Chapter 36
Chapter 36
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 36
Chapter Title: The Devil's Cradle (5)
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Moritz guided Myra and Galen to the office and personally brewed the tea.
An oil lamp and a map lay on the desk between the armchairs set out for receiving guests. If it had been something they weren't meant to see, Moritz would have cleared it away while showing them in.
It was a detailed map depicting Elta and its surroundings—the city itself along with the villages in its hinterlands. Its precision was on another level entirely compared to the crude rag Galen had used as reference on his trip from Nijerte to Abaca.
Of course, it was no match for Earth's navigation systems that mapped out every back alley, but this was more than serviceable for administrative or military purposes. And indeed, it seemed to serve something along those lines.
'Yeah, this is what a proper map should look like.'
Abaca was marked at the map's far left edge, and it truly was the eastern region's westernmost city.
To Abaca's west lay the Great Mountain Range, an unbroken chain of towering ridges. And beyond that range to the west? That was already the central territories, not the east.
Abaca's south fell under the southeast classification, so set that aside for now. Head north along the access road, and you'd hit the frontier zone. It was only by going east that the mountains finally eased up enough to leave room for cities like Elta.
"You were just looking it over."
Moritz spoke as he set down teacups, one each in front of Galen and Myra. He placed one before himself as well, moistened his lips with the tea, and opened his mouth again.
"You might not be familiar with it, Lord Galen, so I'll keep it brief. This spot here—it's the linchpin of Elta's economy."
Moritz jabbed a finger at one point on the map. It sat roughly north-northwest of Elta, near the map's center.
"A mining village. Produces massive quantities of top-grade iron ore."
"Iron ore."
"No need to spell out the iron demand in Abaca—or more precisely, the frontier zone. Just think of us as footing the entire bill."
Even a rough count put the mercenaries alone in the thousands, and their appetite for weapons and armor was staggering. It wasn't a one-and-done purchase either; they burned through gear constantly battling fiends.
Galen nodded and peered back at the map. Assuming the scale was accurate—from Abaca to Elta was three days on foot or one by carriage.
"Elta to the mining village would be about a day's walk, then."
"Around there."
"Sounds like a nightmare to keep up."
"It is, but what choice do we have? Gotta do it."
The east was lousy with mountains. Elta's environs were no exception. A one-day trek didn't mean flat terrain the whole way, ending with mountains only at the finish line.
The mining village sat at a spot requiring at least a half-day climb into the peaks. And mountains naturally teemed with fiends.
"Plus, per the map, isn't this the southeast spur of the range encircling the frontier zone?"
"Spot on. The ridges link up, so trouble here ripples all the way to Abaca and the frontier. Get why I came now?"
"I figured it was just diocese business."
"That's true too. Elta falls under the Abaca diocese."
Galen traded words with Myra and nodded along as Moritz pressed on.
"In any case, our family guards that mining village like hawks. We proactively sweep the surrounding fiends on a regular schedule. Stumbled on the cradle that way."
Moritz's finger drifted a touch farther northwest.
"Roughly here. Full day's hike from the village. We usually stick to subjugations inside half a day, but we pushed deeper for training and lucked into it. A stroke of heaven's grace."
"Terrain?"
"Fairly broad valley. No running water, though the interior's a black box. Fog's too damn thick."
"Natural fog, and you wouldn't have looped in the church."
"Went in myself. Didn't sit right at all. Nearly didn't make it out."
"No report on terrain shifts. That checks out?"
"Nothing obvious jumped out at me, at least."
"Good."
Galen had gotten the rundown from Myra already, so keeping up with their back-and-forth was no sweat.
The Devil's Cradle unfolded in distinct stages.
It kicked off with a black hole—an abyssal pit—tearing open midair.
The pit expanded agonizingly slow while belching fog nonstop, and prolonged exposure to that fog triggered nasty mutations.
The church taught that fiends originated from mundane beasts corrupted by abyssal fog in ancient times. True or not, folks witnessed modern fiends mutating from the stuff all the time.
Fog alone meant early stage. Mutated fiends prowling nearby bumped it to mid. Terrain warping around the edges signaled late.
Push past late, and a devil crawled out of the pit. No eyewitnesses to that part, though.
Progression crawled at a glacial pace, and this cradle wasn't late-stage, leaving Myra room to wait on Lilia. Rare chance like this didn't come often, so she'd let the girl rack up experience. Bonus: Galen was tagging along anyway.
"We keep the route from here to the mining village pristine at all times, and the path to the cradle's been swept clean ongoing. Entry'll be smooth."
"Appreciate the effort. What forces you committing?"
"Twenty-four Silver warriors. Can't spare more. I'll lead personally. Second boy's coming too."
"Plenty."
The Burtane family boasted fewer than fifty Silvers total, so this was more than half their strength. The rest weren't slackers either, backing Moritz's no-more claim.
Devil hunts hinged on Golds anyway. Everyone else was support, mopping up trash mobs so the Golds didn't have to bother.
With the family's lone Gold—head Moritz—taking point, it was overkill. Toss in Kane, and it bordered on excessive.
"All prepped?"
"Like I said, take tomorrow to rest. We roll out at dawn the day after."
"Splendid. The church won't forget the Burtane family's devotion."
Myra smiled, well pleased.
"Count on us. And keep it coming."
A matching smile tugged at Moritz's lips.
The day of rest slipped by peacefully.
The clerics headed off to inspect the local church. Elta's was under Priest Deli, who—like Lilia—could wield the Fortification miracle and was joining the commission.
Galen had no reason to tag along to the church, so he killed time wandering the city and sightseeing.
The evening banquet was nothing special. Not shabby by any means, but the restrained drinking kept it from getting rowdy—otherwise, it was a lavish enough affair.
The standout memory? Moritz's eldest son was a far cry from his brother—polite to a fault.
"I've heard about it, Lord Galen."
As the banquet's mood mellowed nicely, the young man who'd introduced himself as Pezan sidled up.
"Some... friction with my little brother before you arrived."
"Lord Kane put it that way?"
"He wouldn't phrase it quite so mildly."
Pezan flashed a wry smile. Galen followed the flicker in his eyes to where Kane stood. Luckily, he wasn't looking their way.
"Told the kid to apologize, but fat chance he'd listen. So here I am instead."
"No need—you weren't even there. And it wasn't that big a deal anyway."
"Grateful you see it that way. He's still young, struggles with keeping his temper in check..."
Galen bit back a same age, no? Past life made that unfair. Spoiled twenty years in a cushy house, and who knew—might've ended up just like Kane.
Galen kept playing it off as no biggie, and Pezan visibly relaxed.
"Best of luck with tomorrow's commission. Father's been worried—hope it wraps up clean."
"Lord Moritz?"
Galen cocked his head. Their only real face-to-face had been last night, and he hadn't seemed worried at all.
"He doesn't wear it on his sleeve. Just a hunch. He's been... antsy, ever since the cradle turned up."
Pezan murmured. Galen figured it made sense—the guy ran the city, after all.
Nothing else from the banquet stuck out. Moritz and Myra cut it short early to prep for tomorrow before it dragged on.
The next day.
The ad-hoc Devil Subjugation Team marched out of the mansion in fine form.
Burtane side: twenty-six strong. Gold mage Moritz, Silver mage Kane, and twenty-four Silver warriors.
Myra's crew: ten total. Bishop Myra, two Fortification priests—Lilia and Deli—six healing-only priests, and Galen to round it out.
Nearly forty all told, every last one Silver-rank or better—a plush lineup.
They left Elta that morning, hit the mining village by evening for an overnight, then another full day to the cradle.
True to Moritz's word on preemptive clears, fiends were scarce en route. Any that showed were lone or paired Silvers—hacked apart in seconds.
They camped at the valley mouth to pass the night. Come predawn, Myra dragged Lilia off for recon, returning by morning.
"No other ways into the valley nearby. Won't need to rappel cliffs from above. We go straight in."
Burtanes had the numbers edge, but devil hunts were church turf. Even Moritz followed her lead without a peep.
Myra first mixed warriors and priests into squads: four Silvers per priest, five to a group.
"Fog kills visibility inside the cradle. Can't clump everyone through to the end. Groups stay tight at minimum. Priests in the middle, watch front, rear, flanks. Got it?"
"Yes!"
"Defensive posture, not aggressive—keep that front and center. No telling what fiends lurk in the fog, so stay sharp. The rest of you..."
Galen paired with best synergy Lilia; Moritz with familiar face Deli. Sole Silver mage Kane stuck under top vanguard Myra's watch.
Kane wore his gripe on his sleeve, but tough luck—should've been Gold. Even mix of vanguards and rears left no other option.
"Entering!"
With the three pairs up front, the team edged into the fog.
The instant they sank into the white sea, Galen felt a visceral disgust. Akin to the instinctive grimace fiends provoked.
That he could grit through somehow, but the fog was thick—way too thick. No exaggeration: he couldn't make out Lilia right beside him. Moritz's near-disaster clicked instantly.
"Purification!"
Myra's voice rang out then.
Flash!
Light bloomed right nearby. Platinum radiance from Lilia's hand shoved the fog back.
Lights winked on here and there next. The priests—one per squad—casting Purification miracles.
Visibility stretched at least a few steps ahead now. Oppression eased considerably.
"Don't burn holy power extravagantly!"
Myra called again.
Abyssal fog tied to devils, so Purification bit some, but had limits. Dumping all their holy power wouldn't banish it outright. Best to use it sparingly, like torches piercing dark.
How long had they crept along cautiously like that?
Decent time had passed, yet aside from the team's own noises, an unsettling silence reigned. Something should've lunged by now.
"Brother, brother."
Lilia had been unusually subdued—steely resolve, or maybe just wary with Myra close by.
Seemed boredom was winning out now; she grabbed Galen's sleeve and tugged.
Galen had been half-tense, half-irritated by the quiet himself—frankly, a welcome distraction.
"You called?"
"Can't you clear this fog? It's like damp water vapor, right?"
"Thought of that from the jump."
Galen shook his head.
"Doesn't work. Not normal fog—feels like a whole different magic hierarchy."
"Oh—wait, regular spells blocked too?"
"Dunno. Doesn't seem so."
To her anxious query, Galen answered by spinning a tiny vortex on his palm.
Ambient moisture predating the abyssal fog was fair game, at least.
He flicked droplets from his hand and scanned around.
"Could test it proper, no problems expected. But gotta have some hint of incoming to bother..."
Galen's voice faded sharp. The light he'd been eyeing winked out.
Not just that one. Every light trailing behind had vanished.
"Lady Lilia! The lights suddenly—"
He whipped around to Lilia in alarm—and went rigid.
Lilia, whom he'd just been chatting with, was gone.
"What... the hell?"
As Galen muttered blankly, a sticky whisper slithered into his ear.
"All... alone... now..."