CHAPTER 72: HEROES TOO LATE

Chapter 71: Heroes Too Late

Karl’s head snapped up, his sharp ears pricking at the chilling sound that rolled through the forest.

"...Karl! Did you hear that howl?" one of his men blurted, gripping the hilt of his sword.

Karl narrowed his eyes toward the echo. "Yeah, I heard it. Wolves. And not just any—sounds like an alpha. Looks like a battle’s about to break out." His lips curled into a grin. "Let’s go."

The rest of his party, Thunder Bolt, fell in behind him. Six rank C adventurers in all, seasoned enough to survive the roads, but not above seeking easy profit. Karl himself stood on the cusp of rank B—a man who believed his rise was only a matter of opportunity.

Branches snapped under their boots as they crept toward the source. Soon, the clash of steel and bestial roars reached their ears, and when they emerged from the treeline, the scene unfolded before them.

A caravan of goods sat in disarray, guarded by a handful of figures locked in desperate battle. Four armored men glowed faintly with a golden aura, blades striking with unnatural strength. One man in lighter gear stood at the front, locked with the alpha wolf itself. His movements were sharp, brutal, and disciplined—meeting the beast’s fury with his own.

And then, their gazes were stolen.

An elf.

A maid-clad elf, no less. She stood poised with a bow in hand, her pale hair catching the moonlight as her fingers drew the string with graceful precision. Every shot she loosed was fluid, elegant, and devastatingly accurate.

The men of Thunder Bolt stared, spellbound for a moment, until one of them muttered, "...Should we help them?"

Karl barked a laugh, low and coarse. "Help? Hell no. We’re not wasting sweat on a fight they’re already losing. Look at ’em." He jabbed a thumb at the scene. "Those soldiers are burning their lifeforce with strengthening tonics—barely hanging on. That guy up front?" His grin widened, predatory. "He’s strong, I’ll give him that, but fighting the alpha head-to-head? He’s a dead man walking. Even I wouldn’t last long against it."

Another party member shifted uneasily. "Then... what do we do?"

Karl’s tongue slid over his lips, eyes fixed hungrily on the elf. "Simple. We wait. When they falter—when the alpha tears that man apart—we swoop in like heroes. Save the caravan, clean up the wolves, and scoop every mana crystal for ourselves." His tone dripped with smug confidence. "No sweat, no risk. And if things line up just right..." His gaze lingered shamelessly on the maid. "...we’ll even get ourselves a nice little reward."

The others chuckled darkly, though a few eyes flickered nervously between Karl and the battle. Still, they followed his lead, crouching in the shadows, watching as predators of a different kind.

---

Yes—the embattled defenders were none other than Ethan’s group.

The battlefield had thinned. The once-relentless tide of wolves was now reduced to barely a handful, their snarls and claws dulled by fatigue. Ethan’s soldiers still fought in formation, glowing faintly with their golden aura, but even they were flagging.

Ethan himself stood firm against the alpha, sweat dripping down his temples. His blade trembled only slightly in his grip—not from fear, but from the weight of fatigue gnawing at his limbs. His system shop whispered temptations in the back of his mind, but after Lirael’s sharp whisper— "Ethan... eyes. We’re being watched."—he ground his teeth and dismissed it.

Damn it. So there are vultures circling too? If I pop a potion now, they’ll see that somethings wrong. I can’t...

He pushed harder, weaving steel and willpower against the alpha’s furious strikes.

Then, just as the last of the lesser wolves fell under his soldiers’ blades, the forest erupted with another shout.

"Hold on, travelers! We’ll help you!"

Six figures burst into view—Karl and his party—rushing in with blades drawn and faces painted in false valor. They cut down the remaining stragglers with exaggerated swings, their voices loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Don’t worry, you’re safe now!" one of them called, planting his boot on the corpse of a dying wolf as though he had slain a legend.

The charade faltered, however, when their eyes fell upon the still-standing alpha. It snarled, staggering but alive, blood matting its fur. For a moment, Karl’s men hesitated, their bravado flickering. None of them stepped forward.

The alpha’s gaze snapped toward the newcomers, its muscles coiling despite its wounds. It staggered, enraged by this fresh intrusion. But that moment of distraction was all Ethan needed.

"Not today," Ethan hissed, forcing strength into his arms. He swept his blade in a brutal, gleaming arc. Steel sang.

The wolf’s massive head toppled free in a spray of crimson, its body collapsing with a heavy thud that shook the ground.

A tense silence followed. Ethan straightened, chest heaving, blade dripping, his soldiers slowly closing formation around the caravan. He exhaled sharply.

"...Fhew." His eyes lifted, locking onto Karl’s smirking face. "And now..." His voice hardened, low and dangerous. "...a new problem."

Karl clapped slowly, a mockery of applause. "Impressive. Truly impressive. A man like you standing against an alpha? That’s no small feat." His grin twisted. "But I’m afraid we’ll be taking it from here."

Ethan’s eyes flicked toward one of his golden-armored soldiers. Bring me a bag.

The summon obeyed without hesitation, its movements crisp. The others wouldn’t notice, but Ethan’s hand slipped into the sack only to draw out what was never inside. Three glass vials glinted faintly in his grasp—mid-tier potions, pulled directly from his inventory.

He uncorked them one by one. The bitter liquid burned down his throat, sharp as fire. His wounds knit closed with a faint shimmer, crimson streaks fading from his skin in real time. Mana coursed back through his veins, heavy exhaustion easing as though his body had been washed clean. Strength flooded him anew, his grip on the sword tightening.

Better. Much better.

With a casual flick, he materialized another vial of stamina potion, pretending to fish it from the same bag. He tossed it toward Lirael, who caught it midair with a blink of surprise.

"I—Ethan, I don’t—" she started.

"Keep it," he said simply. "Never hurts to have one in hand." She nodded, though he knew she had no need. Her bow hand was steady, her breath even—untouched by injury or mana drain. But a bit of fatique.

Ethan let out a long breath, his shoulders loosening. Then he stepped forward, boots crunching over dirt and blood. The air shifted. The wolves were dead, but the tension had not faded—if anything, it had sharpened.

His gaze slid over Karl’s party. Their blades were clean enough to show they hadn’t fought long. Their smug grins were too quick, too practiced. And Karl himself stood front and center, smirk carved into his face like a scar.

Ethan tilted his head, voice carrying across the quiet battlefield.

"Well, well... look what we’ve got here."

Karl spread his arms with mock magnanimity, laughter bubbling from his chest. "You should be thanking us. If we hadn’t arrived when we did, who knows how this might’ve ended? Consider yourselves lucky."

One of his men added, "Yeah, we saved your hides. That alpha was about to tear you apart."

Ethan’s lips curved, not in amusement but something colder. His soldiers fanned subtly at his back, golden light flickering faintly. Lirael stood a step behind him, bow lowered but not relaxed, her eyes like ice on Karl’s men.

"Saved... us?" Ethan repeated, his tone quiet, almost bemused. He raised his blade slightly, letting the blood still dripping from the alpha’s severed head run down its edge. "Funny. From where I was standing, you lot were waiting for me to bleed out." He went for the throat from get go.

The smirks wavered ever so slightly.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed, sharp and unwavering. "So tell me..." His voice dropped to a low, deliberate growl. "What are you really here for?"