Chapter 136
Chapter 136
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 136
Chapter Title: Star Fall (21)
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Clack, clack.
“What’s this...? Looks like there’s hardly anything left.”
“This is serious. I figured we’d have to brace for a hail of crossbow bolts right from the village entrance...”
It wasn’t empty talk—having racked my brain with detailed explanations about our group’s identity, objectives, destination, and even that eerie roar we’d heard near the village moments ago, this was quite the surprise.
The entrance village to Ray Line, Estanik, was completely deserted.
“Well, is this really that shocking? With Lordric on the brink of collapse. Given how close this village is to the western front, it makes sense they’d haul out anything valuable—not to mention the people who could become mute resources.”
“That’s exactly what’s supposed to be obvious around here, and yet it isn’t. That’s the problem, Ottoman.”
Blue Line Mountains—the sole passage to the demon cave equivalent to a 90+ level ultra-high-tier dungeon in an RPG. Divide the 3rd World’s activity zones into east, west, south, and north, and the Blue Line runs vertically through the map’s center. To its east lies Lordric at the core, surrounded by the Free Trade City Alliance, the three Teldrat nations, and assorted minor states. Further east are desert nations, while west of the Blue Line Mountains sits the Baltin Empire with its myriad vassals, and even farther west, the elven forests.
Ray Line is the only route connecting nations split by those mountains, and nobles obsessed with rare luxuries slapped absurd prices on goods crossing them. Thanks to that, every reputable merchant caravan in the 3rd World uses Ray Line.
In such circumstances, even after stabilizing it, the path crosses the Blue Line Mountains swarming with high undead and spirit beasts. So the five great churches managing the route restricted the number of people who could pass at once without provoking monsters.
A Ray Line merchant run where even the porters loading cargo eat like kings for three generations after one trip.
The route was already polished smooth from constant traffic, and now personnel limits had ignited explosive competition.
Where there’s money, people gather. Merchants from every nation built branches in Estanik—the nearest village to Ray Line—to snag waitlist spots and swiftly bribe the church personnel guarding the path. Aspiring laborers and mercenaries flocked there dreaming of striking it rich as porters or guards. Inns and shops sprang up to serve them. As the village grew, retailers settled in to snag mountain-crossing goods from caravans at bargain prices... Before long, a village once distant from the Ray Line entrance had swollen to encompass it.
Who guarded this booming village?
Knight orders dispatched from various nations to protect caravans laden with gold, jewels, and eastern desert specialties. Not just knights from the three eastern nations, but those from the empire beyond the mountains defended it too.
Thwack!
“Now that you’ve seen this empty village, do you get why I panicked?”
I perched on the fountain’s edge in the deserted square, scribbled a rough summary on the water’s surface, and the group—except Borca—nodded in understanding.
“Indeed. I’ve heard plenty of rumors about this place. Like how a royal-run caravan snagged Ray Line passage rights, and rival royals threw tantrums about church meddling in the succession.”
“With stakes that high, the money tied up here isn’t pocket change...”
“Hold your tongue. To buy the shabbiest corner spot in Estanik’s trade post, the king of Idrisil—a Teldrat vassal—sold off the crown and scepter passed down through his royal house, and still went home empty-handed.”
That’s why I panicked.
Estanik wasn’t some backwater you could just abandon—not with the insane web of vested interests tangled in it.
Lordric? Sure, they could pull out. Country’s about to fall. Turning nobles into hobos, money’s no object. They might withdraw some troops.
But the Free Trade Alliance, where merchant runs prop up the nation? Or Teldrat, where you can’t even enter noble circles without cutthroat cash fights? For rare opportunities like this, merchants take out massive loans to gear up. If a run flops, that caravan—and all the allied ones who co-financed for profit shares, plus minor outfits and investing nobles—go belly-up in a chain. National crisis or not, a single day’s delay in Estanik means truckloads of nobles ready to muster private armies for domain wars.
And yet—they’d cleared out Estanik this cleanly. Either the whole continent was crumbling simultaneously, forcing even earls and marquises to grit their teeth through coarse bread and curdled milk while pulling troops elsewhere.
“Or the nobles have lost their minds. One or the other.”
The former’s impossible, even if mutts gained demonic power and mass-produced troops. Lordric, cheek-to-jowl with the north, hasn’t fallen yet. They took a beating on the western front but held it, so no blades at other nations’ throats. No sane noble ties family bankruptcy to “reserve forces,” so panic withdrawals are a hard no.
The latter, though? Plenty plausible.
“Ugh... That Insomnia Crab mute, you mean...”
I nodded at Ottoman’s groan.
“Every nation’s gotta be shitting bricks with crisis fever. That’s why they sent hordes of precious heroes before Lordric falls and the front spills into their lands. But even with Lordric as a meat shield, they can’t fully stop tunnel-digging mute guerrillas. An Insomnia Crab’s tiny as two fingers before burrowing into your skull—good luck blocking that.”
“But... aren’t we prepared too? Just days ago at the Lordric noble council, they rooted out and executed two controlled nobles, right...?”
“If they found two, there’s way more hiding. Like Isaac, the 6th-circle mage of Tobrun—not outright puppeted, but memories slyly twisted, suggestions planted so they think it’s their own idea and follow mute orders. Not easy to spot. That noble ordering troops out probably got a positive nudge internally: ‘National crisis! Even if I go bankrupt, I can’t leave idle forces to foreigners! I’ll sacrifice myself to save my country!’ Then issued the withdrawal.”
Fuck. The more I think, the creepier. This clean sweep means they pinpointed which nobles dominated Estanik, tracked their residences, and sicced tunnel bugs and Insomnia Crabs on them. Weak nations short on mages might’ve toppled kings and all.
Targeting the continent’s money magnet for sabotage? Obviously aimed at economic terror. Luxuries prepped for Ray Line runs plummet to shit-value amid war. Processing them? Ray Line leads to the battlefield beyond the western front, crawling with grudge ghosts. No village guards left. Straight to bankruptcy, and the ripple...
“Supply lines get fucking wrecked. Even if nations scramble, war-trader know-how doesn’t spawn overnight.”
Economic terror, economic terror... Maybe not just crippling caravans—hit the sources too. Free Trade Alliance’s prime iron mines, Teldrat’s vast breadbaskets...
“Argh! My head!”
Crunch!
“What, what!? Why smash the innocent fountain...”
“I’m pissed! Thought I’d escaped that headache of troop assignments, happily raided church warehouses, finally clear my mind a bit—and now! They flaunt their schemes like ‘here’s what we’re doing’ right in my face! I don’t wanna play mind games with you! I just wanna be Pawn A on the board!!!”
- Jokasss: Nah. They could’ve just swept it with mutts, but they’re pulling every trick to avoid detection, making it look like political sabotage without killing a soul.
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: That’s just how it looks to folks like you...
- Professor: Shut up all of you! I’m pissed, so just sympathize!
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Yeah, could be.
- Speed Wagon: Could be.
- Heung An Mandu: Right, right. You’re spot on. Tough break, Professor.
- Deer Drug Please: Think of it as your fate with that head on your shoulders. For guys like me, it ends at ‘Village empty? No loot? Shitty trash game.’
No, I’m trying not to care, but with Lordric departure a month away, and their handiwork staring me down, how am I not supposed to worry?
Where the hell did these bastards learn this? That guy, right? The named clone of me, Palkatus or whatever?
Crossing the empty village, I thought it through, but we couldn’t just roll on. Contacting the church? All I could say is ‘Scan heads harder, start with war supply folks.’ They’re already maxing church and mage efforts. Need another way. Another...
Too many betrayals to trust Lordric’s inept noble shits. What good are ace knights with shitheads at the top?
Shing!
Clang-!
That’s when it hit. As my reluctant feet dragged, metal clashed ahead.
“This... combat? Borca!”
“Village west end! Undead horde and masses of humans! Fighting now!”
“Masses—how many!?”
“At least a hundred! Too many to count quick!”
Before I spoke, wolf-formed Borca leaped rooftops, relaying what he saw.
“Undead!? Ray Line entrance and surrounds are guarded by five great church folks, no!?”
“Village emptied, so church pulled troops too! They’re short-handed!”
Crunch-crunch-crunch!
Otto slung over my back as I formed hasty seals, I bolted full-tilt west. Houses and alleys blurred past; soon we hit Ray Line’s entrance, emblazoned with five churches’ crests. Dozens of wagons and carts barricaded a group in standoff.
People straining against undead swinging halberds twice normal size, others behind barricades awkwardly firing crossbows or ripping scrolls for support.
‘Not knights. But personal prowess is top-notch, combat organized. Mismatched weapons mesh like gears. Mercenaries—high-end ones. Those hiding back...’
Then, a half-torn banner on a wagon caught my eye.
Crossed golden sickle and silver wheat sheaf. The 3rd World’s undisputed No.1 caravan, backed by the Church of Plenty’s full might, with history from the 2nd World!
“Gold Geyser! Holy shit, Lo Haram!”
As the caravan banner flapped, my swirling worries cleared. Landing before the mercenaries, Professor swung his red-gauntleted right hand.
Crunch!
Creak! Creak creak!
Red gauntlet smashed the rampaging lead Death Knight’s flank; as the half-wrecked undead spewed black smoke and staggered,
“In the name of Light!”
White gauntlet fingers exposed, holy relic clutched knuckle-style, swung per the archbishop’s Light Fist technique into the hollow undead’s gut!
“Ascend to nirvana!!!”
Whooosh-!
Splaaat!
Unbelievable impact from a top-tier undead knight with 80% physical resist—two punches severed upper and lower halves, Death Knight sailing away.
Thud.
The mercenary captain, dazed by the surreal scene, snapped alert as the headless legs hit dirt. Superhuman strength. Divine light from fingertips. That imposing build! Above all, the word light zealots scream ear-shatteringly in battle!
“P-perhaps... from the Church of Light?”
At the battered captain’s tentative query, Professor glanced at our group thrashing in Ottoman’s waves, then solemnly placed hand over heart.
“Lathura, Lo-Haram. What an unrestful afternoon.”
Whoosh!
My affirmative greeting prompted a plump man firing crossbow from a fancy rear wagon to clamber down hurriedly before me.
“Gold Geyser caravan master, Geld Fraus! Light finally accepted our deal! Even Plenty abandoned us after so long!”
“Hahaha. Lo-Haram watches over all. Gold Geyser teeters on bankruptcy under Light’s gaze—how could we pass by?”
“Ooooo! Thank you! Truly! Once this run ends, I’ll repay the Church of Light handsomely! On Gold Geyser and Fraus family names!”
“Yes, you must...”
Professor shook the jubilant caravan master’s hand, beaming at the piled luxury and trade goods behind—scraped from doomed runs, including shit-valued war castoffs stamped with rival caravans.
“Wishing you utter success on this run.”
Lo-Haram said: When you dwell in darkness, there shall be light.
If you bankrupt the caravan, I’ll just make it prosper, no?
One look at the lined carts and trade mountains sparked the solution to my woes.
Nations can scramble locally for goods, but sustained supply needs merchant contracts—they scour regions for materiel.
Starving merchants to shred supply lines? Mute strategy was fresh, novel, effective.
But!
‘Other caravans doomed? Perfect! Swap that luxury mountain for food, metal, arrows in empire and western states untouched by war—Gold Geyser swallows rivals whole! Unified system, streamlined trade stabilizes supply!’
Their success flips the board. Risk 20000% scraping toxic stock, but this caravan master succeeds? Supply ropes thicken gold-plated.
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