CHAPTER 321: BLOOD IN THE MOUNTAINS [ 3 ]

The convoy came to a stop at the jagged edge of the valley, where the road shrank into stone and shadow.

Towering cliffs loomed on either side like menacing teeth, guarding what lay beyond, a desolate basin strewn with broken rock and skeletal trees that sloped toward a dark mouth in the mountainside. The entrance to the tomb.

As the engines clicked and cooled, their sounds were swallowed by the eerie stillness of the range.

The air was thick here, tinged with a metallic taste of iron and ash. Even the wind felt wrong,carrying an unsettling breath from something buried far too long.

Arthur stepped out of his truck, boots crunching on gravel beneath him. He paused for a moment, letting silence envelop him like a heavy cloak.

The Regalia he wore felt unusually weighty, as if it recognized this place. His muscles screamed from countless battles; every tendon was tight, every nerve frayed.

Behind him, the archaeologists’ armored truck hissed as its doors swung open.

Ethan jumped down, struggling under the weight of two sleek cases.

With a snap, he opened them to reveal rows of syringes glowing faintly with green liquid, their glass casings shimmering in the dying light of dusk.

"Take it," Ethan commanded without hesitation as he handed one to each squad member.

The soldiers exchanged grim glances but complied. Arthur took his last syringe and pressed it against his vein before triggering it.

The effect was instantaneous.

A searing fire coursed through their bodies; veins bulged against their skin as they groaned in agony,men who had faced dozens of enemies without flinching now dropped to their knees, gripping their arms as sweat poured down their brows.

Arthur clenched his jaw tightly as the serum tore through him; his vision blurred and muscles spasmed violently. For ten grueling minutes, they endured this unnatural strain.

Then just as suddenly, relief washed over them. Their breaths steadied; hearts pounded like war drums in their chests.

Cuts closed up; bruises faded away; joint aches dulled to manageable thuds,not gone but buried beneath chemical fire.

Nearby stood the archaeologists,pale and silent witnesses to this ordeal.

Clara stepped forward, fidgeting nervously with her satchel strap as she watched Ethan wipe sweat from his brow before asking in a steady voice laced with curiosity: "What was that?"

Ethan met her gaze, his usual smirk replaced by seriousness. "Prototype stimulant," he replied curtly.

"Codename: Vitae-9. It accelerates cellular repair while forcing adrenaline spikes and suppressing nerve pain."

He paused for breath before adding somberly, "In short,it heals us and resets our energy levels when we should be dead."

A weary sigh escaped him as he continued, "Side effects will hit later... but if we’re alive by then? It’ll be worth it."

Clara’s face tightened as she surveyed the men around her, still recovering from the injections.

Their foreheads glistened with sweat, and haunted expressions filled their eyes.

With her lips pressed firmly together, she chose silence,a heavy weight of unspoken thoughts hanging in the air.

Gunner rose to his feet, pulling out a map and compass that seemed to hold the fate of their mission within its folds.

His gaze sharpened as he measured the terrain,the slope of the valley and the jagged ridges looming overhead.

He jabbed a gloved finger toward the ominous black mouth at the valley’s base.

"That’s the entrance," he declared flatly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. It resonated with every soldier and archaeologist alike. "The tomb lies beyond."

Mireille, who had been standing quietly nearby, locked eyes with Gunner before giving him a single nod.

She turned and climbed into the archaeologists’ truck, which whirred to life with a low mechanical hum.

Moments later, the side panel hissed open to reveal compartments brimming with fresh weaponry, sealed ration packs, and crates of water. Behind them gleamed a rack of newly prepared suits in the dim light.

Gunner’s voice rang out again: "Rest. Eat. Refit. We move at dawn."

The order hung in the air like a double-edged sword,bringing both relief and unease.

Soldiers stripped off their damaged gear, replacing cracked plates with fresh ones while others erected makeshift barriers using leftover trucks to create a crude defensive ring around their camp.

A small firepit flickered to life in the center, casting pale shadows against the encroaching darkness of the valley.

Arthur approached the water supply and crouched low, splashing cold handfuls across his face as it cut into his skin, washing away streaks of blood but not erasing memories.

For a fleeting moment, his reflection danced in the basin,hollow eyes staring back at him from a face marred by violence.

He stared unblinkingly until he shattered that image with another splash.

Footsteps echoed behind him; it was Gunner holding out a mess tin filled with rations without uttering a word. Arthur accepted it silently, placing it on his lap.

Before either could speak, Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out something small,a metal tag and placed it into Gunner’s hand without hesitation.

The atmosphere thickened between them as Gunner’s gaze dropped to recognize what lay in his palm: Sergeant Korran’s dog tag,the man lost in an explosion they all felt deep down inside them.

Gunner’s grip tightened around it; veins stood out against his skin as he remained frozen for what felt like an eternity,his massive frame rigid with grief.

Finally breaking free from that moment of sorrow, he turned away and walked off into shadowy silence clutching tightly onto Korran’s memory.

The camp was eerily quiet that night. Even Ethan, usually the loudest voice in the squad, sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fire.

Mireille methodically sharpened her blade, each stroke deliberate and steady.

The archaeologists picked at their meager rations, casting nervous glances toward the soldiers as if they were shadows lurking just out of sight.

Fear hung in the air like a heavy fog, wrapping around them like a second skin.

Arthur slumped beneath the canvas of a temporary tent, his food untouched and forgotten.

His expression revealed nothing, but inside him, a storm brewed.

Memories of recent days flashed through his mind: men screaming in terror, rockets slicing through steel like hot knives through butter, blood splattering across cold stone.

He could still feel it,the warmth of life slipping away from his hands, now stained red and trembling.

He repeated the same mantra to himself over and over :they were enemies.

If he hadn’t taken their lives first, they would have taken his,that was the harsh truth he clung to.

Leaning back against the rough fabric of the tent, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The mountains loomed ominously around them; their shadowy ridges concealed unseen eyes watching every move.

Ravik Thorne and the Crimson Jackals were still out there,predators waiting for their moment to pounce.

And another convoy was approaching from beyond the far side of the range,a deadly convergence heading straight for them.

This valley? It wasn’t a sanctuary; it was a trap poised to spring shut at any moment.

Tomorrow would be different; tomorrow they would step into its jaws... What will happen next? Will courage prevail or will fear take hold?