Chapter 84: Even More…

Gawain wanted to take a look at the Great Wall—not by trekking all the way to the sentinel towers on the border of the Gondor wastelands, of course.

The nearest sentinel tower stood at the far end of the strip plains along the southern foothills of the Dark Mountains. To get there, one would have to cross the mountain range and then traverse dozens of kilometers of barren wasteland. That was simply out of the question for now.

But a distant view was much easier. The Great Wall, true to its name, was a colossal barrier that could only be described as a miracle. The sentinel towers, some nearly a thousand meters tall, were merely the “anchors” of the wall. The wall itself was a magical barrier stretching up to the clouds. From a high vantage point in the Dark Mountains, Gawain could clearly see the upper edge of the barrier and get a rough idea of the condition of those towers.

With Amber’s stamina and his own, reaching the nearest high ground quickly wasn’t difficult. But bringing along two ordinary serfs was another matter. They had to be sent back to camp first.

Besides, they needed to return to calm the people.

Gawain glanced down at the mutated corpses still emitting faint black smoke. The blood and flesh had long since turned to ash, but the blood-red bones remained, dissipating slowly. It would take two or three days for them to fully “evaporate.” Until then, they might as well put them to some use.

Raising the Sword of the Pioneer, Gawain struck hard at the bones, which were even tougher than steel. Soon, he hacked off their grotesque heads. Amber watched in horror. “Oh my god… why are you desecrating the corpses like this? You’re twisted…”

“These will do wonders for calming the people back at camp,” Gawain said, glancing at Amber as he casually tossed one of the severed skulls into her arms. Then he bent down to chop off another. “And one more.”

“Eek!” Amber shrieked, startled by the sudden arrival of the monstrous head. Flustered, she caught it and shouted, “Are you crazy? Bringing these back will terrify people, not calm them!”

“For the Cecilians who just had their homes destroyed by these mutants, seeing the corpses of the monsters that killed their families is the fastest way to boost morale and fighting spirit,” Gawain explained. “It might be a bit of a shock, but it works best.”

As he spoke, he chopped off another head. Ignoring the two other creatures lying a short distance away, he grabbed a skull in one hand and his sword in the other, heading toward the corner where the two serfs had been hiding obediently.

In truth, the serfs hadn’t dared to peek out even once. They only heard the brief, fierce sounds of battle. Though it sounded like their lord had won, neither had the courage to check the outcome.

Only when Gawain appeared carrying a huge blood-red skull did they snap out of it. Seeing the terrifying head, both gasped sharply. “God!” “My heavens!”

“God won’t save you from these monsters,” Gawain said casually. “All the mutants are dead. Let’s head back to camp.”

He deliberately acted relaxed, adding offhandedly, “Though, to be honest, these things are just as fragile as they were seven hundred years ago. One swing, one kill. How could such creatures threaten the camp’s safety?”

The two serfs exchanged astonished looks. Then one nodded repeatedly. “Yes, yes! Lord, you’re so powerful. These monsters are nothing before you—utterly helpless!”

The other muttered, “But I heard Miss Amber screaming for help just now…”

“Ahem!” Gawain interrupted with a cough, shooting Amber a glance. “That was a battle cry.”

Amber caught on and nodded seriously. “Exactly. That was a battle cry! Anything else you heard was your imagination.”

“Got it? These monsters aren’t as strong as you think,” Gawain said, looking at the two. “Remember that, then let’s return to camp.”

The serfs nodded eagerly. At this point, all they wanted was to get back safely. Besides, they had clearly seen their lord chop off the monsters’ heads!

Carrying the two smoking mutant skulls, Gawain and company quickly made their way back to camp.

As they neared, Gawain deliberately handed the skulls to the serfs, ordering them to parade them proudly at the front.

At first, the serfs were nearly paralyzed with fear, trembling as they accepted the skulls under their lord’s command. But soon they realized these were just lifeless bones, slowly fading away. Gathering courage, their hatred for the monsters that had destroyed their homes began to stir from the depths of their stagnant hearts.

They held the skulls high like soldiers bearing banners, striding ahead to show these trophies to the wary, peeking camp residents. Though they hadn’t slain the monsters themselves, they seemed to share in the glory.

Fear and tension still lingered in the camp, but Gawain imagined that with these skulls brought back, the panic might remain, but there would be more reassurance too—

In a world filled with monsters and beasts, and scarred by magical storms, the greatest fear wasn’t the monsters themselves, but the helplessness when they attacked. Showing people even a glimmer of hope against the monsters was enough to inspire some courage.

Even if that courage only kept them from fleeing the camp that day, it was enough.

Amber quickly caught on to Gawain’s plan. Once inside the camp, her first order of business was to follow the two serfs around, boasting loudly about how easily they had defeated the monsters—and especially how crucial her own role had been. She conveniently left out the part about screaming for help.

But for Gawain, back in his tent, the real work was just beginning.

He summoned Hetty. “Hetty, you’re skilled in magic concealment spells, right?”

“Yes, very much so,” Hetty replied confidently. “I can’t break through intermediate level yet, but I’ve mastered all spells below that.”

Except aiming, apparently…

“Good,” Gawain suppressed a sarcastic comment. “I need you to come with me back into the mountains. I’ll need your magic.”

“But the monsters are already dead, aren’t they?” Hetty looked puzzled. “I saw the trophies you brought back and thought you were going to lift the alarm…”

“That was just to calm the people temporarily,” Gawain shook his head. “Those mutants wandered out from the Gondor wastelands, crossing the southern strip plains and the entire mountain range to get here. I suspect something’s wrong with the Great Wall—and I suspect there are more mutants wandering around.”

Hetty didn’t ask further. She arranged her affairs for her absence, then took up her staff and changed into a short robe suitable for outdoor travel, ready to depart.

Gawain found Amber, who was still going around the camp boasting, and dragged the half-elf—who was trying to dodge work by claiming she was “helping with publicity”—along with them. The three quickly returned to the spot where they had fought the monsters.

The huge blood-red skeletons still lay quietly on the mountain path, slowly decomposing.

Amber frowned at the ugly remains. “By the way, how did you know there were more monsters? Did you see them?”

“You don’t understand mutants,” Gawain finally explained. “Did you know that mutants grow stronger the more there are, but become fragile and even self-destruct if their numbers fall too low?”

Not even Hetty knew this. “Self-destruct if too few? How does that work?”

“Mutants and magical storms feed off each other. They might even be two sides of the same phenomenon,” Gawain said. “There’s a threshold number. Above it, the more mutants there are, the stronger the magical pollution becomes. The denser the pollution, the more and stronger mutants appear. The ambient magic in nature fuels this cycle. A large enough group of mutants can create a new magical storm point that rapidly spreads. But if their numbers drop below that threshold, the magical pollution they generate can’t sustain itself, and they weaken and break down in the orderly world. This process is quick—mutants separated from the main group can collapse within three days.”

Amber glanced at the remains. “I remember you said mutants wander blindly or stay put if they don’t sense a target, moving very slowly in those cases…”

“Exactly. If there were only four monsters, they couldn’t have wandered all the way from the Gondor wastelands here. At their speed, they’d have dissipated halfway,” Gawain said, worry clear in his voice. “So these four must have broken off from a larger group—maybe they got lost or the formation was too loose. But the main force definitely exists.”

Hetty gripped her staff nervously.

Gawain focused intently, carefully examining the mountain path the monsters had traveled.

Mutants were products of the Dark Magical Storm. Their chaotic magic was like a foul-smelling sludge, pungent and conspicuous. Though this chaotic magic dissipated quickly, these monsters had appeared recently, so traces of their magic likely remained.

Sure enough, after concentrating, Gawain detected a subtle disturbance in one direction along the path.

That direction led toward one of the roads descending from the southern foothills of the Dark Mountains.

(End of chapter)