Half an hour later, when Lord Bone arrived at the Eternal Night Territory, leading the panting Goblin Army, all that greeted them was an empty ancient castle and the chaotic remnants of a battlefield.
The Demon Legion had long since completely withdrawn, leaving nothing behind. They had picked the ancient castle clean, not even leaving a speck of dust.
Lord Bone surveyed his surroundings, but surprisingly, he didn’t show much anger.
He walked with heavy steps to the edge of a towering cliff beside the ancient castle, narrowed his eyes, and gazed eastward.
Beneath the eternally dim skyline, a string of flickering lights could be seen, snaking toward the distant horizon.
That was the Greystone Rampart.
Those cunning monsters had withdrawn, but they hadn’t left the rampart.
’They plan to temporarily abandon the Eternal Night Territory and use the Greystone Rampart for their defense.’
A goblin Shaman cautiously approached and asked in a low voice, "Lord Bone, should we pursue them?"
Lord Bone turned, his eyes wide. "You idiot. These Slimes took care of the sharp-fanged vampires, let alone us."
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Retreat!" Lord Bone commanded with a wave of his hand, issuing a clear order. "Everyone, fall back to the planar rift! Don’t linger here!"
He was slow-witted, not stupid.
’The Slimes have already taken the Greystone Rampart. If we stay here in the Eternal Night Territory and get ambushed, we won’t even have a place to hide.’
’Even those Slimes don’t want this damn place. There’s no way I’m taking it.’
"Yes! Yes!" The terrified goblin Shaman nodded repeatedly and hurried off to relay the order.
Soon, the massive Goblin Army turned back, having just arrived. They were like a brief gust of wind, leaving nothing behind.
The Eternal Night Territory, once the heart of the Blood Race’s luxury and power, completely lost its last spark of life and fell into a dead silence.
This once-lavish paradise for nobles now followed the same disastrous path as the ancient civilization that had built the Greystone Rampart. It fell into complete ruin, with only broken walls and rubble left to speak of its former glory.
...
In stark contrast, the new fortress built upon the ruins of the former outpost was a scene of bustling activity.
Despite the gloomy, persistent rain, the inside of the fortress was abuzz with voices. Shirtless prisoners could be seen everywhere, working their hearts out. They hauled stones, reinforced walls, and cleared rubble with more enthusiasm than they had ever shown while adventuring in the Dark Land.
The reason was simple: as long as you were willing to work, these Slimes actually paid you.
The jingle of Gold Coins and Silver Coins was far more pleasant than a life spent licking blood from the edge of a blade.
It was just that the number of prisoners recently escorted back from the Dark Land was so high that jobs inside the fortress had become incredibly sought-after. Often, a single stone-hauling gig would have several people fighting over it.
Perhaps the scruffy, burly man carrying a log next to you was once the president of a Mercenary Guild.
Or that tall, skinny fellow struggling to mix mortar was once an untouchable, high-ranking professional in the Dark Land.
With the war in the Dark Land still far from decided, they would likely have to spend a considerable amount of time undergoing "labor reform" in this Slime fortress.
Inside the fortress, some Mercenaries who hadn’t yet been assigned work gathered in small groups, squatting under a makeshift rain shelter and chatting with worried expressions.
"This war... how much longer is it going to last?" a mercenary with a scar on his face sighed. "It’s not going to be endless, is it? Does that mean I’ll be stuck here for years?"
A more optimistic-looking mercenary beside him joked, "Who knows? The Black Teeth Mercenary Corps operates all over the Dark Land. No matter how strong these monsters are, there’s no way they could..."
He was mid-sentence when he saw a squad of patrolling Metal Slimes hopping past the rain shelter. They moved in a neat formation, holding small spears with serious expressions, making SQUISH SQUISH sounds as they went.
The Mercenaries, who had been speaking so boldly just a moment ago, all snapped their mouths shut in unison.
The group of burly, well-built men just squatted there obediently. Though they were taller even than the bouncing Slimes, they didn’t dare make a peep until the patrol had disappeared around the street corner.
Only then did someone cautiously speak up. "I don’t think it’ll take that long. Didn’t you see? A few days ago, they even broke through that... what’s it called... the Greystone Rampart."
"Tsk, tsk... A lot of famous big shots have been brought to this fortress recently, and now they’re all obediently doing manual labor, aren’t they?"
"That’ll still take several months. It’ll probably be winter by the time it’s over," another mercenary said with a grimace.
"What’s the use of earning so many Gold Coins? These monsters don’t weave cloth or shear sheep. We’re going to freeze to death when winter comes."
Their discussion grew more intense, with all sorts of speculations and worries emerging one after another.
Soon, however, the sound of heavy, rattling chains interrupted their discussion.
The fortress’s massive gate was slowly opening!
To prevent prisoners from escaping, the fortress gate was almost always kept tightly shut. It only opened briefly when a new batch of captives from the Dark Land was escorted back.
As for how the monsters got in and out of the fortress? They flew, of course.
The Poisonous Sting Bees, so numerous they could blot out the sun, were far more frightening. Their dark, savage appearance was much scarier than these seemingly harmless Slimes.