147: Chapter 148 Crushing

The bodies of the Demonic Wolves lay scattered across the ground, their gray fur mottled by the lingering light of various skills.

Not a single Mercenary was injured.

It wasn't luck; it was a crushing numerical advantage!

Tens of thousands of Black Iron Rank Professionals against Black Iron Rank Demonic Beasts—it was no different from child's play.

The Mercenaries stood amidst the pile of Demonic Wolf corpses, looked at each other, and then laughed in unison.

Someone plopped down onto a Demonic Wolf carcass, breathing heavily—not from exhaustion, but from excitement: "Satisfying! That was damn satisfying!"

Someone stabbed their blade into the ground, hands on their hips, looking up at the sky, and let out a long breath.

Someone else squatted on the ground counting how many they had killed, then compared the count with the person next to them. Losing the count, they refused to accept it, shouting that they would get ahead next time.

Two mages were also squatting next to a Demonic Wolf, arguing about whether that last hit was caused by a fireball or a Wind Blade first.

"It was clearly my fireball that hit first!"

"Look at this cut, is this something a fireball could burn? It's flat! It's a Wind Blade!"

"Then why is it charred?"

"...That's your fireball charring the cut made by my Wind Blade! Get your order of events straight!"

The people nearby heard this and laughed until they couldn't stand straight.

The team didn't stop.

Someone suggested pushing forward.

"Minister Lei said no living things within ten miles! How far have we gone? Three miles? Four miles?"

"Let's go, let's go! There must be more ahead!"

The Mercenaries piled the Demonic Wolf corpses together on the spot, left a mark to drag them back later, and continued forward.

Their emotions were completely ignited.

The caution and hesitation from before had vanished completely, replaced by a near-fanatical excitement.

They finally knew how strong they were.

It wasn't Lei Lie who told them, nor was it Strategist Zhu Ge who analyzed it for them; it was something they had achieved themselves.

Every blade strike, every Spell cast, every arrow shot was telling them the same thing—You are no longer the person you were before.

You are a Professional of Flower City!

Five miles. Seven miles. Ten miles.

There were more and more Demonic Wolves, from scattered individuals to packs, from a dozen to dozens, from dozens to hundreds.

When hundreds of Demonic Wolves appeared at once, the gray tide on the wasteland almost covered the color of the withered grass.

Low howls came from all directions, weaving together in the wind, and a sense of oppression rushed towards them.

This time, even the veterans were stunned for a moment.

But it was only for a moment.

"Form ranks!"

This time, many people shouted, and the ways they shouted were all different—some shouted "Form ranks," some shouted "Spread out," some shouted "Front row block, back row DPS," and some shouted "Let me go first."

It was a mess.

But within the chaos, there was a strange order.

The people in the front row automatically stepped forward, without anyone needing to command them. The people in the back row automatically took a half-step back, without anyone needing to arrange it.

This was the mark left by over half a month of training.

The results of the drilling by Lei Lie and Strategist Zhu Ge had begun to show.

Even if they had taken off their military uniforms and put on the skin of Mercenaries, their bodies knew where to stand before their brains did.

The charge of a hundred Demonic Wolves was astonishing, causing the ground to tremble.

But when they reached the front, they were met by an airtight crimson steel line.

Shield bash. Shield bash. And another shield bash!

The knights in the front row pushed their shields with almost the same rhythm, each strike stunning the lunging Demonic Wolves, exposing their weaknesses, while the warriors behind them finished them off.

The mages' attacks were overwhelming.

"Whoosh!"

Fireballs connected in a sheet, exploding into flowers of flame one after another within the Demonic Wolf pack.

"Clang!"

Frost covered a large area of the ground; the Demonic Wolves slipped the moment they stepped on it, some falling directly to the ground and being trampled by their own kind rushing up from behind.

"Swish, swish, swish..."

Wind Blades swept across, one after another, silent yet more efficient than any other attack—with every Wind Blade that passed, at least two or three Demonic Wolves fell.

The Archers no longer aimed arrow by arrow, but used homing arrows for area suppression; the arrows curved in the air, chasing after the Demonic Wolves, impossible to dodge no matter how they tried.

Occasionally, an Explosive Arrow would land in the center of the pack, and with a dull boom, flesh and fur would splatter.

The Assassins were still reaping in the flanks, but this time they didn't hide—Shadow Strike, jumping directly out of shadows, daggers slicing across the throats of Demonic Wolves, blood spurting three feet away, while they had already flashed back into the darkness.

The Summoner didn't summon an Earth Elemental this time.

He patted the ground, was silent for two breaths, and then a dull thud came from underground—a dirt wall rose from the ground, blocking the flank of the charging Demonic Wolf pack, splitting their formation in two.

"Beautiful!" someone nearby shouted.

The split pack completely lost its momentum.

One half was blocked by the warriors and knights in the front row, and the other half was covered by the long-range firepower of the mages and Archers.

The hundred Demonic Wolves didn't even last half an incense stick of time.

By the time the battle ended, the sun was already setting.

The wasteland was covered with Demonic Wolf corpses, extending from the East City Gate to ten miles away, like a broken gray line.

Someone roughly counted; just in one morning and half an afternoon, at least three thousand Demonic Wolves had been hunted.

Within a ten-mile radius, not a single howl could be heard.

The Mercenaries began transporting the corpses back.

Although Demonic Wolves were the lowest-grade Demonic Beasts, they were treasures from head to toe—their fur could be tanned into linings for leather armor, their bones could be ground into arrowheads or reinforcement Materials for hilt handles, their meat could be eaten, and their crystal cores could be used for medicine or as an aid to Cultivate spiritual power.

The process of transporting the corpses was even livelier than fighting the Demonic Wolves.

Someone dragged one in each hand, felt it was too slow, and simply stacked the Demonic Wolf corpses, carrying three at a time, bending their back under the weight, but smiling as if they had found gold.

Someone discovered during transportation that a Demonic Wolf wasn't quite dead yet and was playing dead—kicked over by someone, the Demonic Wolf was so scared it sprang up to run, but three arrows pinned it simultaneously, and it fell down again.

"Your acting skills are terrible!" the person who kicked it laughed and cursed.

On the way back to the city, the procession was longer than when they had left.

Because the corpses took up space.

Someone tied the Demonic Wolf corpses together and carried them with a wooden pole, like carrying New Year's goods.

Two people carried them for a stretch, and the one in front suddenly stopped.

"Wait a second."

"What's wrong?"

"You say, if I carry this thing past my front door, what kind of expression will my wife have when she sees it?"

The one behind thought for a moment and laughed: "She'll be startled, right."

"Then I'll walk past my front door."

"...You're sick."

"Hehe."