Chapter 68 : The Mayor’s Quest
’What the fuck...?’ Axton thought as his eyes shifted toward the mayor, who looked unusually thrilled at the tension in the room.
Duncan’s lips did not fail one bit at expressing his profound excitent, like a spectator who enjoyed the show far too much.
’This guy is sick in the head.’
Nevertheless, Axton still didn’t withdraw his weapon.
Its edge remained firmly pressed against Bismarck’s neck, the Commander’s veins bulging with fury.
"If you draw your weapon," Axton warned coldly, "then be prepared to put your life on the line."
The insult cut deeper than the blade in his neck.
Bismarck ground his teeth bitterly.
His pride as a long-ti officer of Atlas burned.
To be threatened by a so-called newcor, and in front of the mayor, was an indignity he could scarcely endure.
Rage simred in his chest, a boiling storm begging to be unleashed.
Axton’s steady, fearless eyes made his fists tremble.
"You...!" Bismarck roared, clenching his hands into tight fists, his body coiling like a beast about to pounce.
Before he could move, Mayor Duncan’s voice sliced through the air.
"Enough, Bismarck."
The words weren’t loud, but the weight they carried was crushing.
For the first ti since Axton t him, Duncan’s cheerful tone had vanished, replaced by an authority that brooked no argunt.
Bismarck froze mid-motion.
His chest rose and fell heavily, but he obeyed. Slowly, with barely restrained fury, he lowered his arms.
"It’s your fault," Duncan added matter-of-factly. "You were the first to reach for your weapon. Now, sit down. Both of you."
Grinding his teeth, Bismarck sheathed his blade. Axton, equally composed and unsummoned his. Both n lowered themselves back into their chairs, tension still thick between them.
*Clap* *Clap*
"Good." Duncan smiled, clapping as though he had just witnessed a delightful performance. "I can’t have my two commanders tearing each other apart over nothing."
The word ’commanders’ made Bismarck stiffen.
’What...?’
His face turned pale.
Duncan had already acknowledged Axton as his equal.
Just like that, his long-earned prestige was being chipped away.
Bismarck felt as though he had lost the war before the first battle even began.
"This is how we’ll do it," Duncan continued nonchalantly, stabbing his fork into a roasted cut of at. "I’ll test our new commander’s abilities firsthand. Axton, I want you to handle a little problem for us."
Axton’s brows lifted. "A little problem, sir?"
Before Duncan could respond, Bismarck burst out.
"Sir! With all due respect, I told you I already have it under control—"
"No, you don’t." Duncan’s reply was imdiate, dismissive, and final. "If you did, I wouldn’t be asking him."
The mayor returned to chewing his al with the sa casual energy, as if Bismarck’s protests were nothing to be considered.
Bismarck’s jaw tightened, humiliation stinging worse than any pain he had experienced.
"As I was saying..." Duncan gestured lazily with his knife, pointing it toward Axton. "I need you to rescue so of our soldiers. Do this successfully, and they will be yours. All of them... serving under your direct command."
The words lit a spark in Axton’s mind.
Having a company of trained n would tilt the balance of power drastically in his favor. Still, he kept his expression cool, his tone asured.
"How many soldiers are we talking about?"
"Close to a hundred," Bismarck muttered bitterly.
Axton humd thoughtfully. "That many..."
Duncan smirked. "If you can’t handle it, I can always hand the matter back to—"
"I’ll do it."
The confidence in Axton’s voice silenced the room.
There was no hesitation, no chance left for Bismarck to interject.
*Ding*
[New Quest Alert!]
[Quest: Rescue the 77 soldiers of Atlas City from this location. Each one is a Grade 3, Lv. 25 soldier.]
[Quest Reward: All 77 soldiers will fall under your command]
[Ti Limit: 12 hours]
[Do you accept?]
[Yes / No]
The answer was obvious.
"Yes."
******
After accepting, Axton stayed long enough to finish a al with Mayor Duncan and Bismarck.
He ate in silence, though his mind was already racing ahead.
Nearly a hundred Grade 3 soldiers under his command... it would be a ga-changer.
Patrols, scouting, defense — he could delegate tasks instead of exhausting himself trying to cover all grounds alone.
The parchnt the village chief had given him still burned at the back of his mind.
The mysterious na inscribed there remained untraceable despite his efforts.
With a group of soldiers searching multiple locations simultaneously, his chances of finding that person would skyrocket.
For the first ti since entering Atlas, Axton felt as though he was finally laying the foundation of real power.
Bismarck, on the other hand, sat through the rest of the al as though chewing rocks.
Every word Duncan spoke felt like another nail sealing the coffin on his influence.
His pride scread at him to act, but the mayor’s clear and suddenly favoritism toward Axton left him powerless.
Duncan, on the other hand, looked delighted.
Watching the tension between the two commanders pleased him.
Where Bismarck’s authority had grown dangerously unchecked, Axton’s sudden rise would serve as a counterweight.
Balance through rivalry... that was Duncan’s desire.
******
Far from Atlas City, beneath jagged cliffs, a cave yawned open like the mouth of a beast.
It was here that the captured soldiers languished.
The cavern was massive, its walls jagged and wet.
Shadows crawled across the ceilings, and the only light ca from the little fla they sohow lit.
Even so, most of the chamber remained in oppressive darkness.
Close to a hundred n huddled together.
The once-proud soldiers of Atlas were reduced to shadows of themselves, their spirits battered.
The tornt was relentless.
A piercing screech suddenly echoed through the cavern, sharp and high-pitched enough to rattle teeth.
The n clutched their heads.
So were screaming.
Others bit down hard on their lips to keep from collapsing.
The sound waves were more than noise.
The captors used them to shred focus, scramble thoughts, and gnaw at sanity itself.
Days had blended into nights.
Survival itself had beco an act of sheer willpower.
Those who couldn’t endure had already fallen.
From the ceiling above, shadows erged.
A flap echoed, and dark wings spread wide.
The soldiers stiffened.
They knew what ca next.
The Flittermice.
Grotesque creatures, resembling bats the size of hounds, swooped down in groups.
To the captives, they were demons, torntors that kept hope just out of reach.
One soldier whispered hoarsely, "Not again... not again..."
Another groaned, his eyes bloodshot. "Gods... just kill us already..."
But no death ca.
Only more endless tornt.
For the soldiers of Atlas, the cave was no prison — it was hell itself.
And in a little while, Axton would be walking straight into it.
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