Translator: CinderTL
Dawn Territory wasn't far from the manor, just a few days' ride on a fast horse.
Roland didn't linger on the road, pausing only briefly at the village where he had once taken refuge.
Time had passed, and the village had fully recovered, as if the kobold attack had been nothing more than a dream.
Yet familiar faces were fewer, replaced by unfamiliar ones.
When his gaze fell on the inn that had been converted from the blacksmith shop, his brow furrowed slightly.
The image of Marco, the blacksmith's son who had always been so arrogant, flashed through his mind.
Is that guy still locked up in the dungeon?
The thought passed quickly.
Amidst the villagers' clamor, Roland gently urged his horse forward, continuing his journey.
Unlike the rugged terrain of Blackwater Territory, with its dense forests and towering mountains, Dawn Territory seemed relatively open.
As he rode east, the road beneath his hooves gradually widened and flattened. The forests on either side thinned, giving way to rolling hills and vast, open fields.
Three days after leaving the manor, Roland finally reached the small village located on the border between the two territories.
But the scene before him was utterly unlike the villages he knew in Blackwater Territory.
If the villages of Blackwater Territory were always shrouded in a tranquil and peaceful atmosphere, this border village of Dawn Territory presented a completely different picture.
Tilted thatched-roof huts crowded the muddy path, while several pale, skinny children peeked out from behind door cracks.
In front of the tavern in the village center, several drunken mercenaries were harassing a village woman, their swords glinting coldly in the twilight.
Fresh sword marks scarred the tavern wall, and faint crimson bloodstains stained the ground.
At the village entrance, several wanted posters fluttered in the evening breeze.
Occasionally, a woman's scream or a man's curse would pierce the air, only to be quickly drowned out by the stench of cheap ale.
A pall of desolation hung over the entire village, even the watchdogs cowering in corners with their tails between their legs.
Roland surveyed the scene, feeling the hostile gazes directed at him. He immediately abandoned any thought of staying the night and urged his horse forward, sprinting away from the village.
The village was tiny; in mere moments, Roland reached the opposite end.
There, he saw dozens of villagers gathered, waiting.
Their clothes were tattered, men and women alike, but they all craned their necks, gazing into the distance with hopeful eyes, as if anticipating something momentous.
Just as Roland was puzzling over this, a procession of figures slowly emerged from the horizon.
They moved with unhurried steps, yet their pace was surprisingly swift—a paradoxical gait that struck Roland as strangely familiar.
In an instant, the group had closed in on the village, and Roland finally made out their appearance.
There were about a dozen of them, completely shrouded in wide white robes, revealing only the contours of their jaws, which varied in shape.
Roland frowned slightly at this sight, discreetly reining his horse back to a hidden spot.
As the white-robed figures approached, the villagers, who had been eagerly awaiting their arrival, surged forward.
Like pilgrims, they knelt in unison, hands outstretched, foreheads pressed to the ground.
The lead white-robed figure curved his lips into a faint smile and took a step forward, his voice ethereal as he asked, "What do you seek?"
As soon as the words fell, the villagers murmured in unison, their voices barely audible.
"May Truth prevail."
"May Truth endure forever."
"May Truth endure forever."
The two sides exchanged these whispered phrases like a secret password, their voices so faint they were almost inaudible.
Then, the white-robed figures dispersed, each producing a glass vial filled with a pale blue liquid from their robes. They handed these vials to the villagers one by one.
The villagers' reactions varied. Some carefully concealed their vials in their pockets, while others eagerly uncorked them and tilted their heads back to gulp down the contents.
As the villager who had drunk the pale blue liquid swallowed, his previously vacant eyes visibly regained a strange vitality.
"Is that... an Energy Potion?" Roland squinted.
"The effects are similar, but..."
His gaze followed the gaunt villager. The man's shrunken cheeks were rapidly regaining color, even flushing with an unnatural redness.
"Its potency seems far greater than the Energy Potions I brew?"
As Roland pondered this, the villagers, after expressing their heartfelt gratitude, gradually dispersed.
The group of white-robed figures continued their advance into the village. Only now did Roland notice the emblem embroidered on their backs: a massive eye, outlined in dark silver thread, its pupil dilated to the extreme, sending a chill down his spine.
"Truth?" Roland frowned, suddenly recalling the mysterious woman he had met in Pine Wood Town. "Could this be the Church of Truth that Theresa mentioned?"
Though a suspicion had taken root in his mind, Roland took no action. His mission was to purchase Devilfish, and getting involved in side matters would be unwise.
Only after the villagers and the white-robed figures had completely disappeared from sight did he emerge from the shadows, leading his horse. With a practiced leap, he mounted and continued his sprint eastward.
As Roland ventured deeper into the heart of the Dawn Territory, he found that the villages and towns along the way grew increasingly desolate rather than prosperous. Even more disturbing, the mass graves scattered along the roadside were piled high with corpses, the majority of them young women.
The region's law and order were equally appalling.
In just a few days of travel, Roland had lost count of how many bandit gangs had tried to ambush him.
But these desperate outlaws had all met their end beneath his sword, their corpses lying still in the wilderness, merging with the chaotic landscape.
Compared to this, Pine Wood Town, which he had visited earlier, seemed like an orderly paradise on Earth.
After five days and nights of relentless travel, Roland's tense nerves finally began to relax as the distinctive salty, humid air of the sea washed over him.
Looking ahead, he saw a magnificent port city built along the coast gradually coming into focus.
This was his destination: Far Ocean Port.
Though surrounded by several baronies of the Golden Valley Kingdom, this port city did not belong to the kingdom. Instead, it was part of the River Domain Nations to the north.
Unlike the Golden Valley Kingdom, the River Domain Nations lacked a centralized ruler. Instead, they were governed jointly by several major merchant families and local nobles.
Despite its modest military strength, its strategic location made it a thriving trade hub, rich in resources and maintaining good diplomatic relations with neighboring countries.
Shaking his head to temporarily set aside the information he'd heard from Bronson, Roland dismounted and led his horse by the reins, silently joining the long line of people entering the city. He moved forward slowly with the crowd.
As they drew closer, the silhouette of Far Ocean Port gradually sharpened.
Towering gray-white walls snaked along the coastline, punctuated by several domed towers at strategic points, each flying a flag of blue with a golden anchor.
At the city gates stood guards in deep blue uniforms.
The brass buttons on their chests bore the same anchor emblem, and their curved scabbards were inlaid with mother-of-pearl, perfectly complementing the port's maritime theme.
"Next!"
As the guard barked the order, Roland handed over his prepared travel permit.
The guard's calloused fingers pinched the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he eyed the longsword at Roland's waist.
"Mercenary?"
"Traveler."
"Don't cause trouble."
After carefully examining the seal on the permit, confirming there were no discrepancies, the guard quickly waved him through.
Passing through the heavy arched gate, the scene exploded into vibrant life.
The main thoroughfare, paved with stone slabs, was lined with shops displaying colorful signs. The air was thick with the mingled scents of grilled fish, spices, and caramel.
At the street corner, several merchants in exotic attire were haggling with local vendors, coins glinting in the sunlight.
In the distance, the dock district was a forest of masts, as foreign merchant ships unloaded their cargo. Dockworkers chanted work songs as they carried bundles down the gangplanks.
"This is where a person should be," Roland sighed, taking a deep breath of the bustling, vibrant atmosphere, so different from the quiet of the Dawn Territory.
After leading Black Wind on a circuit through the city, he chose a seemingly clean inn and settled his belongings before heading straight to the fish market he'd inquired about from the waiter.
Navigating several narrow alleyways, a pungent fishy odor hit him. Roland wrinkled his nose but kept walking.
Soon, he spotted his target.
"Madam," he began, clearing his throat as he approached the fishmonger, who was busy sorting her wares. "How much for the Devilfish?"
"Devilfish?" The fishmonger didn't even look up, immediately rattling off the price. "One silver and twelve copper coins each."
Hearing this, Roland, who had been about to reach for his coin purse, froze in place.
"How much?"
(End of the Chapter)