In a flash, two days passed. There had been no sign of the approaching horde, and the town's people were growing restless—those who hadn't left, that is.
Those with authoritative power had been evacuated, the wealthy and influential had been evacuated, merchants and the common people had been evacuated.
The only people left were at the bottom of the barrel on the social ladder—the likes of Aster.
For the past two days, Aster had been cramped up in his shack. He hadn't bothered to come outside.
And why would he?
He knew that when it came to the evacuation process, the likes of him would be the last to leave—that was, if the town hadn't fallen.
He had spent his time sleeping, reading his journal, with more theories being birthed in his mind, and munching on the remaining abomination meat.
Life had been peaceful.
He had to admit to himself that doing absolutely nothing was satisfying.
Was this how the wealthy and powerful felt?
No constant fight for their survival?
No concern for when the next meal would probably be?
Well, he couldn't know. He was neither wealthy nor powerful. If he eventually became either of the two, then maybe he'd have an answer.
He yawned and rolled over, the rags barely covering his body.
The day should better get on with it; he had no desire of leaving till dusk.
So for now, he was going to get as rested as possible.
If he eventually died, then he'd know that he had gotten some good food and good rest before meeting his maker.
Yes, life was good.
Gathered at the town's gate were a bunch of battle-hardened adventurers. Their expressions were stern, cold, and calculated. Each of them had more than a year's experience of slaughtering abominations.
And yet, under that cold mask of battle-hardened indifference—
They were scared.
Most had to clench their weapons tighter so that no one would notice.
None of them had faced an enemy of this magnitude. The town's people didn't know how hopeless their situation looked, but they did.
The average War Grade could lead a colony of at least fifteen lesser mana beasts; a stronger one, maybe twenty.
And so far, five had been spotted by the scouts.
That's an average of seventy-five mana beasts if they were lucky, and a hundred plus if they were not. These numbers were also without the stray Feral and Hunter Grade mana beasts.
The odds weren't in their favour.
Deep within the ranks, the adventurers began to clear the way for a party of four that made its way to the front.
The party was equally made up of two men and two women. Adorned in gracefully crafted armour, their presence felt impossible to ignore, and as they passed, a clear glint of acknowledgement and reverence sparked in the eyes of the other adventurers.
Finally, they got to the front of the ranks.
One of the ladies, a tall and slender woman with bright gold eyes and blonde hair, stood in front.
Her gaze peered deep into the steep trench that spanned wide before the town's gate.
A male adventurer with a scar running down from his left eye to his lips stepped forward from the ranks and approached the party. He gave a short bow, facing the blonde-haired lady, and spoke.
"Sword Saint, it is nice to have you and your party leading the town's defense. Each and every adventurer gathered here, despite their ranks, has decided to cooperate as a single entity—with you as our head."
The Sword Saint gave a small nod.
"Nice to meet you again, One Eye," she said, her voice soft and light.
One Eye's single eye sparked with quiet joy. He straightened up his posture slightly and stuck out his chest.
The revered Sword Saint had remembered his name.
Still stuck in his own thoughts, he nearly missed her next words.
"How deep is the trench?"
One Eye seemed to contemplate for a moment before answering.
"About five metres deep."
The Sword Saint gave a small nod.
"That would do."
She turned to face her party members.
"Prometheus, gather the adventurers whose affinities grant them long-range and aerial attacks. Your positions will be the town's walls. I want you to do as much damage to the horde while they're stuck in the trench. I want them weakened before reaching the vanguard," she said, her focus on a small man with black hair and lazy grey eyes.
Prometheus gave a small nod. Adjusting the bow hung over his shoulder, he departed from the rest and began his task.
Watching Prometheus leave, Sword Saint refocused her gaze on the other lady of the party—an average-height woman with short red hair, deep black eyes, and an alluring physique.
"Vivian, you're in charge of leading the defense party. Your affinity should be a great help in slowing down the horde."
Vivian nodded, turned around, and left. She had a task to complete.
The last of the party members was a tall man with long dark hair and cyan-coloured eyes, his presence somehow carrying an amaranthine charm.
Sword Saint glanced at him and finally gave her last order.
"I, Socrates, and One Eye will lead the vanguard."
Socrates stared back at Sword Saint and gave a small nod, while One Eye's bewildered expression was both joyful and shocked.
On one hand, he was happy to be battling side by side with the graceful and dangerous adventurer. While on another, he felt uneasy risking his life at the vanguard.
The adventurers that had been gathered in ranks began to disperse; they all had tasks to complete.
Whenever the enemy decided to show up—
they had to be ready for it.