Chapter 208 - 203: The Journey, a Must for Completing the Trial
Chapter 208: Chapter 203: The Journey, a Must for Completing the Trial
The gray sky hung low, almost pressing down on the bare treetops in the distance.
The wind and snow, sharp as knives, scraped against his face with a bone-chilling cold.
Jon was wrapped in a thick fur cloak, his hood pulled down low to reveal only a pair of ice-blue eyes. He calmly scanned the snow-covered, nearly unrecognizable dirt road ahead.
The sturdy warhorse beneath him snorted, its puff of white breath instantly shredded by the wind. Its hooves trudged through the thick snow, making a monotonous, muffled crunching sound.
"Boring."
The word formed silently on his lips before dissipating into the biting wind.
On the long journey, his thoughts inevitably began to wander, drifting back to yesterday’s council chamber in the Lord’s Mansion.
A few faces—anxious, calculating, feigning dignity... A moment’s thought was all it took for them to surface clearly in his mind.
The way those noble lords had looked at him was a mixture of desire for the Power of the Mechanical Bodies, the pain of paying the cost, and a trace of ill-concealed awkwardness that came from needing a favor.
’Provide a batch of cheap armaments? In the name of the Resistance Alliance? Heh...’
Jon’s lips curled into an undisguised sneer.
Those fellows... Their own private armies were poorly and unevenly equipped, and they were too afraid of taking losses to commit to a real fight. Yet they had the gall to hope that he, Jon, would provide them with new weapons at a ridiculously low price—or even on credit.
And their reasoning was so noble-sounding: for the greater good, to reduce casualties.
’I wonder where they got that confidence.’
Jon scoffed inwardly.
Did they think he was young and easy to fool? Or that just because Paris was leading the charge, he would have to bow down?
Did they really take him for a charity?
While it was true that his raw materials came from the United Commerce Association, he owed them nothing. He had settled his accounts with the directors of the Golden Maple Leaf Trading House the moment their payment came through.
Favors are one thing, business is another.
A favor might get you a business deal, but it shouldn’t cause either party to take a loss.
"Cash on delivery" was the ironclad rule he’d established when he founded his Workshop. It was the bedrock of his reputation and his key to survival in these chaotic times. There was no way he’d bend that rule for their ridiculous, one-sided fantasies.
’A bunch of fools blinded by greed and fear, yet utterly lacking in true courage.’
That was Jon’s final verdict on yesterday’s farce.
He flicked the reins, urging his weary warhorse to quicken its pace. The wind whipped particles of snow against his face, bringing a sharp, clarifying pleasure.
This trip to Trulane County was a secret mission that required him to keep a low profile. He obviously couldn’t ride a mount as distinctive as Big Mimi.
Besides, after eating a good amount of the Frost Scale Young Dragon’s flesh, the big cat had been showing signs of breaking through to the Official Level. So, he’d left it behind at Grent Manor to act as the manor’s guard cat.
In the midst of his thoughts, the faint outline of buildings surrounded by low wooden fences and covered in snow began to emerge on the blurry horizon.
Jon’s gaze sharpened instantly.
"I’m here..."
According to intelligence gathered by the Golden Maple Leaf Trading House through various secret channels, the small village ahead, named Black Pine, was a stronghold for a rebel force. Its leader was a minor chieftain from the Blood Eye Association, placed here to control the surrounding area and plunder supplies. He possessed Official Level strength.
Jon’s hand instinctively drifted to the hilt of the sword at his waist, the metal cold to the touch.
’What happened at Lael Village probably hasn’t reached here yet. I hope this guy hasn’t run off...’
’The Warrior’s [Advanced Trial: Oppression] required him to single-handedly kill five enemies of a higher level than himself. This would only be the second...’
...
Black Pine Village—or what was left of it—now resembled a filthy, overstuffed storehouse.
Low thatched huts tilted precariously, much of the thatch torn from their roofs to reveal dark, gaping holes.
In the clearing at the village center, the snow had been trampled into filthy slush. It was piled high with all sorts of "spoils": bolts of cloth stained with mud and suspicious dark patches, bulging grain sacks, a few old but heavy bronze artifacts, and even several skinny, shivering sheep tied haphazardly with straw ropes.
The air reeked of a mixture of cheap tobacco, sour sweat, and the slow rot of something unseen.
"Get a move on! Pigs! Maggots! Didn’t you eat?!"
A middle-aged man, gaunt as dried firewood and wrapped in an ill-fitting fur coat, stood with his hands on his hips, spittle flying as he roared at a few men hauling supplies.
His face, like a piece of crumpled and re-flattened parchment, was etched with deep ravines. His cheekbones were high, and his murky, yellowed eyes radiated undisguised ferocity and impatience.
He was "Rat Tail" Karon, the former leader of a band of robbers. After being recruited by the Blood Eye Association, he was stationed in this region. His Official Level strength was more than enough for him to act like a tyrant in this remote area.
"Tonight! I’ll say it again! Before tonight, all this damned junk better be loaded onto those broken-down carts and sent to Black Stone Town!"
Karon’s voice was sharp and grating, like a rusty piece of iron scraping across slate.
"The higher-ups are waiting for this stuff! If there’s any delay, I’ll stuff you useless bastards into sacks and toss you in the river to feed the fish! You hear me?!"
The men struggling with the heavy sacks flinched, their movements quickening as raw fear filled their faces.
Most of them were local farmers who had been press-ganged into service; they were powerless in the face of Karon’s brutality.
A younger man, weighed down by a heavy sack, staggered. His knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed into the mud.
A vicious glint flashed in Karon’s eyes. He strode over and drove his boot into the young man’s lower back.
"Useless! You can’t even stand straight! What good are you?!"
How could the young man possibly withstand Karon’s Power? He let out a muffled grunt and collapsed, curling into a ball in agony, his face ashen.
His companions nearby quickly lowered their heads and worked even harder, not daring to spare him a glance.
Karon hawked a thick glob of phlegm onto the muddy ground next to the young man. He then irritably rubbed his coarse, red hands, which were numb from the cold, and surveyed the chaotic scene.
The weather was getting worse, the snow and wind seemed endless, and yet the orders from his superiors for supplies grew more and more urgent.
He just wanted to get this mess over with, crawl into the village chief’s relatively intact house, down some cheap ale, and get a good night’s sleep with that decent-looking woman he’d taken.
"Damn this goddamn weather!"
He glanced up at the oppressive gray sky and cursed viciously again, resentful that he had to stand watch in this frozen hellscape.
Hauling goods in this godforsaken weather was torture. He’d had more freedom back when he was just a bandit!
"If it weren’t for what that woman promised me, I wouldn’t be doing this..."
Just as his gaze swept over the sparse, bare woods at the village entrance, a sudden, inexplicable chill shot up his rigid spine like a venomous snake.
It wasn’t merely the cold of the biting wind and snow.
It was a purer, more profound cold that seeped into his very bones, bringing with it an indescribable, heart-stopping sensation.
It was as if everything—the howling wind, the clamor of his men, even the sound of his own blood pumping—was suddenly dragged into a thick, viscous state of slow motion.
Every hair on Karon’s body stood on end!
The instincts he’d honed from countless brushes with death shrieked their most piercing alarm.
’An enemy!’