Chapter 322: Intelligence

When Gawain heard Solderin’s words, his first reaction was shock. “You got slashed by cultists? You crossed the Typhon border once without being spotted by their guards, but ended up getting cut by cultists instead?”

“A lot happened…” Solderin sighed softly. “After wandering the continent for seven hundred years, you’d think I’d be prepared for anything, but surprises still come.”

“Sit down first, have some water and rest,” Gawain said, ushering Solderin to a seat while frowning at the dark red, dried bloodstains on his clothes. The high-level ranger had somehow acquired the typical black cloak and dark brown jacket worn by wandering adventurers. Neither garment was torn, but the blood seeped through and had long since dried—clear signs that his wounds hadn’t healed for quite some time. “Amber, go fetch Pittman—tell him to bring the ointment for treating toxins. And don’t go out the window…”

After the half-elf lady slipped out the window in a streak of black light heading southwest, Gawain pulled his gaze back inside and fixed his eyes on Solderin. “With your strength, how did you get hurt this badly? What kind of cultists did you run into?”

“The End of All Things,” Solderin said with a bitter smile, naming a group Gawain knew all too well—and found troubling. “I was set up… On my way to the Grant Wall monitoring station, I met a silver elf druid named Belna. She was a cultist in disguise.”

The high-level ranger spent a few minutes recounting the attack by the cultists. When he finished, he frowned and added, “Honestly, I’m uneasy. The End of All Things, that fallen druid sect, has always been active, but their sabotage and operations have mostly been limited to human kingdoms and some mountain realms in the west. They’ve never targeted the silver elves before… Yet this time, a cultist at least at the peak of high-level power infiltrated the elven monitoring station. I’m worried they’re plotting something against the Silver Empire—or even the Grant Wall itself.”

Gawain pondered for a moment. “Did you report this to your homeland?”

“Of course,” Solderin nodded. “After driving them off, I returned to the station and filed a report. The Elven Court is aware and promised to launch an immediate investigation. But you know how cunning those cultists are… Their true goals are always hidden beneath layers of distractions. We’ll probably only understand what those deranged fools want after they cause some damage. I had planned to rest at the station, but I feared the cultists might follow up with actions against Ansu, so I came back early to inform you.”

At this, a flicker of hesitation crossed Solderin’s face. Gawain noticed immediately. “Is there something else?”

“Maybe it’s just my imagination,” Solderin shook his head. “But during the fight, I felt targeted. She seemed to know my fighting style and habits very well… If I hadn’t brought some equipment she didn’t expect, I might not have made it back intact.”

Gawain’s eyebrows shot up. “Could it be someone you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Solderin replied. “She used a different body and face—some kind of flesh-fusion or devouring dark druid magic. I couldn’t sense her true aura at all. Many fallen druids like to reshape their bodies with flesh magic. Even if it was someone familiar, I wouldn’t have recognized them.”

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. When it opened, Gawain saw not only Amber and Pittman but also Hetty and Rebecca standing outside.

“We ran into each other on the road!” Rebecca exclaimed first. “I heard the ranger was back, so I came to see!”

Her curiosity was boundless, which didn’t surprise Gawain. He glanced at Hetty with mild surprise. “It’s rare to see you tagging along with Rebecca.”

Hetty said nothing, just smiled gently and subtly shook the staff in her hand—a staff with blood grooves and eight protruding spikes. Gawain immediately understood: this eldest granddaughter was Rebecca’s limiter.

“I’ll check your condition first,” Pittman said as he entered and immediately got to work, moving toward Solderin. Though he usually wandered the territory peddling fortune-telling and fake medicines, he knew how to prioritize when it mattered—mainly because if he didn’t, Gawain might just throw him against the wall with a flying kick. “By the way, are you allergic to the Bloodvine ointment?”

Solderin helped loosen the clothing around his wounds and shook his head. “I was allergic three hundred years ago, but not anymore.”

Bloodvine was a common druidic herb used to neutralize toxins and cleanse infected flesh. Half the silver elves were allergic to it, so Pittman asked to avoid adverse reactions.

“Some allergies can be overcome through gradual exposure, but better safe than sorry,” Pittman said like a responsible doctor as he began examining the wounds.

Beneath Solderin’s clothes were wounds infected by toxins for days, still unhealed. The flesh was an abnormal deep purplish-red, edges charred and dehydrated, yet the blood oozing out was bright red.

This strange “infection” was clearly influenced by magic.

After a moment, Pittman looked up at Solderin. “You’re strong.”

“Almost died from the toxins,” Solderin smiled wryly, partly to Pittman and partly explaining to Gawain. “The End of All Things’ fallen druids are formidable. I tried to trade wounds with my opponent, but it wasn’t worth it… After surviving the trials of the Gondor Wasteland, most survivors have high toxin resistance. That made me complacent.”

“Their venomous spells often carry curses and elemental corrosion. Pure toxin resistance isn’t enough,” Pittman shook his head. “Luckily, you’re a high-level ranger with strong self-healing. You’ve already neutralized most of the poison yourself. I’ll finish the treatment, and you should be fine.”

Solderin watched silently as Pittman pulled magical powders, leaves, and ointments from his wooden box, setting up a small druidic purification altar. Then he began casting spells to dispel the lingering cursed poison. Solderin felt the corrosive torment inside him rapidly fade and couldn’t help but say, “Your ritual magic is impressive.”

“I specialize in ritual druidic magic,” Pittman said, sprinkling the last of the magical dust onto the oil-drawn magic circle on the floor, which ignited and burned away under the spell’s power. “This method is more potent but consumes more materials. Don’t forget to reimburse me for the supplies.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got the funds,” Solderin said with a wry smile. “Though, ‘ritual magic’ is an old term. Only the classical druid sects still use it. Modern druids have merged ritual and sacrificial magic into ‘ceremonial magic’…”

“I’m from the Ancestral Reincarnation sect,” Pittman said proudly, wrinkles bunching on his face. “So my spells and ointments are authentic—you won’t find better anywhere else…”

Before he could finish, Rebecca interrupted, “Weren’t you the Heart of the Woods last time?”

“He’s the Spirit of Nature now,” Amber waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t believe him. This old guy’s read every druid sect’s book just to scam clients. He’s whoever the customer wants him to be…”

Solderin wasn’t quite used to the quirky atmosphere around Gawain and looked a bit embarrassed. Fortunately, Gawain steered the conversation back. “Besides the cultists, any other reports?”

“Actually, yes,” Solderin nodded immediately. He scanned the room, confirming that all present were leaders of various departments in the Cecile Territory, then spoke seriously. “I’ve received intelligence that Winterwolf Keep on the Typhon border was also attacked by aberrations.”

“Winterwolf Keep?” Gawain frowned. “If I recall, that’s the fortress held by the Wendell family… Currently commanded by Andersa Wendell, the young wolf general.”

“Yes, I served in her army before,” Solderin confirmed. “The attack on Winterwolf Keep happened just days apart from the one in Cecile Territory. Considering the distance and the aberrations’ speed, I suspect it’s the same group splitting into two in the Dark Mountains.”

Gawain looked to Amber, who spoke before he could. “Military Intelligence hasn’t reported this yet. Our network barely covers the southern borderlands and hasn’t reached the eastern border or Typhon yet.”

Gawain nodded, understanding that building an intelligence network wasn’t quick or easy—even with the advantage of commercial networks and unstoppable alchemical trade, setting up the Military Intelligence Bureau was a huge task.

“This news has probably already reached Francis II and the Typhon emperor’s desks,” Hetty said, sharp as always. Unlike Rebecca, she dealt with noble factions regularly and had a keen sense of the political climate. “Ancestor, the situation between the two nations may be shifting.”

“By the end of the Awakening Month at the latest, we’ll hear more,” Gawain nodded, turning to Amber. “Speed up training and deployment of new agents, and keep an eye on reports from the Holy Spirit Plains. If I’m right, before resuming diplomatic activities, Francis II will make some moves at home first.”

(End of chapter)