148 Accidental Encounter with Lambert

After entering winter, the Black Rock Mountains rarely welcomed a clear, sunny day. Seizing this opportunity, the adventurers who had been waiting in the small town for quite some time set off in succession. Before the sun even reached its zenith, more than half the town had suddenly emptied out, becoming even more desolate than when heavy snow sealed the mountain passes.

Theresa stood on the high ground at the southern edge of the town, gazing out over the mostly deserted streets. Seeing the pervasive desolation, she turned her head to look at the tiny black dots moving about in the white mountains to the south, clicked her tongue, and sighed, "Habata, are you sure we don't need to pick up our pace?"

It was currently lunchtime. Under the pretext that Habata was the local guide, Theresa had dumped the task of preparing lunch onto him. Consequently, Habata was now struggling with a newly erected makeshift stove.

Without even raising his head at the sound, Habata replied, "Our objective is different. We don't need to follow the crowd."

Fine. Since the guide had spoken, she naturally shut her mouth. Theresa shrugged and hopped down the slope two steps at a time, aiming for a stoneless peach shrub she had been eyeing for a while. This thing was quite similar to a peach, but much smaller, and like many fruit-bearing plants in the Orc Alliance, it only bore fruit in winter.

Theresa's sudden movement startled several small magical beasts that had been feeding in the stoneless peach shrubbery, leaving a series of light and shallow footprints on the pristine white snow. Plucking a dozen fully ripened stoneless peaches to cradle in her arms, she casually rubbed one clean in a ball of snow and tossed it into her mouth. With a bite and a crunch, the ice-cold, sweet juice instantly filled her mouth—a truly delightful experience.

Munching on the peach-fruit, Theresa walked deeper into the thicket. Generally speaking, a certain species of bird made its home within the stoneless peach bushes, and the eggs of these birds were extremely delicious.

The bushes were dense, the tallest parts barely reaching half a person's height. Theresa first walked crouching down, but the further in she went, the lower it felt, to the extent that she eventually had to press against the snow and crawl forward. Yet the temptation of delicious food ahead made her completely ignore these hardships—of course, in the Book Spirit's words, Theresa was currently in a state of having nothing to do, so she was just looking for something to pass the time...

Walking and crawling, crawling and walking, a tiny "coo" suddenly sounded from ahead. Theresa instantly grew excited, making her footsteps and hand movements exceptionally light. Slowly approaching the source of the sound, she saw several sparrow-like birds, no larger than a palm, appearing within the bushes. They fluttered and flew no more than thirty or forty centimeters, but the speed at which they darted back and forth was extremely fast. With the naked eye, it was impossible to capture their figures; one could only see pale blue blurs surrounded by the dim brushwood. The most beautiful feature of these sparrows was their long, soft, blue tail feathers.

Staring at a nest of finger-sized bird eggs hidden in the bushes, Theresa couldn't help but swallow hard. Delicious food was right before her eyes!

The moment her mind stirred, her two alchemical puppets and two contracted beasts moved simultaneously, silently dispersing in all directions in an effort to form an encirclement. Just as the encirclement was about to close, a loud explosion suddenly echoed from not far away. Startled by the huge roaring noise, the birds scattered in a flurry, flocking together toward their nest. With clever and sturdy beaks, they firmly bit down on the edges of the nest, working with one heart to hoist the nest and the eggs inside into the air in a single instant, before rapidly fleeing without a trace...

"Damn it!" The delicious meal almost within reach had vanished just like that. Unable to contain her frustration, Theresa leaped up in anger—of course, she immediately tasted the bitter fruit of her impulsive moment, because she was actually squatting deep inside the thicket at the time...

After finally untangling herself from the branches and leaves hooked all over her head and back, Theresa angrily rushed toward the direction of the explosion. Having crawled and walked for about seven or eight minutes, she finally squeezed out of the bushes. Before she could even stand up, she heard another explosion, which startled her so much that she patted her chest while glaring furiously in the direction of the sound.

A thick plume of smoke was rising from the snowfield, carrying a heavy shroud of moisture in the air—the result of the snow on the ground being instantly vaporized and rising into the sky!

Through the hazy mist, Theresa could make out several unusually tall figures standing opposite her. Judging by their physiques, they should be orcs or half-orcs.

"Theresa Borger? What are you doing here?" A voice suddenly came from across the mist, leaving Theresa utterly astonished. She rubbed her ears, hardly believing she would run into an acquaintance here—no, she couldn't quite call them an acquaintance, because she felt the voice was familiar, yet couldn't recall whose it was for the moment...

"Hey, you little ungrateful wretch," the speaker seemed able to see the blank expression on Theresa's face and continued to tease, "To think I went all the way to the Void Realm to rescue you back then. What, did you forget all about me after just over half a year?"

"Ah!" Such a clear prompt finally allowed Theresa to recall the owner of that voice. "Mr. Lambert!"

Amidst the sustained high temperature, the mist finally dissipated slowly, clearing Theresa's vision. This allowed her to spot Lambert, the sole human among seven or eight orcs.

***

"You're looking for Nightmare Grass? That's quite a coincidence. Our target is the same," Lambert said, cheerfully chatting away while munching on his ready-made lunch. "However, this year's Nightmare Grass isn't easy to dig up. Do you have a target location in mind?"

Theresa glanced at the orcs not far behind Lambert who stubbornly insisted on eating only their own dry rations, then naturally lowered her gaze and ladled herself a bowl of meat soup, pairing it with a fragrant roasted flatbread freshly brought from Ich Town this morning. She ate with utmost contentment—judging by the current situation, Lambert's relationship with that gang of orcs was rather bizarre. The orcs seemed to regard Lambert as their leader, yet at the same time, they appeared to be constantly on guard against him. This state of intertwined trust and caution was truly inscrutable...

As Theresa concentrated on her soup and Flora focused on deboning meat, Habata looked left and right, only then realizing the two girls had handed the conversational initiative over to him. He finally responded to Lambert's question: "We've decided to check out the southern slope valley first. There's usually some decent-quality Nightmare Grass there every year. Surely we can harvest a few stalks there, right?"

Hearing this, Lambert raised an eyebrow slightly and said, "A few stalks? If you just pick them a few stalks at a time, you'll probably drag this out for a decade or eight before you collect enough Nightmare Grass for treatment."

Hearing this, Theresa paused her soup-drinking, her eyes staring blankly at her soup bowl for a few seconds before she slowly set the bowl down and gazed intently at Lambert.

"It seems your information is always well-informed."

"Of course," Lambert took Theresa's remark as a compliment, laughing with immense pride. "That's a given~"

"So, do you have any good suggestions?" Theresa asked helplessly, continuing the conversation.

"Of course," Lambert continued to smile. "Perhaps we can engage in a tiny, tiny cooperation~"

***

In the dead of night, Storm Fortress once again sounded its emergency horn. This was already the fifth time the horn had blown before dawn within a single span of a week. Specific horn blasts marked specific military units, accompanied by various disturbances in the corresponding barracks, while soldiers unrelated to the alarm had long since grown accustomed to rolling over after the wake-up call and continuing their sound sleep.

Of course, such a group of sound sleepers naturally did not include Pedia. Although he was not part of the legions summoned by the horn, he was the one who transmitted the order to sound it... Well, to be precise, he was responsible for passing this command down.

Standing by the window, his expression like still water, he watched the troops rapidly assembling in the night and the slowly opening city gates.

"How long is this intensive offensive going to continue?" Pedia muttered softly, as if speaking to himself or perhaps asking someone.

"What do you think?" That someone, namely Baman, calmly countered with a question.

"The West Horn front and the South Foothill front have always acted as mutual horns of support," Pedia said, organizing his thoughts as he voiced his opinion. "Yet recently, we see advances on the western front and contractions on the southern front. This is very abnormal."

"Hmm." Baman gave a slow acknowledgment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, yet Pedia seemed encouraged and continued—

"I checked their troop deployment patterns from previous years. If the Alliance hasn't intentionally increased its forces this year, then I personally feel it's highly likely that internal strife has broken out within the Alliance itself!"

"Oh?" Hearing such a bold conjecture, Baman let out a slight sound of surprise. "Did you figure this out on your own?"

Pedia scratched his head upon hearing this and said somewhat sheepishly, "This is the result of my father's pointers—uh, I didn't disclose a single shred of military intelligence; Father deduced the clues himself from the military dispatches and hinted at it in his family letter."

Baman interrupted his explanation with a sound. He had absolute trust in both the Obrion men's military sensitivity and their strict adherence to military discipline. "Since you have your own hypotheses regarding the Alliance's situation, write them into a complete military intelligence report and submit it to me within three days."

"Yes!" Pedia reflexively shouted his assent. The hazy night could not conceal the excitement overflowing in his eyes—a formal military intelligence report! That was the sort of document placed on the desks of Storm Fortress's highest leadership group for joint discussion! How could Pedia not be excited when Baman held such expectations for him?

***

The addition of Lambert's group suddenly made Theresa's journey arduous. Back when it was just the three of them, although Habata served as the guide, the overall rhythm of the journey was controlled by Theresa—who else could it be, given she had the poorest physical stamina among the three?

In the new team, Theresa was still the one with the poorest stamina, but the pace was now controlled by others—especially that group of orcs who seemed utterly tireless. Every day, they simply glared with fierce eyes, pushing forward and pressing on endlessly. Anyone who dared suggest a rest would undoubtedly be "annihilated" by their glares... Although Habata and Flora occasionally lent a helping hand, the sheer exertion was still a bit too much for Theresa to handle.

Finally, on the fourth day after the new team set out, Theresa fell ill. She developed a headache, nasal congestion, chills all over, and aching bones—in short, she had caught a cold... (To be continued)