Cthulhu Gonfalon Cthulhu Gonfalon Chapter 732

Chapter 732: Vol V Chapter 92

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio  Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

Wine was good, and it was greatly helpful in creating an atmosphere conducive for emotional mediation.

 The only premise was that the amount consumed should not be overly excessive.

 That senior dwarf had a very handy magic prop. It was a flagon. This flagon was a silver, flat pot, and it looked extraordinarily exquisite and elegant. There were very fine lines on it, which was something very different from the dwarves' aesthetic standard. Studying it carefully, one could even discover how it was not drawn with paint. Instead, countless tiny gemstones were inlaid into it. Anyone with a slightly more discerning eye would be able to see that it was a fine piece of art. Those who were more knowledgeable in the field of art would be able to see that it carried a distinctive elvish style. Experts who were involved in the research of elf culture would even be able to judge, that it was in fact, not designed with the style of the modern elves but rather the style of the ancient Elf Kingdom.

 In truth, it was not an ordinary flagon but an extraordinary treasure.

 Its name was the “Endless Flagon.”

 This name itself was more than enough to explain how this flagon could produce win—by consuming magic amounting to that used to cast a low-level spell. If it was fine wine, it could produce about one jin worth. For ordinary sweet wine or strong spirits, the amount would be around three catties. As for foaming ale or the common coarse wines, it could produce up to five catties' worth.

 Mages who were familiar with enchantment spells and mages who made magic props would probably know that there was such a magic prop called the “Endless Kettle.” This Endless Flagon was similar to it, but the efficiency of wine production was much slower than that of water. After all, these two things were completely incomparable in terms of level of detail.

 That senior dwarf was not a very powerful spellcaster, but his magic was enough to make this flagon fill up with enough spirits, at least… enough for the entire exploration team to drink.

 In fact, it was more than enough.

 If it were not for Hopes and a few others who were still awake because they were either non-drinkers by nature or were smart enough to pretend to be drunk after their first drink—probably, the entire exploration team would have gotten drunk and slept out in the open on their first night of arrival at camp. And more than half would have frozen to death.

 Fortunately, there were still a few sober ones after all.

 Together with a few non-drinkers, Hopes, who was a little red-faced because he had drunk a little wine, dragged those who were dead-drunk one by one into the tent. They threw them onto beds of thick hay and covered them with quilts. Though these people were not heavy individually, the entire joint exploration team had as many as a hundred people who were now all drunk and knocked out.

 So when the last drunk cat was finally dragged into the tent and covered with a quilt, everyone except for Hopes, was dead-beat.

 “Rest, rest! Everyone needs to take a good rest!” Hopes said as he waved his hands and told everyone to get some rest. Then he went to the huge bonfire right in the middle of the campsite. Standing next to it, he looked at the flames that were kept endlessly ablaze by magic power. He felt the warmth from above and sighed softly.

 “This is only the first day here, and it was already so boisterous. Who knows how the days will be like in the future?”

 He was not the only one with such a lamentation on this cold winter night.

 About two thousand miles south, at the “border” where the merchant party and aristocratic party met, there were also people having similar lamentations.

 “This is only the first day, yet there's already so much trouble. What can we expect in the future!”

 The person who made such a lamentation was a middle-aged man with a head of hair almost half white. He donned lightweight leather armor that facilitated ease of movement and carried a machete that was just as handy. Both the leather armor and machete were black. In this dark, cloudy night, it was hardly possible to notice him. The only thing that could vaguely be seen was the white hair on his head.

 Near him, there were many others who were also wearing the same black leather armor and carrying all kinds of weapons that were colored in black. They even wrapped their heads in black hoods, which made them really look like shadows capable of free movement.

 Eerie, scary and filled with the aura of death.

 In truth, what they did was indeed something that brought death.

 Beneath their feet, a patrol team from the aristocratic party lay in a mess on the ground. Every member of the team had more than one wound, and even the smallest and slightest wound was fatal.

 Unquestionably, this group of patrol soldiers were all dead. Among these dead bodies, there were many with alarmed and shocked expressions. It was apparent that they had met with such a sudden attack that they did not even have the chance to react.

 “Check again,” said the middle-aged man after sighing. In a prudent tone, he said, “Make sure you leave no survivors.”

 So the black-clad people who seemed to be hiding in the shadows, brandished their weapons again. They added at least two wounds into the dead bodies of every patrol soldier. Every wound they added was lethal enough to turn the living into the dead.

 The middle-aged man watched everything with satisfaction. Then he waved and took this group of people with him into the darkness of the night where they soon disappeared without a trace.

 The next morning, the aristocratic party realized that the night patrol soldiers had yet to return. Thus, a military officer from the aristocratic party brought a few cavalry men with him out on a search. They searched along the patrol route and soon found the dead bodies that were frozen so stiff that even their blood had solidified.

 The military officer frowned deeply with a gloomy expression. He looked at the dead bodies carefully, then gave orders for them to be transported back.

 He was a knight born into a baron's family, and these were soldiers that he had brought with him from his territory. They were his family's private soldiers; many of whom had even grown up with him since young. They were devoted to him and were a part of his core team. He brought these people here in the hopes of making achievements or striking a fortune. But he had never expected to see so many deaths before he could even gain any benefits.

 That afternoon, after settling the arrangements for certain matters, he brought a few soldiers with him and galloped towards the encampment of their superiors on horseback.

 When it was getting dark, they arrived at a small town. That was the encampment of a viscount. This viscount, like the young knight, also traveled alongside his private soldiers from afar to arrive at the border. He too wanted to try his luck and see if he could reap any benefits. Because they shared a similar mindset, their relationship was quite close.

 The knight explained the situation of how the patrol soldiers under his command had met with an ambush. The viscount was shocked, and then he began to worry—if this enemy who was capable of finishing off six experienced patrol soldiers decided to attack him, the defense strength of his area might really be lacking.

 So he started to feel anxious and used a magic prop to contact an even higher authority—the earl who had control over this territory.

 The earl did not make a big fuss over the deaths of merely a few patrol soldiers. To him, the dead were simply insignificant. He would just take it as them having all been attacked by magic beasts.

 Well, it was a very good explanation to say that they were attacked by magic beasts.

 Though the knight repeatedly emphasized that the wounds on the patrol soldiers were definitely inflicted by weapons and not by the claws and fangs of beasts, the earl had already reached a conclusion.

 Regardless of how those patrol soldiers died, if he said they were attacked by magic beasts, then they had to be attacked by magic beasts.

 There was nothing the indignant knight could do. Together with the fearful viscount, who was equally helpless, the two drank so much wine that they were totally drunk.

 They remained drunk until the next afternoon.

When the joint exploration team of the merchant party and the Republic of Northwest finally regained sobriety from their hangover and had begun the day's work, the knight and the viscount were awakened from their drunken state to receive some startling news.

 The earl was attacked and wounded. A knight under his command was killed, and more than 20 soldiers were injured.

Chapter end