Round Ten: The Attacked Outpost

From the moment they saw the first thorny bushes, the heat of the Dual Days and the time they occurred gradually shortened—the air also took on a slightly moist feel. One evening, while camping beside a large group of cacti, there was even a brief shower!
It seemed some invisible force was at work, enveloping the Roaring Desert and turning it into the driest and harshest place on the continent. Yet it also prevented the desert from expanding further. This phenomenon existed in many regions of the continent, creating distinct zones with stark differences.
The Golden Road. The cold winds blowing in from the Northern Wastelands gradually warmed up here, bringing rain. The rocky and sandy terrain transformed into fertile soil due to the extensive forest belts spreading from the southern Sleeping Forests. Under these intertwined influences, this roughly east-west winding region became almost a paradise—a paradise for merchants, adventurers, and… bandits.
“Push harder!” Freth’s spirits had improved significantly. “We’ve officially entered the Golden Road! We can sleep at the guild’s outpost today! Just think! Warm beds, sweet mead, hot food, and fiery girls!”
His words sparked laughter among the mercenaries. Indeed, although it was still a desolate area with nothing but scattered trees and rocks, the journey ahead would be a pleasure—they could sleep at outposts or towns most nights and also sell the goods they brought from the eastern countries of the Roaring Desert, reaping tenfold profits! With this trade, they could easily make ends meet for months… Enjoying life in the towns along the Golden Road, living like nobles, and perhaps taking some adventures on the edges of the Northern Wastelands and Sleeping Forests to improve their skills and find treasures…
The entire caravan became energized—except for Milia.
“Can we leave this caravan now?” she asked Josen softly.
“Hmm… okay,” Josen nodded. “We’ll rest at the caravan’s outpost tonight. Tomorrow I’ll bring it up with Freth…”
A fortress made of wood, earth, and stones appeared on the distant horizon. The caravan members cheered, even the camels let out rumbling sounds with their long noses.
Freth also smiled, but as they got closer, his expression turned tense—
“Stop!” Freth shouted.
What happened? Josen spurred his horse to the front of the group.
“Why aren’t there any sentries signaling?” Freth reached for his umbrella and squinted ahead. Josen noticed too—the battlements of the fortress were empty. Upon closer inspection, faint smoke seemed to be rising from inside the fortress, not like cooking smoke. Most worrying was that several black birds appeared to be circling above the outpost…
“All on high alert!” Freth roared. “Draw your weapons! You, go take a look!”

After receiving their reward, Jorsen, Milia, and Freys rushed toward the fortress. As soon as they stepped through the half-collapsed gates, the hard-haired rats and carrion crows feasting there scattered like flies startled from a piece of rotting meat. Milia immediately spotted the being known as Forty-Seven—a half-purgatory, half-mechanical creature—standing on the terrace on the second floor of the main fortress, draped in a bloodstained cloak. In the wide courtyard, corpses lay scattered everywhere, with many areas showing signs of burning and ash; faint wisps of smoke rose from those spots. Her eyes turned red instantly. “You bastard—” But Jorsen grabbed her, shouting sharply, “Don’t act rashly!” “Sir Merchant, haven’t you been dragged down by these two yet?” Forty-Seven leaned on the railing, looking down at them from above. His figure, combined with the corpses below, created a profoundly grim scene. “Oh, my God…” Freys exclaimed dramatically, spreading his hands. “What happened here? Oh, isn’t that Simi? He was the one who opened the door last time I was here…” Simi, mentioned by Freys, was in front of him, his eyes sunken from dehydration but still wide open, staring at him, with his lower body missing. “Who did this! There are thirty fully armed guards stationed in this stronghold!” Freys shouted after taking in more corpses. “Freys! Can’t you see—” Milia was both shocked and angry. “This evil—” “Enough!” For the first time, Freys showed signs of fury. “Use your brain! Observe carefully! These people have been dead for at least four or five days!” “Look at this.” Forty-Seven threw a smelly corpse into the courtyard—more accurately, half of one. Unlike Simi, this corpse’s upper body was missing. But Freys quickly noticed more peculiarities. Compared to humans, the corpse’s legs were excessively thin, the fabric of its pants was very rare, adorned with intricate patterns resembling green leaves, and its boots on the legs were exquisitely beautiful, their design and craftsmanship almost perfect. The strangest part was the belt around its waist—it resembled more a vine woven fabric than a belt… Freys and Jorsen’s expressions changed. “Elves?” The cleanup was proceeding in an orderly manner. Corpses were arranged one after another in the open space in front of the main fortress, while soldiers swept the battlefield. Freys crouched in front of several corpses, observing or perhaps pondering something, with Jorsen and Milia standing behind him. “One, two… four. Judging from these incomplete corpses, at least four night elves died in this battle,” Jorsen said, resting his chin in one hand and the other under his arm, displaying the composure and meticulousness expected of a seasoned paladin. “There must be more!” Freys narrowed his eyes and pointed at some other corpses not far away. “The number of people in the stronghold differs greatly from the number of corpses we can find. There are hardly any women among the corpses. I’m sure many were taken away, possibly including these elves’ companions.”

“The enemy are the elves, right?” Milia seemed to have accepted the fact that the half-pyronic creature was not the killer, but no one had seen him since he disappeared from the terrace on the second floor of the main castle. She looked around for signs of the evil creature, appearing somewhat distracted.
“None of the bodies here died from arrow wounds. Night elves are all excellent archers, so they can’t be the ones who attacked the stronghold. The elves themselves are also victims,” Jason explained before Freth, who appeared angry and frustrated.
“That’s right. They came here for trade. Look at this guy—I saw him two years ago, though I’ve forgotten his name.” Freth stared at a night elf’s head, half of whose face had been gnawed away and whose eyes had been plucked out, leaving only two empty sockets staring blankly at the sky. It was unclear how Freth recognized him.
“Trade?”
“We do business with everyone, whether it’s mages or elves, as long as there’s a profit to be made. This is the stronghold closest to the Sleeping Forest, so it’s not strange to see elves coming here for trade, though they don’t come very often.” Freth stood up and saw Mann rushing over.
“I saw Mr. Forty-Seven behind the main castle. It seems he’s discovered something!”
Milia frowned.
Forty-Seven was crouched on the ground, tracing some white ashes with his fingers, completely indifferent to those who approached.
“Oh, we meet again!” Freth forced a smile.