Another half an hour passed by the time the mercenaries had finished cleaning up these out-of-control undead.
If they rushed in and killed through, the time could be shortened by half. However, in order to minimize casualties, Eric decided to let the Highland Swordsmen retreat to rest, and then let the Lobster Lancers reload, aim, and shoot in rounds, relying on long-range distance to kill these undead without any injury.
After dealing with the remaining threats on the battlefield, the mercenaries set about collecting the spoils. The spirituality of the ghouls is concentrated in the pituitary glands in their rotting skulls, while the skeleton archers are the remnants of the soul fire in their skulls.
Although it can't be sold for much money, it's enough to give the mercenaries some extra money and bonuses. After all, the Plantagenet Mercenaries are a serious professional mercenary group, unlike some recreational mercenaries whose members are either rich or noble, and they don't even bother to harvest spiritual materials.
Everyone was busy harvesting corpses. Even the lobster spearmen pulled out the knives in their boots and went up to pick out the undead who looked good. Only Ask waved away the weapons in his hands, walked silently to the tree on the hill next to him, and began to watch the people work in boredom.
Under normal circumstances, everyone would have scolded this guy for his laziness, given him the middle finger, and unceremoniously withheld his reward.
However, now, even the dumbest Highland Swordsman has understood it from the whispers among his companions.
The reason why these undead went from being "pressed and attacked" to being "standing and being harvested" was entirely because this man sniped the undead commander with a long-range snipe.
Although everyone still didn't understand how he did it, it was enough to wash away the bad feelings that had accumulated before.
Therefore, the mercenaries just worked silently and handed over the harvested spiritual materials to the two leaders, McGregor and Eric.
"Eric." Wiping the blood off the sword with a rag, McGregor quietly moved closer and nodded slightly to signal him to look behind him. "Where did that guy come from?"
"Not sure." Eric shook his head. He was obviously shocked. "Looking at the mission contract and ID issued to him by the Bull Mercenary Group, this guy seems to be the leader of some mercenary group."
"What mercenary group?" McGregor asked in a deep voice, "Iron Cross? Gold coins? Vikings? Could it be those idiots from Free Wind?"
"It's not a large mercenary group." Eric frowned, "It's a group whose name I haven't heard of before. It seems to be called something like... Green Sword?"
"Sword of So-and-So, Axe of So-and-So, Shield of So-and-So, these are all names that are used everywhere." McGregor sneered, "Only small mercenary groups that are just playing around would come up with such names. Those who have made a name for themselves in the industry would immediately change to a more resounding and impressive nickname."
"Do you think he comes from an unknown small mercenary group?" Eric said meaningfully.
"No." McGregor said honestly, "I feel like he is a reserve force trained by the headquarters of a large mercenary group. He probably came to Iberia this time to gild his resume."
"Do you think so too?" Eric was a little surprised.