Chapter 87: Miracles Even Mortals Can Take Part In

Under the guidance and command of the two knights, the warriors and common folk of the Cecil frontier finally began to mobilize.

News of the approaching aberrations had spread throughout the camp, but thanks to Gawain’s deliberate steering and subtle hints, the panic and pressure this news could have caused were temporarily suppressed—or rather, redirected. The trophies brought back earlier and the reputation of Gawain Cecil himself played a decisive role in this.

What pleased Gawain most was that, at least so far, no one in the camp had tried to flee.

Though the serfs and commoners might be ignorant, they were not foolish. Once they understood that this was a wild, uncivilized land far from any society, that beyond the camp lay either towering mountains or primeval forests, and that monsters roamed those ranges, they realized that escaping to the relative safety of Tansan town would take at least three or four days. With the aberrations closing in, running away would only get them killed faster. Naturally, anyone considering flight would weigh their chances carefully.

Gawain had specifically instructed Hetty to emphasize this point to the villagers.

So despite their lingering fear, despite the memories of the raging fires and endless monsters that had haunted their minds just months ago, the people summoned their courage. They had heard that the hero lord from seven centuries past had special methods to deal with the aberrations. Seeing Hetty and Rebecca confidently directing the soldiers in preparation gave them a glimmer of hope.

The tasks assigned to them also helped build that confidence.

Whether it was firing “slag” said to be used as weapons in the furnace area, setting up pedal traps, or carving and refining runes—these were jobs even illiterate commoners could handle well. While they worked, soldiers constantly reminded them that these items were meant to fight the monsters. Gradually, those laborers began to believe that this “ancient duke” might really be capable, and they threw themselves into their work with renewed vigor.

In truth, even the soldiers assigned to “announce” these instructions weren’t entirely sure what these things were for. They were simply following orders, repeating what they had heard from Gawain verbatim to the working commoners.

“Place the crystal shards at the bottom layer, then put the rune-engraved stone plates on top! If a stone plate breaks, come here for a replacement!”

“Finished items go over here!”

“Remember to check if the crystals are glowing. Crystals that don’t light up can’t be used—bring them here for exchange!”

“What you’re making are weapons, designed specifically to fight the monsters—this is Duke Gawain’s command! He’s the bane of those freaks!”

Gawain, accompanied by Rebecca and Hetty, walked across the open ground on the northeast side of the camp. This clearing was dedicated to crafting “art.” Originally, Gawain had wanted to name the place something like the Louvre, to symbolize its role as a treasure trove of art, but no one understood the reference, so he gave up.

He bent down to inspect the neatly stacked items at the statistician’s feet: wooden containers about half a foot square and less than two inches tall. Inside each box were Rebecca’s crystal fragments, topped with black stone plates engraved with detonation runes.

But these alone couldn’t trigger the magical “mines.” They still needed rune triggers to activate.

This final step couldn’t be entrusted to commoners or serfs due to the risk of accidental explosions. The rune triggers were installed last—when the wooden boxes were buried in the open area at the southwestern mountain pass of the camp, soldiers and specialized trap craftsmen would assemble the triggers onto the runes.

The rune trigger was a simple mechanism: a pair of runes separated by a thin stone plate, covered by a wooden board. Stepping on the board would break the stone plate, allowing the two runes to connect and complete the circuit—activating the detonation rune and causing an explosion.

This was the otherworldly equivalent of a landmine. Though its technical details differed greatly from Earth’s distant cousins, the concept was similar. It hardly fit the chivalric ideals of the age, but Hetty and Rebecca’s verdict was clear: “Who cares about knightly spirit? This thing looks awesome!”

In a world where supernatural powers existed, these “mines” had an extra advantage: no worries about the classic “lay mines for fun, clear mines for funeral” problem. Hetty would leave her magical signature on each detonation rune—a minor “mage’s trick” spell that allowed every mine to be quickly located. After battle, any unexploded mines could be easily found and disarmed.

Of course, Hetty’s capacity for magical signatures was limited, but for this battle, she had more than enough.

After inspecting the work here, Gawain handed over camp defenses to the two family knights and Rebecca, then set off with Hetty toward the Dark Mountains.

On a cliff face to the north of the mountains, more of Rebecca’s crystals were installed.

In fact, most of the crystals accumulated in the camp over recent days had been transported here. To ensure a large-scale rockslide, Gawain spared no expense.

With Hetty’s help—using spells like telekinetic hand and weight reduction—the workers and materials had long been in place. Using simple ropes and scaffolding, the stonemasons had carved out recesses in the cliff, filling them and the natural crevices with crystal fragments. But engraving the detonation runes was a job only Hetty could do.

As a third-level mage, Hetty couldn’t yet use mid-level spells like flight, and even low-level levitation was hard to maintain for long. So she stood on the ground, using telekinetic hand combined with telekinesis to paint the detonation runes on the cliff face, adjusting her work through her mage’s eye. This precise control was beyond most low-level mages, but fortunately, Hetty was not only a low-level mage but also a devout follower of the “Goddess of Magic.” She prayed for and received a brief blessing before starting, allowing her to complete the task.

To ensure the massive detonation rune would function properly, Gawain had gone all out—he took large amounts of powdered mythril and amethyst dust from the mountain’s treasury, mixed with alchemical potions prepared by Pittman, creating the most expensive “paint” ever made. Hetty could directly “paint” these magical conduits onto the rock, eliminating much of the carving and inlay work, thus saving time.

And now, time was the most precious commodity.

As Hetty carefully traced the huge lines and runes, Amber emerged from the shadows of nearby trees, her face tense. She leaned close to Gawain and whispered, “The monsters are very close now—no more than half a day away.”

“I know. That’s about what I expected,” Gawain nodded slightly. “Are they following the predicted route?”

“They almost took a different path halfway through,” Amber said, clearly shaken. “I had to risk breaking shadow form for a moment to lure them back onto this road—but now they’re even more agitated.”

Gawain looked at her in surprise. “…How did you get so brave this time?”

Amber shrugged. “Hmph. We’re this far in. What’s the point of backing down now? Might as well charge with you—maybe we’ll actually survive.”

Her gaze drifted to the cliff before them.

This towering cliff stood beside the mountain path where they had previously clashed with four aberrations. Below the cliff was the very road they had traveled. Weathered and fragile, the cliff was on the verge of collapse. The narrow mountain path allowed only a single line of passage, so when the aberrations passed through, they would be packed tightly in a long queue. When the cliff collapsed, they would have nowhere to escape—making this an ideal ambush site.

If a high-level mage were here, they would surely choose to bring down the cliff to crush the monsters. For a powerful mage, causing a rockslide would be as simple as casting a potent fireball or unleashing an earth elemental burst.

But now, the task fell to a third-level, low-rank mage who couldn’t even aim an ice bolt properly, and a group of ordinary stonemasons, laborers, and serfs.

This struck Amber as deeply strange.

The translucent telekinetic hand moved across the cliff, spreading the alchemical paint mixed with mythril powder and amethyst dust over the stone surface. Many runes had already taken shape, making the cliff look like some bizarre religious totem. Above, the simple rope ladders and scaffolds used by the stonemasons still hung—left intact, as a testament to the ongoing work.

This was proof that ordinary people had taken part in this incredible plan.

Not far away, the stonemasons and apprentices rested, exhausted from the physical and mental strain. Climbing the cliff with ropes to carve holes was no easy feat, especially under such tight deadlines and continuous work. Yet they had completed the challenge, which even Gawain found somewhat unbelievable. He had expected the work to take longer and the results to fall short of his hopes.

But soon Gawain understood: it wasn’t some surge of honor or survival instinct driving the craftsmen and apprentices. It was simply how the poor lived in this era.

Was it really so hard to carve holes in a cliff while tied with a rope? Not much harder than repairing the lord’s castle spires or gathering herbs from cliffsides.

Four centuries ago, in the western mountains of the kingdom, serfs weren’t even allowed to tie ropes when gathering herbs—because ropes were more precious than their lives.

Here, at least, they had ropes tied to their bodies. And what they did was no longer just for the lord.

(End of chapter)