When the small black dot in the distant sky gradually enlarged, everyone finally recognized it as Eberhard descending from the sky astride his griffin. The tense nerves finally relaxed, as if they had regained their backbone.

The camp couldn't withstand another attack. If the Poison Wyvern returned to launch a second acid breath assault, few besides the Iron-rank adventurers would likely escape its deadly grasp.

After landing, Eberhard briefly announced that the camp's crisis had been resolved and ordered everyone to immediately pack up and prepare to return to Grayrock Town. This announcement made everyone breathe a sigh of relief. All they could think about now was returning to town.

The accumulated exhaustion from days of Winter Hunt combined with the sudden Poison Wyvern attack had caused all sorts of negative emotions to erupt. Even Gauss, who had returned to camp later than others, could clearly sense the almost tangible unease hanging in the air.

Eberhard returned to the central tent, the heavy curtain falling behind him to block outside gazes. Only then did his face reveal deep solemnity and suppressed fury. His pursuit of the Poison Wyvern had yielded no results.

That adult Poison Wyvern had a challenge rating as high as level 10. For some special reason, he could drive it away, but achieving more significant results wasn't realistic. Moreover, he vaguely sensed that the emerald-scaled wyvern didn't flee from him so much as it withdrew calmly after completing some predetermined task, unwilling to engage him further.

Considering the camp's condition after the attack, after chasing the creature for some distance, he had to abandon pursuit and quickly return. "Damn it!" His fist struck the table.

This Winter Hunt had been nearly perfectly concluded, with all assigned extermination targets completed, on the verge of returning home. Who could have predicted such trouble would arise at the last moment? As branch leader, he couldn't escape responsibility for such large-scale casualties. While it wouldn't cripple the branch, it would likely affect this year's performance evaluation.

What troubled him more were the deceased support staff—mostly townspeople with families. The thought of complex compensation work and facing grieving relatives gave him a headache.

"Master Eberhard, may I enter?" "Enter." A subordinate's voice came from outside the tent. Eberhard took a deep breath, instantly concealing all visible emotions, his handsome face regaining its usual impassive expression.

A robed mage entered. "Have the casualty statistics been compiled?" Eberhard asked directly, his voice steady. "Yes. Twenty-two adventurers died directly from the Poison Wyvern's acid bomb attacks, thirty-four support staff, with seven more deaths and thirty injuries from subsequent toxic fumes. The injured have been stabilized for now."

Total deaths: 63. Injured: 30. Eberhard silently repeated these cold numbers. Most deaths resulted from the first unexpected acid bomb volley. Against those viscous, lethal acid spheres, low-level professionals and ordinary people caught within range had almost no chance of survival. This explained the cruel ratio of deaths to injuries.

But... it was too coincidental. Eberhard remained silent for a long time, his crimson eyes narrowing. The timing of the Poison Wyvern's attack itself warranted careful consideration.

Why exactly on the last day, when most people had let their guard down? Why during his brief absence, and from a direction opposite to where he had gone? Even after receiving the camp's distress signal, by the time he returned, a swift Poison Wyvern would have had enough time to complete an attack.

The timing was so precise it almost seemed... as if the Poison Wyvern had intimate knowledge of the camp's situation. Was there a spy in camp? Or some higher-level scrying or divination magic at work? Eberhard's mind raced, but this question would have to remain unanswered for now.

There was no time for investigation—the immediate priority was returning to town and reporting this abnormal incident to superiors. Staying put would be unsafe and further damage already shaken morale.

After brief reorganization, the temporary camp was quickly dismantled. A convoy of wagons loaded with supplies and wounded formed a long line, silently following their original tracks back toward Grayrock Town. This time, Eberhard remained fully armored with sword in hand, his griffin circling low overhead in constant vigilance. Other Iron-rank adventurers also maintained tense watch for possible attacks.

Fortunately, the convoy reached the town gates without further incident. Gauss sat in the bumpy wagon, never lowering the curtain until they safely entered town, when he finally relaxed.

Having returned hastily without advance notice, the town hadn't prepared the grand welcome ceremony seen at their departure. Only curious onlookers watched the travel-worn convoy bearing obvious battle scars. The acid-pitted wagon damage and the exhausted, somber—even grief-stricken—expressions of those aboard made sensitive townsfolk uneasy.

"Winter Hunt's over?" "Looks like... it didn't go well?" "Why no notice? Those holes... what monster caused that?" Whispers spread through the crowd.

Eberhard landed his griffin in the central square. Glancing at the townsfolk's worried, questioning looks, his heart grew heavy as he sighed imperceptibly. A major failure. But he had no time for this—dismounting, he strode purposefully toward the Adventurers Guild. The intelligence had to be reported immediately—Grayrock Town would need new plans next year.

Gauss and Aria jumped down from the wagon, their feet finally on safe, solid town ground. The bustling town sounds enveloped them like warm waves—vendors' cries, children's clear voices selling bread from baskets, merchants haggling, thickly dressed housewives carefully counting copper coins—this ordinary, vibrant life rushed over them.

After a week of wilderness vigilance and killing, returning to human society brought indescribable relief. Here within town walls, tense nerves could relax slightly, allowing body and mind brief respite.

It was afternoon, and neither felt like lingering in the streets. Heading toward their residence's alleyway, Gauss made a point to stop at the inn lobby to greet Sophia before parting ways with Aria at the crossroads to return home.

After a week unoccupied, a thin layer of dust covered the furniture. After using Magic Cantrip to clean the bed, Gauss collapsed onto it. All he wanted now was a peaceful sleep—everything else could wait until after.