Fine, captain, is it?” Byron threw back his hood, exasperated, and declared, “Byron, steward of the Fearless Guild, level 18, Wind Envoy, challenges you!”