The gigantic, soot-stained gates of Welbgard loomed like the mouth of a mechanical leviathan, a stark boundary between the world and the misery within. Thorenz crossed the threshold, his boots thudding softly on the neglected cobblestones. He was flanked by Jonah and Moses, their faces already etched with concern, as the young woman, Laura, led them deeper into the ravaged country.
It took mere seconds for the reality of Welbgard to slap them in the face. It wasn't just a struggling nation; it was a country in a slow, agonizing death spiral. The very air felt heavy and despairing. Welbgardians moved like ghosts, their frames skeletal, their eyes sunken and hollow. Hunger and thirst were not mere discomforts here—they were the conquerors, gripping every soul. Along the alleyways, within the dilapidated homes they glimpsed, the sick and injured lay in their beds, their lives fading away in a miserable, unattended surrender.
The situation was beyond grim; it was utterly, completely hopeless.
"Hey," Moses whispered, his voice barely audible above the shuffle of their steps, "I knew it was bad, but I didn't expect it to be this bad. This is... this is completely hopeless."
At that precise moment, a sound more piercing than any silence cut through the miserable air: an infant's sharp, desperate wail. Thorenz, Moses, Jonah, and Laura all stopped, turning towards the sound's source—a hungry baby, crying with the raw, heart-rending agony of utter need.
Thorenz's eyes narrowed, focusing on the distant cry. A familiar, dangerous heat began to boil in the pit of his stomach, the white-hot core of his rage. But he clenched his jaw, forcing the fury back down, locking it away. Now was not the time.
As they continued their walk, weaving through the desolate streets, Laura resumed her grim explanation.
"Well, as you can see," she said, her voice dry and without inflection, "the situation is hopeless. The factory has polluted our main spring, making the water unfit for drinking and all other uses. If we stubbornly drink it, it poisons us and leaves us in critical condition. Without any medical experts around, we almost always succumb to the sickness. In other words, death."
"So, what about the doctors?" Jonah pressed, his own voice tight. "What happened to them? Did Lazio kill them?"
"No," Laura replied, shaking her head. "They're still alive."
"Then where are they?!" Thorenz demanded, the anger he was suppressing spiking his voice.
"Yeah, what are they doing at a critical time like this?" Jonah nodded vehemently, mirroring Thorenz's indignation.
They continued walking, the grim landscape unfolding around them.
"The doctors have all allied with Lazio," Laura revealed, the words dropping like stones into the heavy silence.
"What?" Moses and Jonah cried out simultaneously, their surprise bordering on a scream. Thorenz's expression didn't change, but his already serious gaze deepened into a look of stone-cold gravity.
"Why?" Moses managed to ask.
"No one knows the reason for their choice and actions," Laura replied with a sigh, "but the consequences of such a decision is the obvious state the country is in right now."
"A country without a single medical expert? That's crazy," Jonah mused, utterly stunned.
"Well, there was one doctor who didn't ally with Lazio," Laura corrected him. "He went around the country, treating people and refusing payment. But because of the sudden, increased rate of sickness, he was just... stressed. You know, being the only one. Drinking the spring water wasn't the only source of sickness, either."
Thorenz finally spoke, his gaze sweeping over the gaunt figures shuffling past. "Yeah, it's pretty obvious. The spring being the source of livelihood is being polluted by that factory. This, of course, leads to starvation and inadequate nutrition. People won't eat well or eat healthy food. Which is another source of health failure, and eventually, death."
"Yeah," Laura nodded, her eyes meeting his. "You're exactly right, Thorenz."
"So, what is the name of this doctor who refused to ally with Lazio?" Moses asked, a flicker of hope in his voice.
"His name is Doctor Lionel," Laura said.
"Doctor Lionel, huh?" Moses finally replied, the name rolling off his tongue with a thoughtful, almost skeptical cadence.
Laura nodded, her gaze lifting to the bruised twilight sky. "Yeah, that's his name. He has been our only light, truly, ever since Lazio's reign of terror began." Her voice held a deep well of respect and loss.
"So, where is he now?" Thorenz's query was abrupt, cutting through the heavy air with an edge of urgency.
"Well, the last time we saw him around was fifteen months ago," Laura admitted, the light in her eyes dimming slightly. "He suddenly vanished without a trace. It was… unsettling. We're still hoping for his return."
Jonah crossed his arms, his expression hardening with suspicion, a trait honed by years under threat. "How can you be so certain that he hasn't allied with Lazio? I mean, you said it yourself. No one has seen him in the last fifteen months, right?"
Laura met his gaze squarely, shaking her head. "Perhaps he might have. But we have no reason to suspect him. Among Lazio's men who have been coming through, not once has Doctor Lionel shown up as one of them. His disappearance was too sudden, too suspicious, I'll grant you that, but even then, the evidence is simply not there to condemn him."
"I see," Moses murmured, digesting the explanation.
Their conversation was abruptly choked off as they rounded a bend. Before them lay a stretch of land that was less terrain and more an environmental wound. The air grew thick and acrid, tasting of burnt metal and industrial decay. Here, a monstrous factory stood, a hulking silhouette against the moon. From its numerous pipes, dense, blackened smoke billowed out, fouling the night sky and raining soot down upon the ground.
The sudden shift forced the four of them to instinctively shield their faces with their hands, covering their noses against the noxious fumes. The site was not only polluted but ear-splittingly noisy; the clamor of heavy machinery and relentless work thundered in the distance.
"So that's the factory, huh?" Jonah questioned, his voice strained and muffled by his hand.
"Yeah," Laura replied, pulling her scarf higher over her mouth. "Look!" She then pointed with a sharp, swift gesture toward a feature close to the factory's base.
The young men followed her hand, their eyes drawn to a small, glistening patch near the smog-belching walls. It was a spring, its water sluggishly pooling near the foundation of the industrial menace.
"The spring is very close to the factory!" Jonah exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock and dismay.
"So, that's why the water is polluted and undrinkable, huh?" Moses asked, his own eyes widening in a sickening realization that mirrored Jonah's.
Laura's jaw was set, a look of profound despair washing over her face. "As long as that factory remains there, our water will remain unclean. Our people will continue to die a slow, painful death. And even worse, the fall of Welbgard is imminent."
"Damn it. What are we going to do now? How do we fix this?" Moses's frustration was a raw sound in the polluted air.
It was in that moment of collective despair that Thorenz's eyes grew serious, an unyielding resolve replacing all doubt. He didn't speak. He simply drew his sword, the polished steel of his blade catching the faint moonlight and shining like a beacon in the darkness. Without a word, he turned and began to walk toward the factory.
"Huh? Thorenz? Where are you going?" Laura cried out, attempting to call him back, but the roar of the factory swallowed her voice and he did not respond.
"Laura," Moses called, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.
"Yeah?" Laura replied, turning back to him, confused.
"That young man, Thorenz. When he decides to do something, he neither holds back nor hesitates. He just surges forward without looking back. The least we can do is to support him. So what do you say? Are we going or not? Thorenz is not slowing down, you know." Moses's grin widened, and he and Jonah exchanged a shared look of fierce, quiet camaraderie.
Laura looked from Moses back to the figure of Thorenz as he charged toward the monumental factory, a lone blade against a fortress of industry. Tears of shock and a sudden, fierce hope welled up in her eyes as she watched. She quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand and nodded, a resolute fire kindling in her heart.
"Yeah," she whispered, turning to follow. "We're going."
The quartet marched into the colossal structure, their purpose a tight knot of resolve against the suffocating pollution. The moment they slipped past the outer walls, they were greeted by a scene of industry, oppression, and sheer horror.
The air inside was a cruel oven, thick with steam and metallic heat. The noise was deafening—a relentless symphony of hammering, grinding, and the sharp, brutal commands of overseers. Lazio's men, uniformed brutes with whips and clubs, stalked among the machinery, beating, oppressing, and forcing a desperate group of Welbgardians to work. Their bodies were drenched in sweat, shimmering slickly under the harsh factory lights as they toiled tirelessly.
Laura gasped, her eyes wide with horrified recognition. "This is the first time I'm coming here," she whispered, pulling the others into the shadow of a massive gear assembly. "I can't believe they had Welbgardians enslaved here, being oppressed by Lazio's men."
At that moment, the heavy atmosphere carried a faint sound of their hushed voices. One of Lazio's subordinates, a beefy man with a face scarred by old burns, paused his patrol and turned his head, his brow furrowed with suspicion. He began to stride toward their hiding place.
The group stiffened. They knew they had only a few heartbeats before they were discovered. "What do we do?" Laura hissed, her fear palpable.
In response, Thorenz didn't hesitate. With his sword already drawn, he spun out of the shadow, a flash of steel in the gloom. He aimed not at the approaching guard, but at the ceiling above him, slicing a thick, rusty chain that held a gigantic, steaming container of molten magma.
The container's support gave way with a screech of tearing metal. It pitched violently, and the searing, liquid rock poured out in a viscous, blinding flood.
The guard who had been approaching let out a single, horrifying scream that was instantly swallowed by the factory noise, as the molten material engulfed him.
"Guys, release the captives! Set them free!" Thorenz roared over the din, already moving to intercept another guard. "I will bring down this stupid factory!"
"Right!" Laura, Moses, and Jonah chorused in grim unison.
Immediately, the quartet sprung into action, their movements swift and smooth, trained by necessity. Laura, Moses, and Jonah darted through the maze of machinery, focusing on the chained workers—smashing locks, breaking manacles, and setting the terrified Welbgardians free.
Meanwhile, Thorenz became the whirlwind of distraction, facing Lazio's men alone, waiting for the signal that every captive was outside the factory walls.
The first man to surge at him attacked with a clumsy sword strike. Thorenz easily blocked the blow and retaliated with a blinding barrage of punches to the man's face. With each solid impact, the guard stumbled backward. The fists kept coming until the man's back finally slammed against a nearby piece of glowing, red-hot iron plating. He let out a piercing, horrifying shriek as the heat seared his flesh.
Another of Lazio's subordinates attempted to strike Thorenz from behind, assuming his guard was down. But Thorenz sensed the impending threat, pivoting sharply to stomp down violently on the man's exposed foot, prompting another agonizing scream. Before the guard could recover, Thorenz drove a punishing punch into his mouth.
A larger group of fighters, armed with swords and bats, charged as one. Thorenz met their aggression with a burst of superhuman agility and speed. He dodged the first swing, slammed his forehead into the second man's face, and then, with a series of precise parries, shattered the blades and bats of the remaining attackers.
He grabbed one man, shoved him towards another section of hot iron, eliciting a third horrifying scream, and finished the move by driving the palm of his hand into the man's jaw with bone-jarring force.
In the midst of the chaos, the trio had successfully released the last of the captives. The grateful, terrified Welbgardians were now streaming out of the factory doors.
"Thorenz! We've set all captives free!" Laura screamed, her voice barely audible but carrying the vital message.
"Alright, good job, guys," Thorenz thought, a brief moment of pride crossing his face as he turned and ran, drawing the remaining guards into a hot pursuit.
Suddenly, he stopped short, forcing his chasers to skid to a halt just meters behind him. He took a wide, centered sword fighting stance, his blade held low and ready.
"One sword style," he announced, his voice suddenly calm against the factory's roar.
Then, with an impossible burst of energy, Thorenz began to spin around very fast, his sword trailing a mesmerizing silver arc. He began to chant, the words echoing through the metal halls: "Continental Devastation!"
He unleashed a horrifying maelstrom—a cyclone of waves and winds channeled directly from his spinning blade. The attack hit the factory's structural integrity with the force of a natural disaster. Metal groaned, riveted supports buckled, and walls crumbled into dust.
In a matter of seconds, the attack had reduced the industrial structure—Lazio's furnace of oppression—to nothing but a pile of twisted steel, smoking rubble, and ruin.
"Thoreeeenz!!" Laura shrieked from the safety of the outside, her horror mixing with awe as she witnessed the entire factory brought down in a cloud of dust and steam.
A pall of silence descended, heavy and absolute, replacing the thunderous roar of collapse. The thick, acrid cloud of pulverized stone and earth slowly began to thin, letting the faint, late afternoon light filter through.
In the center of the devastation, the Welbgardians struggled to their feet, coated head-to-toe in the gray residue. Moses, Jonah, and Laura emerged from the clinging dust, their bodies aching, their lungs burning.
Laura's breath hitched, a tiny, ragged sound lost in the vast silence. Her eyes, wide and luminous, scanned the mountainous pile of rubble where the tower had stood mere moments ago. A sudden, fierce pang of worry—cold and sharp—struck her heart. Thorenz.
Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring the chaotic sight. She had to know. She had to hear him.
"Thorenz!" she shrieked, her voice cracking, raw with sudden terror. "Thorenz! Thorenz!"
Only the rustle of settling debris and the distant moan of the wind answered her desperate cries.
Without thought, fueled by a primal need, Laura took off, scrambling toward the precarious mountain of wreckage.
A strong hand clamped around her arm, jerking her to a halt. It was Moses, his face grim, his eyes tired but focused.
"Hey, calm down!" he commanded, his voice strained but firm.
Laura spun on him, her entire body shaking, the tears now streaming down her dirt-streaked cheeks. "Don't tell me to calm down! Thorenz is still there!"
"I know," Moses said, his grip easing slightly but not letting go. "But you need to stay calm. We'll find him, but you can't run in there blindly."
His words didn't penetrate the shield of her panic. She tore her arm free and threw her head back, a single, agonizing sound tearing from her throat:
"Thorenz!"
Meanwhile, far to the south, under the vast, uncaring sky, Aethel and his group of fifty weary travelers continued their long march home. The sun was dipping low, painting the horizon in hues of deep orange and purple.
"Aethel, let's rest here," the old man, Anthonio, insisted, his voice gentle but edged with exhaustion. Anthonio, a man whose bones remembered more journeys than Aethel had yet taken, slowed his pace considerably.
Aethel glanced over his shoulder, his young face etched with determination. "Please, sir, we're still a long way from home. The terrain ahead is rough; let's push on a little longer."
"Aethel, a man needs rest," Anthonio countered, rubbing his lower back. "Besides, it's late. It's not going to hurt one bit if we rest here, is it?"
As he posed the question, Anthonio realized the debate was already over. The other fifty people were scattering around them, already spreading out cloaks and blankets on the flat earth, preparing for a much-needed night's rest. A sight of fifty people in various stages of preparing to sleep was a powerful argument. Anthonio sighed, a small smile playing on his lips, and conceded the field.
After they had eaten a simple meal and settled down, the evening silence drew out a question that had been gnawing at Anthonio ever since they had abruptly turned their backs on Dawn City.
"Say, Aethel," Anthonio called out softly across the dwindling firelight.
"Hmm?" Aethel replied, looking up from where he was checking the straps on his pack.
"I'm curious," the old man began, leaning forward slightly. "Why did you suddenly decide to leave Dawn City?"
Aethel paused, his gaze drifting up to the first few stars appearing overhead, a momentary flicker of thought crossing his face.
"Well," he finally responded, his voice even and matter-of-fact, "I figured it was time to return home, that's all."
"Really?" Anthonio pressed, a subtle challenge in his tone.
"Yes, sir," Aethel replied firmly. "Sir, the mission was to find out if humans lived beyond our borders. We've achieved that, and so there is no reason for us to remain there."
Anthonio watched him, then smiled warmly, shaking his head. "You know, young people these days are too wise for their age."
"Haha, you think so?" Aethel chuckled, a small, genuine sound.
"Yes, Aethel, I do," Anthonio confirmed.
Aethel stood, stretching his tall frame. "Well, get some rest, sir. We will continue our journey home at first light."
And so, under the silent watch of the distant stars, Aethel and his group passed the night, allowing their weary bodies the rest they desperately needed.
Back at the heart of Welbgard, the dust still settled from the cataclysmic blast. Laura fought with desperate, raw energy, every muscle straining in a futile attempt to wrench herself free. Moses's grip was a vice—firm, unrelenting, the heavy-handed assurance of a brother who knew she'd rush headlong into the danger she so desperately feared.
"Thorenz!" she screamed, the name tearing from her throat, a ragged prayer offered to the swirling debris.
Then, the impossible happened.
A low, grating sound, like the earth clearing its throat, drew every eye to the smoking mound. The compacted rubble, tonnes of shattered stone and twisted metal, began to shift. A collective gasp swept through the crowd, a wave of stunned silence. A moment later, a figure emerged.
He was caked in grey dust, unrecognizable save for the powerful set of his shoulders and the defiant tilt of his chin. Thorenz coughed, shaking his head like a dog after a bath, and stood tall amidst the wreckage.
Laura's eyes instantly welled, the dam of her fear finally breaking. She didn't move—she simply saw him, whole, alive.
Thorenz blinked, wiping a thick layer of soot from his face. "Yo! Did you call?"
That was all it took. With a cry that was part relief, part apology, Laura shoved Moses away and launched herself across the short distance, crashing into Thorenz's dusty form. He caught her, staggering slightly, as the tension that had held them all captive broke.
A roar erupted. Moses, Jonah, and the gathered Welbgardians surged forward, not in a rush to save, but in a chaotic, jubilant celebration. The factory was gone, and their champion, the strange outsider, had survived the inferno.
Soon, the small knot of survivors swelled. Welbgardians poured in from every street, their faces alight with a mixture of hope and vengeful glee at the sight of the destroyed factory. The noise was deafening—a tidal wave of cheers, shouts, and triumphant laughter.
Slowly, the noise began to subside, the energy spent. When the crowd finally settled into a restless, expectant silence, Thorenz stepped forward, planting his feet firmly on the scarred earth.
"Welbgardians!" he began, his voice rough but clear. "My name is Thorenz, and I know this issue has nothing to do with an outsider like me. But here is the truth." He swept his arm towards the destroyed land and the jubilant faces. "This is your fight! No one is going to fight for you if you don't stand up and fight!"
He let the words hang in the air, then lowered his voice, though it still carried authority. "I know you are a peace-loving people. But there are times when you have to stand up and fight. Fight for what is rightfully yours! Fight for a peaceful future! Fight so that your children won't have to fight!"
The response was immediate. The people erupted in an uproar, a thunderous agreement that solidified their willingness to take up arms.
Then, a voice, deep and commanding, cut through the din like a cleaver through flesh: "Stop this madness now!"
The noise ceased instantly. The crowd parted, a sudden, respectful deference opening a path from the back. An old man walked forward. His silver hair was neatly combed, his back perfectly straight, and his eyes held the weight of decades. His presence demanded respect, and the people instinctively gave way.
"Chief," Laura whispered, her voice laced with surprise and a hint of dread.
"Huh? So, he's..." Moses started, his shock palpable.
"Yes. Chief Mauritius, the leader of Welbgard," Laura confirmed, her gaze locked on the approaching patriarch.
Chief Mauritius walked until he stood directly opposite Thorenz, his eyes hard and unwavering. "I forbid anybody to go to war against Lazio and his men!" he declared, his voice ringing with authority. "We are only going to throw our lives away!"
Thorenz took a deliberate step forward, meeting the Chief's gaze. "Chief, with due respect, sir, if we don't fight, we will die slowly. The people are starving, fighting dangerous illnesses, the land is sick and dying. If we don't rise now, when will we rise? If we don't rise, Welbgard is done for! But we can change that! We need to rise and fight!"
"Yeah!" the people chorused in a defiant wave of agreement.
"Chief Mauritius, we need to fight!" a citizen shouted from the middle of the crowd.
"Lazio needs to be taught a lesson or two about not messing with Welbgard!" another voice boomed.
The quiet discipline broke. The place became a tumultuous sea of shouted agreement and defiant calls for action. The Chief was overwhelmed. His authority, usually absolute, was powerless against the surging will of his people. With a final, weary look at the destruction, he turned and walked away, defeated by the rising tide of rebellion.
Meanwhile, in the deeper shadows of the ruins, a figure stirred. Unbeknownst to the celebrating people, one of Lazio's men had survived the factory's destruction. He remained hidden, little more than a smudge against a blackened wall, his ear straining to catch the conversation.
Welbgard are starting to get stronger. They are starting to fight back, he muttered to himself, his voice raspy with fear. Even worse is that foreigner. He is probably as strong as Lord Lazio. I must report this to Lord Lazio immediately!
With the last word spoken, the man silently vanished into the night, carrying the toxic seed of Welbgard's defiance straight to its enemy.