Roen City, Radiant Sun Inn, second basement level.
Down here operated a large bathhouse connected to a natural hot spring, said to possess miraculous powers of healing and restoration.
The luxury bathing area occupied the deepest part of the second basement, a wide and opulent space.
Dozens of crystal magic lamps were embedded in the ceiling five meters overhead, casting a soft, warm glow that wrapped the entire space in a dreamlike haze of pale gold.
The pool itself spanned roughly eighty square meters, its water clear to the bottom, a thin veil of white mist drifting across the surface while the scent of lavender and mint hung faintly in the air.
At that moment, Orum sat soaking leisurely in the pool.
Beside him were Felix and Ronald, the latter in his beautiful-youth form, with only a bath towel draped over him.
Amid the rising steam, the three of them looked relaxed, at ease.
Soaking together in the bath to strengthen brotherly bonds was a tradition Felix himself had established, one the Ice Hawks Company observed before setting out on every long expedition.
Felix leaned against the edge of the pool, his brilliant golden hair damp with steam and plastered against his shoulders and back, catching a soft sheen in the refracted light of the mist.
His eyes were closed, a faint, rarely-seen smile of relaxation on his face.
Even in such a private setting, he still radiated a gentle, noble air.
Ronald sat on Orum's other side, still holding his youthful appearance for the time being.
His bare upper body revealed a frame both elegant in its lines and full of latent power, skin smooth as fine ivory, without a single scar.
The Lord of Dawn had granted Ronald divine power that let him temporarily return to youth, giving him the body of a boy.
A blessing of that caliber was, frankly, enviable.
About twenty meters from the pool where the three of them sat, in another, deeper pool wreathed in mist, Raygore soaked alone.
Owing to his enormous size and a face that could rival a "biological weapon," he always bathed apart from Felix's group.
Orum closed his eyes and let his mind sink inward.
In his head, he began replaying everything that had happened over this stretch of time.
The chaos of the Blazing Sun Tournament, the disaster that had nearly turned the entire arena into a living hell, had finally been quelled.
Though the process had been bloody and chaotic, order had at last been restored to Roen City.
Morgan Silverhand, lord of Roen City, had been assassinated in that riot. Though he'd ultimately survived, he was said to have suffered grievous wounds.
The injuries were reportedly so severe that only a high priest of archbishop rank could heal them, forcing him into seclusion to recover.
To hunt down the assassin and quell the unrest, the Silverhand family had ordered martial law across Roen City, lasting a full ten days.
The entire city was blanketed in tension and oppression, its streets crawling with fully armed city guards.
During the lockdown, the guards searched every household.
In the end, the army rooted out a fair number of tiefling hiding in the city, that intelligent race marked by crimson skin and demonic horns.
They had long suffered discrimination and exclusion in human society, most of them confined to the darkest corners of the world.
What surprised everyone was that most of those arrested were old, sick, or infirm, remnants left behind by the earlier "racial ban."
They had no way to leave Roen City for the distant tiefling settlements, and so had huddled in the city's slums, scraping by on the most menial work.
These people clearly had nothing to do with the riot. They could barely protect themselves, let alone take part in an uprising of that scale, and there was no sign of any cult mark or clue linking them to it.
But the Silverhand family didn't care.
They needed a target for their fury, and they needed to give the nobles and commoners of the city an answer.
The Silverhand family's solution for these tieflings was simple and brutal: throw them all into the dungeons, regardless of sex or age, regardless of the severity of any crime, and in one month's time, execute them by burning.
It was the oldest and cruelest method of execution.
The decision sparked an uproar across Roen City.
Priests of every good-aligned deity rushed to protest the Silverhand family's decision.
The clergy of the Amaunator church were the first to speak out. Dressed in white robes with sun emblems on their chests, they staged a peaceful demonstration outside the city lord's estate.
"This is a desecration of justice!"
An elderly bishop stood at the front of the crowd, his voice loud and resolute.
"Among those tieflings are the old, women, and children. How could they possibly have taken part in a riot?"
"The Silverhand family owes them a fair trial, not indiscriminate slaughter!"
Beyond that, even some believers of neutral-aligned deities voiced rare objections.
Nearly the entire religious community of Roen City had come to stand against the Silverhand family.
This put enormous pressure on the family.
After all, in a world where the gods truly existed, offending the church was never a wise move.
Priests wielded powerful divine magic, and more importantly, behind them stood true gods.
Should a deity be angered enough to send down divine punishment, the consequences would be unthinkable.
Orum soaked in the hot spring, listening as Felix recounted all this.
"The Silverhand family is riding a tiger it can't get off of now."
Felix leaned against the edge of the pool, his golden hair damp against his shoulders.
"If they rescind the order, they'll look weak and incompetent, and other factions will start to look down on them. But if they push through with the execution, they'll thoroughly alienate the entire religious establishment."
Ronald snorted.
"Serves them right."
His tone carried clear displeasure.
"Most of those tieflings were innocent. What the Silverhand family is doing is nothing short of tyranny. I really wish the Lord of Dawn would strike that old man down with divine punishment, teach him a proper lesson."
Orum said nothing. He simply listened in silence.
These political struggles and religious disputes felt far too distant to concern him.
Right now he cared about only one thing: growing stronger.
Only by becoming strong enough could he survive in this dangerous world.
Only then could he uncover the truth behind the Black Gate, and find his way home.
"Aside from the tiefling incident, there's another matter that's caused an even bigger stir in Roen City."
Felix's tone grew heavy.
"The sudden death of Platinum-rank Knight Captain Lawrence."
Orum opened his eyes.
He remembered that name.
Lawrence, Morgan Silverhand's most trusted knight captain, a Platinum-rank professional of the Knight of Glory class, one of the strongest knights in the entire southern reaches of the kingdom.
In the chaos of the Blazing Sun Tournament, he had been killed by a female assassin's curse.
That curse had been utterly vicious in its effect, causing Lawrence's body to rot into a black ooze within mere dozens of seconds.
Felix said, "Lawrence was one of the Silverhand family's most important sources of combat strength."
"His swordsmanship was superb, his loyalty unwavering, and he'd won the family countless great victories over the years. Losing him has weakened the family's overall strength by at least thirty percent."
Orum recalled the recent uproar in Roen City.
The Silverhand family had held a grand, solemn memorial for Lawrence, a ceremony lasting three full days and nights, a scale and extravagance rarely seen in Roen City over the past decade.
On the first day of the memorial, the Silverhand family erected a ten-meter-tall mourning hall in the central plaza of the city lord's estate. The entire structure was built of white marble, its top emblazoned with the Silverhand family crest, a silver hand gripping a scepter, gleaming solemnly under the sun.
Inside, the hall was filled with white flowers, moonlight roses sourced from the distant elven forests, radiating a faint magical luster. The entire hall was wrapped in fragrance and light, like some sacred realm out of myth.
There was no body for Lawrence's armor to accompany. His remains had already turned to black pus, and were placed in a silver casket set at the very center of the hall, the casket's exterior solemn and dignified.
Around the casket stood twelve enormous consecrated candles, each as thick as a grown man's arm, their surfaces carved with sacred runes, burning with golden flame.
Nearly every person of standing in Roen City came to attend the memorial. Nobles dressed in black mourning garb, white flowers pinned to their chests, lined up solemnly to enter the hall and pay respects to Lawrence's remains, the atmosphere grave and oppressive.
The heads of every major merchant guild, priests from the temples, senior figures from the Adventurers' Guild, officials from the administrative office, even scholars who normally kept to themselves sent representatives, each bringing precious offerings and eulogies, both a show of respect for the deceased and a statement of allegiance to the Silverhand family.
The memorial lasted three full days and nights, costing over thirty thousand gold coins, an astronomical figure for an ordinary noble, but for the Silverhand family, this was not merely mourning for the dead. It was also a declaration of power and a display of deterrence.
But no matter how grand the ceremony, it couldn't disguise one brutal fact: the Silverhand family had lost a Platinum-rank fighter.
That was an enormous blow to the family's overall strength.
Orum understood exactly what that meant.
In this world where strength reigned supreme, losing a Platinum-rank warrior was like an eagle losing its talons.
With the Silverhand family's power now considerably diminished, Roen City would likely see a new round of power struggles. Those factions previously kept in check would surely start stirring, eager to seize their share.
At this point, Felix's gaze grew even more penetrating. "The other noble families in the city, the ones who've lived in the Silverhand family's shadow all this time, have probably been waiting for exactly this chance. They'll come at it like sharks that have caught the scent of blood, tearing into it without mercy."
The corner of Felix's mouth curled into a cold smile tinged with mockery. "That's the true nature of nobility. Cordial and harmonious on the surface, but the moment an opportunity arises, they'll turn on each other without hesitation, feuding for decades, stopping at no vile method."
"Nobles produce no wealth. All they do is fight each other for scraps at the table."
A flash of disgust crossed his eyes, an instinctive revulsion toward the infighting within the noble class, a reaction rooted in his upbringing in the Graymane family, where he'd witnessed more than enough ugly, ruthless faces scheming for power, memories that still turned his stomach to this day.
"Still." Felix's tone shifted, turning lighter. "None of that concerns us. We're adventurers, not politicians. As long as we do our jobs well and keep advancing along the path of our professions, that's enough. As for the power struggles, let them tear each other apart on their own."
In the pool, steam rolled and churned in the glow of the magic lamps.
Orum leaned against the edge of the pool, closed his eyes, and let the scalding spring water envelop him.
His thoughts gradually drifted away from Roen City's power struggles, toward more practical matters.
Though the Blazing Sun Tournament had been cut short by the Green Cloud Calamity, the Silverhand family hadn't reneged on its promises.
The thousand gold coin prize, along with the precious reward, the Young Unicorn's Horn, had both already been delivered to White Stone Mansion.
Orum could still clearly recall the scene when the Silverhand family's steward had set that heavy wooden chest of coins on the table.
The moment the lid was lifted, golden light shimmered in the sunlight: a thousand gold coins neatly stacked inside, each gleaming with an alluring metallic sheen.
That was the third time since crossing over that Orum had earned more than a thousand gold coins in a single windfall.
A thousand gold coins.
By the standards of an ordinary person, that was equivalent to the total lifetime earnings of a town laborer working for thirty years.
Or it could buy a thousand ewes outright.
In this world, the purchasing power of gold coins far exceeded that of any currency on Earth.
A single gold coin was enough to sustain an ordinary family for a month.
And a thousand gold coins could set a commoner family up for generations, free from want.
Orum hadn't yet decided what to do with the money.
White Stone Mansion kept two half-elf maids, and their daily meals were already at a lavish, noble-tier standard, a considerable expense, but against Orum's income, it amounted to little more than a drop in the bucket.
Still, if he wanted to buy high-grade equipment, that sum might not be enough.
Orum had already started thinking about enchanting his flame-steel glaive to boost its destructive power.
On the market, enchantment prices varied wildly. The stronger and more lasting the enchantment, the higher the price.
Some particularly excellent enchantments, effects that could only be called miraculous, could go for as much as tens of thousands of gold coins.
Beyond that, Orum wanted to purchase a set of quality magic-resistant armor.
Because while his physical body was strong, his magic resistance remained low, leaving him vulnerable to the endless variety of spell-based attacks and their all-too-common effects, taking heavy damage, or worse, being locked down by all manner of restrictions.
At a critical moment, a single successful save against a spell could turn the tide of an entire battle. Orum understood this from deep, hard experience.
As for the young unicorn's horn, Orum wasn't planning to sell it just yet.
That item had no equivalent for sale on the black market, and it was, after all, the whole reason he'd entered the Blazing Sun Tournament.
He planned to find a chance to head out to the outskirts of Blackwater Town, locate that particular gravestone, and hand the unicorn's horn over to Skull Sis so she could absorb it.
Using that precious material to restore that necromancer's soul strength.
In exchange, Skull Sis would teach him more advanced spells.
That was worth far more than simply selling it for coin.
Gold could buy a great many things, but it couldn't buy true, high-level magical knowledge.
That kind of knowledge could only be grasped by genuinely high-level mages; outsiders had almost no way to access it.
And Skull Sis was a genuine high-level necromancer, her knowledge far beyond anything Orum could imagine.
Thinking of Skull Sis, and of studying magic, Orum fell into thought.
Ever since learning White Raven Tactics, his understanding of how to use magic had undergone a complete transformation.
That realization was like a door swinging open onto an entirely new world, revealing deeper mysteries and possibilities within magic that he'd never glimpsed before.
Previously, Orum's thinking had remained stuck at the tactical level, treating spells merely as tools for combat.
For example, using fire damage against treants, exploiting plants' natural fear of and vulnerability to flame to deal extra damage and cause panic.
Or using frost damage against demons, since most demons hailed from the scorching depths of the abyss and were extremely sensitive to cold.
Frost magic could damage their sturdy bodies, weaken their combat power, even slow their movements.
Or using lightning against constructs made of metal and against merfolk, since both metal and water were excellent conductors.
Lightning spells could deal multiplied damage against such enemies, sometimes piercing straight through their defenses to instantly paralyze or kill them.
These were all basic tactical applications of magic, fundamental knowledge every spellcaster should have.
Orum had once believed that mastering these tactics flexibly was already enough to make him a competent combat mage.
But after studying White Raven Tactics, he realized his thinking had been far too narrow.
The application of magic shouldn't be confined to the level of individual combat.
A truly powerful mage ought to elevate magic to the strategic level.
That was an entirely different dimension.
A far grander, more far-reaching vision.
So-called strategy wasn't merely combat technique.
It was mastery over the entire course of a war.
It was the comprehensive command of resources, time, and space.
It could extend the power of magic from individual combat all the way to legion-scale warfare, even to contests between entire nations!
A grand vision began forming in Orum's mind.
If one could master large-scale teleportation magic, capable of instantly transporting an elite army of thousands deep into an enemy nation's heartland in a single moment!
What an impossible-to-defend tactic that would be!
Under an assault backed by teleportation magic of that caliber, an enemy king and his nobles would discover something devastating.
The defensive systems they had painstakingly built would prove utterly meaningless in the face of such a tactic.
Every city wall, every fortress, every border defense line, all of it would lose its purpose.
Because the enemy would have bypassed all of it, appearing directly at the very heart of their nation.
That was what it meant to apply magic at the strategic level.
It was no longer the simple, direct tactical thinking of "I burn you with a fireball" or "I freeze you with an ice spike."
It was treating magic as the decisive factor capable of reshaping an entire war.
Orum's breathing grew deep.
Although his current strength was still nowhere near capable of casting a spell that terrifying, one able to teleport thousands across vast distances.
The very idea alone had already shown him magic's true potential and value!
He realized that a mage's true power.
Didn't lie in unleashing the most dazzling spells or inflicting the most staggering damage.
It lay in the ability to use magic to change the rules of war itself!
This breakthrough in understanding.
Filled Orum with an excitement and longing he had never felt before.
Of course, Orum understood well enough.
Mastering strategic-level magic required an extremely profound depth of magical knowledge and practical experience.
It wasn't something achievable in a short time.
What he could do now was lay a solid foundation, first overcome his weakness of extremely low magic attributes, and thoroughly master the simpler, lower-tier spells.
His thoughts drifted away from those grand fantasies of strategic-level magic, refocusing on the present reality.
The warm spring water still wrapped around his body, but the mood in the bathing pool had quietly shifted.
Felix cleared his throat.
The sound landed like a soft but unmistakable bell, breaking the stillness in the pool.
Orum turned his head and saw that Felix's eyes had opened, a complicated flicker crossing his emerald gaze, a mixture of worry and resolve.
"Orum, and Ronald." Felix's voice dropped low and serious, entirely unlike his usual gentle tone. "I need to explain to both of you the true nature of this mission."
Ronald, still in his beautiful-youth form, immediately sat up straight, alertness flashing in his eyes as he clearly picked up on the unusual note in the captain's voice.
Orum too pushed aside the distracting thoughts in his mind and focused his full attention on Felix.
Felix took a deep breath before speaking. "First, I have to tell you both, the nature of this mission is unusual." He continued slowly, his tone carrying a rare gravity. "It wasn't taken off the notice board at the Adventurers' Guild. It's a personal matter, one connected to me."
"This mission began," Felix's voice grew even lower, a complex mixture of nostalgia and worry flickering in his eyes, "with a letter from an old friend of mine, someone I've known for many years and trust deeply. His name is Ith Hall."
Ith Hall.
The name held no meaning in Orum's memory, clearly someone from within Felix's personal network of relationships.
"Ith is a young bard, a man with masterful skill on the harp and a captivating voice. We grew up together. He isn't a noble, or rather, his family had already lost their noble status long ago."
"The Hall family, a family stripped of noble title by the kingdom, has since fallen entirely into decline. Their once-grand estate was auctioned off to pay debts, and all that's passed down to Ith now is a dilapidated house and a handful of worthless family heirlooms."
"A few months ago, while Ith was sorting through his family's belongings," Felix's tone grew heavier, an odd note creeping into his voice, "he stumbled upon a land deed that had been sealed away for a very long time. It was hidden inside an old iron box, its surface covered in dust and rust, clearly forgotten for ages."
"When Ith opened that iron box and unrolled that yellowed parchment deed, he discovered, to his surprise, that the deed clearly recorded that the Hall family still owned, in full, a small mountain town, including the land, the buildings, and every attached facility."
"There's really such a thing?" Ronald's eyes went wide, clearly stunned by this unexpected discovery.
"A fallen noble suddenly discovers he still owns an entire town? That sounds like something straight out of a fairy tale!"
Orum said nothing, but his mind was already racing.
A forgotten town, a deliberately sealed-away deed. There had to be some secret hidden within all this, and that secret was unlikely to be a pleasant one.
"Even more surprising," Felix went on, his tone taking on a strange edge, "is that this town sits in an extremely unusual location. It's built directly at one of the exits of a large dungeon, deep in the Everdusk Forest, in an environment so treacherous and remote that ordinary merchant caravans couldn't possibly reach it."
"And yet the town's facilities are shockingly complete."
"According to letters accompanying the deed, dating back two hundred years, the town had a full farmstead, a hunting ground, a well, a mill, even a small temple and a market square. All of this points to the fact that the town was once a fully self-sufficient community."
Felix traced a circle on the surface of the water with his finger.
"A farmstead means they could grow grain and vegetables. A hunting ground means they could obtain meat and pelts. A well provides drinking water. A mill processes grain. A market square is where the residents traded and socialized. It's a small town, but with everything a community needs."
Ronald frowned.
"Wait." He cut Felix off. "A town built at the exit of a dungeon, and it managed to be self-sufficient? That doesn't add up. Monsters would keep pouring out of the dungeon. Unless there were professionals guarding it, there's no way the residents could live safely."
"You're right." Felix nodded, his tone growing heavier still. "That's exactly the most baffling part of it. Why would a town with such complete facilities, one of such tremendous value, have been sealed away and deliberately forgotten by the Hall family's ancestors?"
"There must be some reason behind it that nobody knows, and that reason is unlikely to be anything good."
The pool fell into a brief silence.
Only the faint sound of the flowing hot spring water could be heard, each of them digesting this information, mulling over what might lie hidden within it.
Orum's fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the pool, sending out a rhythmic ripple of sound.
A town that had been deliberately forgotten.
That in itself was an eerie thing, beyond all reason.
"Even so," Felix continued, a note of helplessness in his voice, "Ith decided to travel there himself to survey the town, called Greentown, since it was the only asset of any real value the Hall family had left. If he could revive it, it might help improve his family's circumstances. So he decided to put together a party to travel to Greentown for a firsthand assessment, to determine whether it was worth investing resources into, or whether it would be better to simply salvage what he could and abandon the place for good."
Orum could understand that feeling.
For a fallen noble to suddenly discover he still owned a town, the temptation would be hard to resist, even knowing there might be danger involved, the urge to take the gamble would still be there.
"Before setting out," Felix's tone warmed, clearly a memory that meant a great deal to him, "Ith specifically came to find me. We met at the Dragon-Heart Jade Inn in Blackwater Town. At the time, Ith explained to me in detail how he'd found the deed, and his plans for going to Greentown. I gave him some thorough, practical advice."
"I told him that if he really wanted to go through with it, he needed to assemble a sufficiently strong party. At the very least, two Mithril-rank professionals, along with ample supplies and equipment resistant to poison and necrotic curses. I also suggested he post the job at the Adventurers' Guild to recruit experienced adventurers to go with him."
"In the end, Ith put together a party of six, and decided to cross the Everdusk Forest and enter this small mountain town called Greentown."
Felix paused for a moment.
"But," Felix's eyes dimmed, his mood clearly sinking, "after Ith set out for Greentown with his party, no word ever came back."
"According to the original plan, Ith should have completed the survey and returned within a month. But it's now been three months, and he and his party have vanished as though they never existed, completely cut off."
Felix's pupils contracted slightly, a tremor entering his voice. "Then, three months later, one evening, while I was handling the Ice Hawks Company's paperwork at the inn, I suddenly found, on the windowsill of our lodgings, a familiar spirit trembling all over, feathers in disarray. It was a raven, Ith's familiar."
"That raven was in terrible condition, feathers falling out in clumps, its eyes bloodshot, its claws crusted with dried blood. I approached it carefully, and it recognized me, then suddenly threw itself onto my arm, pecking frantically at the back of my hand with its beak. That's when I saw the letter tied to its leg."
"The handwriting on that letter looked nothing like Ith's usual elegant, flowing script. It was twisted, blurred, broken, as though written by someone gone half-mad, using the last of their strength in the grip of extreme terror and agony. Every character was crooked and warped, filled with a frantic, trembling quality."
"The letter read, roughly, as follows:"
"'Felix, my dearest friend, if you're receiving this letter, it means my familiar is still alive. This may be the last words I leave to this world. I am now trapped in a living hell, praying every moment that death will come quickly, because staying alive is more terrifying than dying.'"
"'Our journey started well enough. Though the Everdusk Forest was dangerous, the adventurers I'd hired had enough experience that we could manage the attacks from the monsters we encountered. I even began to hope that Greentown might truly become the starting point of the Hall family's revival.'"
"'But that naive fantasy was utterly shattered on the night of the seventh day. We were ambushed by a Voodoo Cannibal Tribe, at least eighty members strong, surrounding our camp from every direction, howling like beasts, a sound that still echoes through my nightmares to this day.'"
"'The battle lasted from midnight to dawn. We fought with everything we had, but we were badly outnumbered. Those cannibal warriors were strong as beasts, attacking us with poison-tipped arrows, driving all manner of venomous insects and beasts against us. I watched my companions being hunted down one after another, dragged into the darkness, their screams tearing through the night.'"
"'Of the six of us who set out, I was the only one to survive. I don't know whether that makes me lucky or cursed. Perhaps dying there would have been a mercy. I ran for my life, desperate, cutting through the Everdusk Forest, evading pursuit. I don't know how long I ran, or in what direction. When I finally shook off my pursuers, I found that, by some twist of fate, I had stumbled straight into a hidden mountain town. It was, of all places, Greentown!'"
"'That very town I had originally set out to survey now appeared before me out of nowhere, as though it had been waiting for me all along.'"
"'The moment I stepped into Greentown, I knew something was wrong. The town was far too quiet, quiet in a way that didn't feel like anywhere living people would be. No children's laughter, no crowing roosters or barking dogs, no smoke rising from chimneys, no sign of daily life at all. Only a deathly stillness, a stillness more frightening than even the Everdusk Forest.'"
"'The residents seemed perfectly ordinary. They wore proper clothing, wore polite smiles, spoke to me in gentle tones. They knew I was a descendant of the Hall family, the nominal owner of this town, and after seeing the deed, they treated me with the utmost respect, preparing lodging and food for me.'"
"'Everything looked completely normal, and yet it was thick with wrongness.'"
"'The first thing that struck me as off was this: there wasn't a single minor in the entire town. Every resident was an adult, all of them appearing to be somewhere between twenty and sixty years old. No elderly, no children. That's entirely impossible in a normal village or town. So where had all the old people and children gone?'"
"'The second, even more terrifying thing, I discovered by accident. That evening, I was walking through the town to familiarize myself with the area, and ended up at the edge of town, near the cemetery. It was an area enclosed by a low stone wall, rows of neat gravestones inside. Out of curiosity, I walked in to take a look, and then my blood nearly ran cold.'"
"'That cemetery, it had a gravestone for every single resident still alive right now! I recognized the names, the very same people who had greeted me that morning, who had prepared my food. Their names were all carved onto those gravestones!'"
In the pool, Ronald let out a sharp, audible gasp.
His face went bone white, his eyes wide as saucers, clearly shaken.
"So, so those townspeople, are they all dead?"
Ronald's voice trembled.
"How is that even possible?!"
Orum noted that Ronald's emotions had become noticeably more pronounced and easily displayed than before.
That was the side effect of the Lord of Dawn's divine power.
While it made him appear young on the outside, it also weakened the composure he'd built up over years of adventuring.
Making him far more easily swept up by his emotions.
Right now he looked like a boy hearing his first ghost story, gripped by an instinctive fear.
Felix shook his head, gently reassuring him. "Ronald, calm down."
His voice remained gentle, but carried a clear undertone of rational analysis.
"How could they possibly be dead?"
"The difference between the dead and the living is enormous, not just in appearance, but far more importantly, in the aura of life itself. Any experienced adventurer could tell the difference easily."
"Undead creatures, whether skeletons, zombies, or higher-tier ones like vampires and liches."
"All of them give off a distinct aura of death."
"It's a rotten, cold sensation, something that instinctively unsettles the living."
Felix's fingers moved through the air, as if ticking off points one by one.
"That kind of undead aura can't be fully masked."
"Even the highest-tier undead can only dampen it, never eliminate it entirely."
Felix's eyes sharpened. "Not to mention the smell of decay."
"Unless it's a freshly turned corpse, or a high-tier undead treated with special magic."
"The stench of rot is simply impossible to conceal."
"That kind of stink would be noticeable from ten meters away."
"Ith, as a bard, may not have much combat power, but his sense of perception is definitely not weak."
"There's no way he couldn't have noticed something like that."
Ronald's breathing gradually steadied.
His face was still pale, but at least he wasn't as panicked as before.
"Then, then what's actually going on?"
Ronald frowned, confusion in his voice.
"If they're not undead, then why are their gravestones there?"
Felix thought for a few seconds, murmuring, "Those residents of Greentown probably aren't undead in the traditional sense."
"As for what the truth actually is, we have no way of knowing yet."
Ripples spread across the surface of the pool.
Orum had stayed silent this whole time, his mind racing through all the information Felix had provided.
A missing bard.
The descendant of a fallen family.
Deep in the Everdusk Forest.
A forgotten town.
Living residents with gravestones already made.
No elderly, no children.
These strange details, pieced together.
Formed an unsettling picture.
Felix continued, worry creeping into his eyes.
"Ith mentioned in the letter that as the owner of Greentown, he wouldn't be harmed, for now."
"But the next 'Dark Conclave' is approaching."
"Ith hopes I can find some way to rescue him as soon as possible."
"At the very end of the letter, a drop of thick, foul-smelling blood had fallen onto the page."
"Saying that Ith deeply regretted it."
"He wished he'd never laid eyes on that ancestral deed."
"This town is not something a human can withstand."
Felix took a deep breath, his expression grave. "Those are his exact words."
"Have either of you heard of the 'Dark Conclave'?"
Both Ronald and Orum wore blank expressions, clearly having never heard the term.
Felix, seeing their reaction, nodded slightly.
"That's to be expected."
"The Dark Conclave itself is an extremely secretive thing."
"Very few people even know it exists."
"And those who've actually attended one have either died, or become wanted evil mages or cultists."
Felix's eyes grew distant, as though recalling knowledge from some ancient text.
"The Dark Conclave is a forbidden gathering that convenes once every fifty years."
"Its history traces back centuries, to the Dark Age."
"An age of chaos, bloodshed, an era saturated with evil power."
Felix's voice took on a scholarly rigor and calm.
"At the Dark Conclave, every transaction too vile for the light of day takes place openly."
"Knowledge of evil rituals, forbidden magical materials, dark magic banned by every nation, even the souls of living people trapped in soul cages."
"Things utterly unobtainable in normal society, all available there, openly priced and sold."
Ronald's face grew even grimmer.
"That, that's an absolute breeding ground of evil!"
Felix nodded.
"Imagine a black market bound by no law or morality whatsoever."
"An underground exchange where every evil power and every forbidden knowledge converges."
"And the currency there isn't only gold coins."
"It's souls, lives, and sins beyond redemption."
His voice grew heavier still.
"That is the true nature of the Dark Conclave."
"Five hundred years ago, during the Dark Age," Felix's voice echoed through the pool, "was an era when evil mages ran rampant."
"They established Dark Conclaves in every corner of every continent, openly conducting human experiments, researching forbidden magic, summoning abyssal demons."
"The entire world was shrouded in the shadow of darkness."
Ronald's face grew even paler.
As a priest of Lathander, he knew that dark chapter of history all too well.
It had been an age steeped in sin and corruption, evil mages roaming freely across the land, countless innocent lives sacrificed to wicked rituals.
"But as the various kingdoms rose to power," Felix continued, "the righteous churches began acting together."
"The crackdown on cults and evil mages intensified."
"Those evil mages who had once run rampant were either executed, or forced to flee into the most remote wilderness."
"The Dark Conclave lost the fertile ground it needed to thrive, and gradually faded from view."
Orum noticed Felix's tone grow even heavier.
"But it never truly disappeared." Felix's eyes sharpened, his voice turning cold. "It just became far more hidden and cautious."
"They chose the most remote, hardest-to-reach locations to hold their gatherings. Islands lost in the deep sea, ruins buried in the desert, or, a mountain town deep within the Everdusk Forest."
That sentence froze the atmosphere in the pool instantly. Ronald shuddered instinctively, his eyes going round as saucers.
"Those places are far from civilization, far from the reach of any kingdom." Felix's fingers traced lightly across the water's surface. "The last refuges of evil power."
"And Greentown is exactly that kind of place."
Orum's eyes sharpened.
A forgotten town, residents with no elderly and no children, every living person already bearing a gravestone.
These bizarre phenomena might, against the backdrop of a "Dark Conclave," finally have a coherent explanation.
But Orum still sensed something off.
Perhaps the truth behind Greentown ran far deeper than this.
"But that's not even the most important part." Felix suddenly turned to look at Orum, the corner of his mouth curling into a genuine smile.
"According to my information, Greentown holds some extremely rare combat technique legacies."
"Including Jade Slash."
That name struck Orum like a bolt of lightning.
His body went taut instantly, a sharp glint flashing through his eyes.
Jade Slash.
Exactly the combat technique he'd been searching for so desperately. One of the three prerequisite techniques for the Blade of Military Path class.
Orum had searched throughout Roen City, even asked Felix for help, and still hadn't found a single warrior who had mastered this ancient technique.
"Little Orum, seems like that news has really caught your interest." Felix's voice carried a hint of amusement.
"You're right, Captain."
Orum nodded, admitting to the excitement stirring inside him.
He already possessed the combat scroll for Blade of Military Path, and understood exactly how to learn Jade Slash. All he needed was to witness a warrior use the technique once, and he could use the power of his status panel to replicate it perfectly.
"This is certainly a tempting opportunity." Felix said. "But don't forget, Greentown is currently a Dark Conclave site. It's full of danger and evil."
"I know." Orum's voice was calm. "But it's worth it."
Orum leaned back against the edge of the pool, the words "Jade Slash" echoing endlessly through his mind.
This was the key to advancing his Blade of Military Path.
Blade of Military Path, an extremely rare and powerful special class.
It combined the wisdom of military strategy with the essence of swordsmanship, granting formidable individual combat power, and could advance into an extraordinarily powerful advanced class: Nine Sword Grandmaster!
To become a Blade of Military Path required three combat techniques: Thrust, Sword Dance, and Jade Slash.
Three specialty skills: Iron Heart Force, White Raven Tactics, and Stone Dragon's Guard.
Thrust and Sword Dance, he had already mastered. Iron Heart Force, he had already cultivated to perfection.
Now all that remained were Jade Slash, White Raven Tactics, and Stone Dragon's Guard.
His training in White Raven Tactics was already underway; playing Lionheart Chess with Ristina every day was the perfect practice, and reading the White Raven Tactics specialty manual daily. Within a month, he'd surely complete his mastery of it!
Stone Dragon's Guard, though he hadn't started training it yet, he already had the training manual in hand. With the help of the status panel, the day he completed that training was already within sight!
Only Jade Slash, he had never been able to find a legacy for.
And now, the opportunity was right in front of him!