After a few minutes of moving swiftly through the dense underbrush, Team Bravo caught up with Team Alpha. The two groups merged into one cohesive unit, and Nocturnal quickly took charge once again, his authoritative presence commanding their attention.
"Alright, everyone, listen up!" he whispered, gathering the team in a huddle. "We've lost precious time, and we need to move cautiously. Stay alert, and let's keep our voices down. We don't know what's ahead."
After four long hours of careful progress, a strange noise reached their ears, drawing their attention. Nocturnal raised a hand, signaling for everyone to halt. He gestured for silence, and the team complied.
They crept to the edge of a cliff, where a breathtaking view unfolded before them. Nestled within the lush foliage was a small village, its structures crafted from stone and thatch, blending seamlessly into the surroundings. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint sounds of chatter drifted up to them.
Nocturnal surveyed the village below, his sharp eyes scanning for any signs of hostility. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, and figures moved between the huts, but something about the scene felt off.
He turned to the others and motioned for them to back away from the cliff's edge. Once they were at a safe distance, he whispered, "We're avoiding the village. We don't know who or what is down there, and I'm not interested in a fight we don't need. Stay quiet, and we'll go around."
The mercenaries nodded in silent agreement. Moving with stealth, they adjusted their course, carefully navigating the dense jungle to give the village a wide berth.
Brando walked up beside Nocturnal as they continued forward. "Think they're hostile?" he asked in a low voice.
"No clue," Nocturnal replied. "But if they aren't, we'll figure that out later. Right now, we stay focused on the mission. No distractions."
As they pushed forward, the jungle thickened, and suddenly, the team found themselves entangled in a mess of thick, unyielding vines. The vegetation was unnaturally tough, clinging to their limbs like living restraints. A few mercenaries struggled, their movements restricted, while others instinctively reached for their blades.
"Cut yourselves free! Now!" Nocturnal barked, drawing his own knife and slicing through the vines.
Blades flashed in the dim jungle light as the team hacked their way out, severing the grasping vegetation. The vines oozed a strange, sticky sap, but there was no time to examine it. The moment they were free, Nocturnal motioned for them to keep moving.
They pressed on for another grueling seven hours, exhaustion creeping into their bodies as the dense jungle finally began to thin. And then, without warning, they emerged into open terrain—staring directly at the boats they had entered the island with.
A cold feeling settled in Nocturnal's gut.
"This doesn't make sense," Brando muttered. "We've been pushing forward this whole time…"
Nocturnal's eyes narrowed as he quickly gathered the group together, instincts on high alert. He did a rapid headcount, his expression darkening as he finished.
"We're down two," he said, his voice low but sharp.
Silence hung over the group as they realized what that meant. Somewhere along the way, two of their own had disappeared—and no one had noticed.
The waves crashed violently against the hulls of the boats as Nocturnal's voice cut through the wind.
"Everyone! Get back to the damn boats! Leave the supplies—we come back in the morning!"
There was no hesitation. The mercenaries scrambled aboard, the weight of their lost comrades pressing down on them, but survival took priority. The boats rocked with each powerful wave, saltwater spraying into their faces as they pushed off from the cursed shores of The Last Path.
Brando sat near the edge, gripping the side as he turned to Nocturnal. "You think they'll be okay?"
Nocturnal let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Shit, if someone did take them… I feel bad for the kidnappers."
Brando frowned but listened as Nocturnal continued.
"The ones missing are Bloodhound and Sacred. You already know—they aren't just some grunts. They're two of the strongest mercenaries worldwide. They're not just gonna survive; they'll thrive in a hellhole like that." His expression hardened as he stared back at the dark silhouette of the jungle. "We're pulling back because I trust they can handle themselves. But the rest of us? If whatever took them starts picking us off two at a time… or worse, one by one—we'd be walking into a slaughter."
The boat lurched as another wave slammed into its side. Nocturnal exhaled, his jaw tight. "We regroup, we rethink a new plan and by dawn we return."
As the first light of dawn broke across the horizon, Nocturnal was already on his feet. His voice cut through the crisp morning air like a whip.
"Get the hell up!"
The mercenaries shot awake, quickly falling into line with military precision.
"We leave this island and return to that hellhole in exactly thirty minutes," Nocturnal announced, his gaze sweeping over the assembled team. "That means we have thirty minutes to rethink our approach—because last time, we walked straight into a goddamn disaster the moment we landed."
With a sharp motion, he unfurled a map onto the weathered table on deck, jabbing a gloved finger at a different section of The Last Path.
"This time, we're going in from the opposite side of the island. There's a strong chance we'll be closer to our three targets—the ones we were paid to find. At the same time, we might also uncover traces of Bloodhound and Sacred." His voice lowered slightly, his tone sharp with calculation. "If this jungle is what I suspect it is, it's got some kind of distortion to it. They may have left clues behind somewhere completely different from where they went missing. Or…" He exhaled. "There may be no clues at all."
A brief pause. Then, Nocturnal straightened and barked, "Enough talking. Get the damn boat ready!"
His command was met with swift action. The mercenaries moved in sync, pushing off from the shore, their boats cutting through the water as they sailed back toward the unforgiving jungle of The Last Path.
As the hours dragged on, the relentless downpour hammered against the glass enclosure shielding them from the storm. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the mercenaries remained silent, watching the island's shifting landscape through the rain-streaked panes. The boat cut through the rough waters, circling the island's perimeter until something caught their attention—twisted metal and scorched earth marking the site of a plane crash.
Nocturnal narrowed his eyes before muttering, "Well, I'll be damned." Without hesitation, he adjusted the boat's course, steering directly toward the wreckage.
Minutes later, the team disembarked onto the rain-soaked shore. Their boots sank slightly into the mud as they moved forward, scanning the area—until they saw Dante, Stiles, and SteelArm.
Dante's body tensed, his fingers flickering with energy as he activated [Phantom Materialization], conjuring a spear in an instant. Stiles followed suit, his twin blades forming from his blood, gleaming through the rain. SteelArm took a step forward, his stance shifting fluidly into that of a seasoned martial artist, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike.
Dante's voice cut through the storm. "Who the hell are you?" His soaked hair clung to his face, water dripping from his chin as his sharp gaze bore into them.
Nocturnal remained calm, standing upright before offering a slight, measured salute. His voice was steady, carrying effortlessly over the rain.
"I go by Nocturnal. This is my team—the Nightfall Brigade." He paused for a moment before continuing. "We were contracted by Halstein, leader of the Dragon Bone Guild, to locate and retrieve three missing individuals from a plane crash." His sharp eyes moved between them. "My apologies for the delay. Tracking you three wasn't exactly simple."
At his words, the rest of the mercenaries saluted in unison before lowering their hands, awaiting the next move.
Dante's eyes swept over the assembled mercenaries, noting their sheer presence—each one exuding the aura of an S-ranked or SS-ranked combatant.
"Alright then..." he muttered, shaking off the tension. "I believe you. So can we go now? You found us."
Nocturnal turned slightly, exchanging a glance with Brando before nodding toward the boats. His gloved hand extended, pointing toward their escape. "Get moving. The boat's ready."
Wasting no time, the three sprinted through the rain, their soaked boots kicking up mud as they leapt aboard. Brando shoved the boat into the churning waters, his [Electricity Absorption] preventing the storm's fury from harming him. The waves roared as the boat drifted away, leaving Nocturnal and his team standing in the shadows of the jungle's edge.
Nocturnal's gaze remained fixed ahead. "We find Bloodhound and Sacred. No one leaves until we do. No exceptions." His voice carried finality, a silent warning. Without hesitation, the Nightfall Brigade marched forward, vanishing into the dense jungle like phantoms.
"Should we go back and help?" Stiles asked, gripping his twin blades, his unease growing as the island loomed behind them.
The rain hammered the ocean, forming an eerie mist around the receding shoreline. Then—movement.
A shadow shifted near the boat.