Mr. Death in the Steam World

Chapter 157 Taking the Initiative

The road ahead was stained dark red, casting menacing shadows on the snow.

No one spoke; only the sound of footsteps echoed across the snowfield, step by step, advancing toward the ominous crimson.

Moen walked at the front of the group, with his "Eye of Death" half-open.

Every now and then, a few dark red dots would flash across the edge of my vision—those were magical beasts infected by demonic power.

A snow wolf suddenly appeared.

It was almost twice the size of its normal counterpart, and its mouth was dripping with foul-smelling saliva.

Without saying a word, one of the cult's combat priests raised his hand and delivered an ice spike.

The snow wolf didn't even have time to let out a scream before it was pinned to the ground, twitched a few times, and then lay still.

Moen paid no attention to the number, his gaze falling on the many dark red dots approaching in the distance.

"There are quite a few," he said in a low voice.

The cult leader Gregory nodded and gestured for the troops to slow down.

"Maintain formation and advance steadily."

What followed turned into a slow and tedious struggle.

The demonic beasts infected by the demonic power rushed out of the snowstorm, some alone, some in groups of three or five, and on several occasions, there were even more than a dozen charging at the same time.

However, the Order's combat priests were well-trained, with the front line holding shields to withstand the impact and the rear line using ice spikes for ranged attacks, their coordination was quite good.

Moen, along with Phils and the other students, followed the flank of the team, responsible for clearing out any stray demons that slipped through the front line. "Red Dragon Claw" showed amazing efficiency in this situation.

An infected snow hare darted out of the snow and pounced on a girl in the group, heading straight for her face.

Moen's dragon claw instantly materialized, gripping the snow rabbit tightly in his palm.

Flames burst forth from between his fingers, and the snow rabbit, without even a chance to struggle, was reduced to ashes.

The girl's face turned pale, and she took two steps back, her eyes filled with gratitude as she looked at Moen.

Similar situations repeated themselves throughout the rest of the journey.

Some people were bitten on the ankle by snow rats that suddenly emerged from the snow, while others were sprayed in the face with foul-smelling black mist by crows flying overhead.

Each injury is minor, but every small injury drains the team's energy.

As darkness fell, everyone looked exhausted.

Gregory raised his hand to signal the group to stop, his gaze sweeping around before settling on the base of a sheltered rock face.

"We'll camp there tonight."

The group got to work as instructed and quickly set up a simple campsite.

Phils handed Moen a piece of hot, roasted jerky.

"Here, have something to eat."

Moen took the jerky, took a bite, but his gaze remained fixed on the darkness in the distance.

"What are you worried about?" Phils asked.

"I don't know," Moen said truthfully, "It just feels too quiet."

"Isn't quiet good?"

"You know, the sea is always unusually calm before a storm."

Fils remained silent for a moment, offering no rebuttal.

Gregory was sitting by the campfire, wiping his longsword with a piece of animal hide.

Moen sat down next to him.

"Mr. Gregory."

"Um?

'

How far have we traveled today?

Gregory thought for a moment.

"It's about thirty miles away, still more than half a day's journey to the core area of ​​the seal."

"But we didn't encounter a single member of the Truth Society."

""

Gregory paused for a moment, then looked up at Moen.

"You think—"

Moen nodded.

Gregory stared at him for a few seconds, then sheathed his sword, stood up, and glanced at the dark wasteland surrounding the camp.

"rational."

He turned around, waved to several combat priests who were on patrol, and whispered a few instructions.

The priests nodded and dispersed around the camp, setting up several simple warning spells in the snow.

After doing all this, Gregory sat back down by the campfire.

"This is all we can do. Our magic is limited, and we can't waste it on pointless detection."

As night deepened, the noise in the camp gradually subsided.

Most people had already gone into their tents to rest, leaving only a few people on night watch talking quietly around the campfire.

Mohn, who had returned to being a dead man, was naturally also a member of the Night's Watch.

He sat cross-legged at the entrance of his tent, eyes closed, his mind in a semi-conscious state.

The magic power within his body flowed slowly through the fifty-two pathways, gradually replenishing the energy depleted during the day's battle.

After an unknown amount of time, in the stillness of the night, his arms suddenly became cold.

Moen suddenly opened his eyes.

In his arms was the snowflake Chloe had given him.

At this moment, the snowflakes emitted a rapid flash of light, as if issuing a warning.

Without hesitation, Moen stood up, quickly shook Gregory awake, and crouched down to lower his voice.

"Sir, there's a situation."

Gregory reacted quickly, rising to signal the watchmen to extinguish the campfire.

The moment the firelight disappeared, the camp was plunged into darkness.

Moen closed his eyes and activated "Eye of Death" to its fullest extent.

The world in my field of vision changed color in an instant.

Everything was normal within several hundred meters of the camp.

But he believed Chloe's snowflakes wouldn't be used without reason, so he gritted his teeth and maximized the effect of "Death Eye".

Magic surged wildly from the magic circuit, and the blood vessels around the eyes bulged slightly due to the pressure.

Finally, he noticed something was wrong.

About two hundred meters northeast of the camp, a dozen dark purple dots were moving slowly.

Their light was extremely faint, and if it weren't for the snowflakes giving a warning in advance, Moen would never have been able to spot them from such a distance.

"Northeast, about two hundred meters away, fifteen to twenty of them," Moen said in a low voice, speaking quickly. "They're moving stealthily."

Gregory made a quick decision and gestured to the combat priests behind him.

The priests nodded silently and disappeared into the darkness.

Phils didn't ask any more questions.

Gregory had finished deploying the battle priests. He walked back to Moen and crouched down beside him.

"If someone really is involved, when will they make their move?"

"Most likely, it will happen when we let our guard down."

"In about an hour or two, when the night watchmen start to get sleepy and there are gaps in the patrol routes, that will be the best time."

Gregory nodded.

"Then let's strike first before that happens."

For the next hour, the camp remained outwardly calm.

The watchman yawned by the campfire, the patrolmen walked around the camp in an orderly fashion, and the snores rose and fell from the tents.

Everything looked no different from an ordinary camp.

But Moen knew that in the darkness outside the camp, a dozen or so combat priests had already completed their preparations.

Everyone is waiting for their prey to walk right into their trap.