The convoy creaked through the rocky wall entrance, passing a rudimentary checkpoint.
They left behind a group of guards lying on the ground with twisted mouths and foaming at the mouths.
The members of the escort squad, riding on horseback, struggled to stifle their laughter, chatting as they went.
"No doubt, this is Bloodhammer's camp."
"Yeah, yeah."
"The checkpoint guards are of such high quality."
"Exactly, exactly."
"Hey, should we help them?"
"No need, no need. They're physically strong—they'll wake up in a bit."
"Such tough guys."
"Hey, watch out, don't step on anyone."
After the squad passed, the actors lying on the ground gradually regained consciousness. The bald man scratched his head, looked cautiously toward the distant figure on the hillside, and said, "Boss, should we report this to the Bloodhammer leader?" The one-eyed man also got up, following beside him, and asked.
"What are you thinking?" The bald man rolled his eyes. "Blood Rose and a mage are with them. Do you know what they're here for? Do you know why I've survived for so many years?"
The group of men dumbfoundedly shook their heads.
"Remember this!" The bald man, pleased with their reaction, whispered, "Speak less, and play dumb more!"
"You're the boss for a reason!" They gave him thumbs-up.
"With just this encounter…" The bald man looked at the convoy in the distance, clicked his tongue, and boasted to everyone, "Our crew can say we've established a connection with Blood Rose."
...
As soon as they entered Spear Hunter Camp, a noisy mix of smells hit them: the droppings of human horses and beast mounts, rotting animal guts, and scattered garbage. There was the distinct odor of half-orcs mixed with the wafting scent of roasted meat, creating a powerful stench that lingered in the air over the camp.
Hundreds of buildings of various sizes were scattered throughout. Most had a human style, though some were half-orc huts made from mud and broken branches, while others were crude wooden shelters built by barbarians. Some structures were built on ruins, evidence of chaotic disputes and territorial skirmishes.
In front of each small hut, a sizeable empty area was left for drying prey. Though Bloodhammer Camp was in fertile land, its residents were not skilled at farming. They mostly relied on caravans for supplies and hunted game from the valley.
At the center of the camp, near a large open space, stood a multi-storied building unlike any other around—a fortress-like structure made of massive stones. Between the stones, every meter or two, sharp stakes jutted out like spear tips around the walls. Each corner of the building was topped by towers over thirty meters tall, encircled with numerous large logs bound tightly with rough ropes, reinforced with iron plates affixed with dense rivets.
Large beast-hide banners flew from the top of the fortress, emphasizing the enormous beast teeth pointing skyward at the building's peak—a mix of human and beast styles. A bright red symbol was painted on the beast-hide banners.
This building was the renowned Bloodhammer Tavern, the territory of Bloodhammer.
Among both humans and other species, there was one common ground—alcohol. Many tribes had unique brews—fruit wines, ales, herb liquors, honey meads, ant wines, pepper wines, milk liquors. The best brews, though, were made by the dwarves.
To get authentic dwarven ale, however, one would have to wait for a traveling merchant or have a personal connection with the Bloodhammer leader, maybe earning a taste of the best reserves deep in the cellar—but only a taste, not more than a few sips.
After paying a small bag of gold dust, they rented a small inn not far from Bloodhammer Tavern.
The innkeeper was a bald old man with thick knuckles, the kind that come from holding a sword or axe for years. His aging eyes occasionally flashed shrewdly as he sized up the group of a dozen guests.
The one in black armor was clearly the leader, though he didn't seem particularly strong, likely a young warrior from a large tribe on a journey. The others seemed to have some skills as well—either tribal guards or hired adventurers.
Such adventuring teams weren't unusual here, though in the Northlands, they were often targets for raiding parties.
A shame about that black armor, and that girl.
The innkeeper muttered to himself, weighed the small bag of gold dust in his hand, and nodded in satisfaction.
Kent had noticed the innkeeper's expression. However, he wasn't too concerned. Bloodhammer might have a bad reputation, but within the camp, Bloodhammer had little tolerance for disruptions to order; their adventurers were expected to help with both defense and enforcing the rules.
Aside from inns and taverns, the Bloodhammer camp also had a black market, casino, slave camp, and an arena, all generating considerable income each year for the camp's ruler.
"Boss, I've got the info. Bloodhammer's in the arena tonight!"
"Good, brothers, let's go."
At night, the casino and arena were the liveliest places in Spear Hunter Camp.
In the Northlands, most frontiersmen had some taste for bloodshed, and disputes with rival factions were common. In the past, such disputes often resulted in deadly battles, but the arena offered a solution.
The arena fighters were usually warriors sent by different factions or slaves with good fighting skills, whose performances could win their masters a decent price. The spectators, however, cared little for who fought; they wanted fierce battles, bloody combats, and a chance to double their bets.
After paying the entry fee, Kent led the team into the arena, which was already packed with people. The crowded, noisy atmosphere mixed with the stench of sweat, body odor, and blood, strangely stirring masculine hormones.
The arena was a vast, open space dug two meters deep and about twenty or thirty meters in diameter. It was enclosed by a low wall of wooden stakes to prevent overly enthusiastic spectators from falling in.
A low, heavy breathing sound came from the center of the arena. It was an open-air, bowl-shaped space surrounded by thick ironwood trunks, forming a circular ground twenty to thirty meters in diameter. The ground was dug two meters deep, with a stone wall lining the perimeter, and the arena floor was hardened and lifeless from countless battles.
Torches around the arena illuminated it like daylight, and two figures stood opposite each other.
Water Stream's expression changed, and her breathing grew a bit faster.