Chapter 29
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Canyon (3)
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The great city of Laplous, stagnant for so long, finally began to stir with life. The merchant caravans pinned down here for ages were at last gearing up to leave.
Even with all the talk of demons in the canyon and curses hanging over it, they figured the Kalrim Mercenary Corps could surely punch through. That was their take.
The other mercenary groups were scheming left and right to rub elbows with the famed Kalrim Mercenary Corps, big names in these parts. You hear about mercs striking it rich overnight now and then if they play their cards right.
Anyway.
The Allen Mercenary Corps was packing up to roll out too. They stocked emergency rations just in case, checked their gear. The Red-Robed Mage even grabbed a few vials of holy water on account of the demon rumors. No clue if it'd help, but better than nothing.
- Your role's gonna be key once we hit the canyon.
- You'll pick up a ton this time. It'll be a crucial experience for you. No doubt about it.
Elena steadied her nerves, recalling what Mercenary Leader Allen had told her.
The group, split into men and women for lodging, regrouped in the plaza before dawn. The city was already heating up early, packed with folks like them itching to leave.
"Final checks, everyone. Nothing forgotten? Once we head out, no turning back."
"All good, Leader! Even drained the balls clean—ow, fuck!"
The burly Frank piped up for the crew. Allen gave his members one last scan and nodded.
"Alright. Let's move."
And so the nine blended into the frantic morning crowd.
Allen crunched over the dew-slick pavement from the night's brief shower, sucking in the crisp air. It purified his lungs, thick with the stench of whorehouse perfume all night.
Heavy clouds dotted the deep blue sky. Someone muttered it might piss down rain and suck.
They headed for the north gate. Watching the endless carriages barrel down the avenue, burly Frank let out a low whistle.
"The duke's gotta be swimming in coin this time."
Allen had shelled out 25 gold per head—225 total. It stung, but hey, half off from full price.
They finally reached the north gate after a long hike, and the gathered throng was massive. Allen parked his crew and took just Captain Aiden to the young guy diligently checking names.
"Allen Mercenary Corps."
Allen flashed their fresh new dog tags. The guy said hold on, rifled through a thick ledger, then nodded and jabbed a finger somewhere.
"Carriage 11."
Captain Aiden whistled sharp, two fingers in mouth, summoning the team. They piled into the cramped, shabby cart marked 11. Nine crammed in tight, no room to spare.
"Fuck, reeks in here."
"Who shat and skipped wiping?"
"Shut your trap. That's why it stinks."
Bunched up like this, the stench hit hard. Good thing noses numb quick to rot.
Huddled close, trading dumb jokes, the outside lightened up. Dawn breaking.
Departure time. Just as burly Frank bragged about last night's brothel nearly bursting, the cart jolted and lurched forward.
Luttenbake Canyon, huh...
Allen gazed wistfully at the receding outer walls, diving into old memories. Prime chokepoint for traffic—he'd traipsed through here plenty in-game. Spoiled southern nobles with egos and tastes for luxury snapped up central high-end goods like hotcakes. Throw in a trend, and they'd pay premium no question.
But it wasn't a cakewalk. That thick line slashing the continent-spanning mountains on the map? Bad luck meant high-level beasts. Bandits only skulked the fringes—they wouldn't dare the depths.
"We're really doing this..."
The muscle woman murmured at the fading city. The sun rising over the eastern horizon bathed the world in light. They drank in the vibrant landscape reborn, each tucking away a final testament in their hearts. ...Might be their last look, after all.
The caravan snaked out like ants from the city, stretching long.
Toward Luttenbake Canyon—
···
The trek to the canyon was downright pleasant. The Kalrim Mercenary Corps' rep must've scared the shit out of even the brain-dead bandits, restoring their sanity.
Laplous to Luttenbake wasn't far—a day's cart ride at most. ...But the scenery flipped completely.
Around the city, nature was beautiful, awe-inspiring. Around the canyon? Eerie, sinister. Canyon by name, but demonic realm fit just as well.
"...Fuck, we ain't heading to hell, are we?"
"Life's hell anyway, dumbass. Wanna heaven? Beg that monk."
Burly Frank thumbed the rough-faced monk deep in prayer ahead of canyon entry: Alphonse. A devout zealot swinging a brutal mace studded with iron spikes, "purifying" heads to the saintly skies.
Honestly, Allen hadn't realized the canyon was this creepy. Game graphics on a screen versus real life? No contest. Even the newbie Red-Robed Mage looked tense.
Before entering, the group took a meal break and tidied up. At least a steady stream flowed canyon-side—no water worries.
Allen Mercenary Corps trailed midway back. They were 11; last was 18.
Normal canyon crossing: five days. But this long-ass line? Probably seven, tops.
Kalrim Mercenary Leader confirmed all set and bellowed.
"Move out—!"
A blue flag snapped at the signal.
And the caravan plunged into the canyon proper.
···
Compared to the demon-and-curse hysteria, the first two days were dead quiet. Suspiciously so.
Nothing happening was ideal, but seasoned vet Kalrim Mercenary Leader didn't slack.
Third morning in the canyon.
After a light patrol, Kalrim returned to find Mage Lilia rushing up with urgent news.
"Found something?"
"First, check this."
She handed over a curse doll. White base, but patches turning black. Spreading still.
Kalrim clocked it instantly. No magic expert, but he had the miles.
"Curse, huh."
"Yes."
"Demon work?"
"...Likely, but not certain."
Lilia couldn't pin it fully yet—curses weren't her specialty. But confirming curse meant countermeasures next.
"Round up all the Leaders."
Kalrim summoned every Mercenary Leader. Soon, all eighteen gathered.
"Any issues overnight?"
All nodded no sweat.
...Save one.
That one shot up a hand like he had words.
Unusually handsome young man—Kalrim remembered his face.
"Speak."
"Might run long."
"Sum it up."
He nodded, hoisted what he held. ...The exact curse doll Lilia had shown. Kalrim's eyes sharpened.
"A widespread curse blankets the canyon interior. Dolls start white; black corruption spots them. Proof the curse reaches here."
He scanned the Leaders, locked on Kalrim. Murmurs at "curse"—Kalrim barked quiet. Jerked chin: keep going.
"Range is vast, so effects minimal now. But two more days? It'll hit bodies hard. Nightmares already spiking."
He paused, continued.
"Source: black mage."
"Why?"
"Demon curses and black mage curses have one key difference."
"What?"
"Beasts."
"...Beasts?"
He pointed at the cart horses.
"Demon curse? Horses berserk by now. They're fine. Means artificial magic targeting humans only. Black mage explains it."
Kalrim's lip twitched up. Lilia missed it; this guy nailed it.
"Solution?"
"Quench the immediate fire, for now."
"How?"
"Holy water. Divine power resists some. But constant exposure? No fix. Destroy the root—that's the only cure. Tricky spell."
No amateur. Kalrim felt it.
"You... name again?"
The young man smiled faintly. Odd charm to it.
"Allen, Leader of Allen Mercenary Corps."
The name burned into Kalrim's mind.