novelraw Chapter 30 : “Nighttime Conversations on the Road”
Chapter 30 : “Nighttime Conversations on the Road”
Chapter 30: “Nighttime Conversations on the Road”
The winding wasteland road leading toward the Edric Empire stretched across the earth like a colossal serpent, slithering along the terrain.
As the road extended onward, the rot dust and dry, drifting soil at its sides gradually lessened, replaced by fertile black earth and patches of verdant shrubs.
Trees, flowers, and ordinary animals became more common.
Daisies blossomed along the roadside, and a few rabbits poked their heads out among the petals.
The surrounding region’s Demonic Essence grew thinner—a sign that they were approaching the Habitable Zone.
The outline of Thornfall Outpost had long since been left behind, vanishing into the hazy horizon.
Dozens of wagons advanced along the barren road, nearly three hundred people in total, chatting and laughing together.
They looked less like merchants guarding valuable goods and more like travelers on a cheerful outing.
"No fear for life’s discontent, for all roads lead to Eros..."
An assassin who also fancied himself a bard strummed his battered lute while sitting atop his wagon.
He sang a lively tune as the convoy rolled forward. "Everyone’s an adventurer, and life itself is a golden paradise..."
"Everyone’s an adventurer, and life itself is a golden paradise!" the convoy echoed in unison. Laughter and song rang bright across the wasteland road, startling birds from the roadside canopy into flight.
They circled briefly, then settled back onto the branches, chirping along with the melody.
Two massive merchant convoys transporting Advanced Demonic Materials, along with eleven hired Intermediate Adventurer teams—nearly three hundred people combined—had by coincidence chosen the same route.
In such circumstances, traveling together was clearly the wisest and most pleasant choice. No one saw any reason to refuse.
Though the borderlands were known for rampant bandits, such brigands were merely desperate men—not suicidal.
The merchants weren’t fools.
They had hired adventurers between Level Three and Level Six, carefully selected after reviewing Adventurers’ Guild records and choosing those with solid reputations and more than a year of experience.
They weren’t as costly as the Level Seven or Eight elites, but also far from the crude and unreliable Level One or Two novices.
Intermediate adventurers were known for their solid individual combat power, keen perception, seasoned reconnaissance in unknown terrain, and relatively stable tactical minds.
With so many of them gathered to escort two large-scale convoys—each wagon armored with iron plating and mounted with roof crossbows—few bandits would ever dare risk an attack.
In fact, for some unknown reason, even beasts and undead warriors along the route seemed scarce.
Occasionally, a small beast would appear—hesitant and awkward, like a shy child forced to greet relatives—circle them twice for form’s sake, then scurry away.
As they drew closer to the Habitable Zone, where Demonic Essence grew thinner, the traces of beasts and undead vanished entirely.
All in all, everyone was in good spirits.
The mood resembled that of a carefree outing.
For adventurers long used to tension and danger, this rare journey away from the cruel and desolate Demon Domain felt almost like a vacation.
To be far from the brutal food chain of the wasteland seemed to make beasts human again—vital, passionate, civilized, and warm.
As night fell, everyone disembarked to stretch their limbs, pitched tents on the roadside grass, organized watch shifts, and lit campfires. Some went searching for nearby rivers or water sources to roast food.
While others busied themselves with setting up camp, more than twenty Hunters from the convoy gathered together.
They strung their bows and hunted through the nearby woods, returning with over a dozen rabbits, three wild boars, and two deer.
They expertly butchered and cleaned the game, then generously shared the rare fresh meat with everyone—after all, no matter how little Demonic Essence a Riftclaw Bird contained, it was still a magical beast.
For ordinary people, chewing on such meat often caused a stinging discomfort in the mouth and throat.
The merchants, moved by the lively atmosphere, exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter.
They set aside their shrewd, profit-driven temperaments, opened their wagons’ storerooms, and freely distributed hard bread and baked cakes, further fueling the joyous, camping-like mood.
When the spontaneous group hunt ended, the twenty-odd hunters joked and competed over who had bagged the most prey.
They skinned and butchered the animals, tossing the meat into a large iron pot over the campfire.
As the broth bubbled merrily, they hurried back to their own teams.
"Paryah-Karakava (The Warm Flame of the Heart)...’ That’s one of the reasons we enjoy being with humans,” said an Elven Hunter with pointed ears.
He carried a bow strung with Ancient Spider Silk, leaping lightly across several wagons to rejoin his team. His soft-soled boots landed on the wagon roofs with the gentle rustle of falling leaves.
“Back already.” Randall returned to his camp carrying his hunting bow and stretched lazily.
He had caught one rabbit and one wild boar—ranking among the top ten hunters of the evening.
“Hmm? Where is everyone?” He glanced around. Only Brother Samo sat near the tent.
“Elliot went to line up by the pot for soup,” Samael shrugged. “It’ll probably take half an hour to finish, but he said the smell was too good to wait.”
“Selina and Ruby are in the tent—Ruby’s got her Potionology exam soon, so she’s still reviewing her textbooks.”
“Talan is…” He hesitated briefly. “A bit farther away—praying. You know, our religious customs require a quiet place for prayer—”
“No need to explain, Brother Samo,” Randall waved a hand and plopped down beside Samael, setting aside his bow.
“It’s rare to have a break like this. Been tense for too long.” He gazed at the warm sunset on the horizon and the lively, bustling camp of nearly three hundred people.
“Also, Grad set up his tent, then went back to the wagon,” Samael added. “Maybe... you should keep an eye on him?”
“Hm?” Randall lifted his head.
“I mean, he seems rather withdrawn,” Samael explained. “In your team, it feels like no one really talks to him. He looks a little...”
Samael trailed off.
“Grad can’t read,” Randall said, watching the sun. “It makes him a bit self-conscious. He’s not exactly smart or talented. Other than swinging his sword with brute force, he can hardly do anything else... Lately, he’s been trying to teach himself letters.”
“Actually, Elliot can’t read much either,” Randall continued, “but Elliot’s an optimist. He doesn’t mind. Says being illiterate’s fine—cutting throats and stabbing guts doesn’t need literacy anyway.”
“Oh.” Samael nodded. “As long as you’re aware—that’s good. As a leader, or rather, a person in charge, it’s important to try to care for everyone...”
He paused without finishing.
“You always surprise me, Brother Samo.” Randall glanced at Samael’s helmet. “Were you once a leader yourself?”
Samael was silent for a moment.
“I suppose I was,” he said after some thought. “Back in my homeland, I studied at a higher academy. Students there could form societies on their own. I used to lead one—organizing gatherings and events.”
He chuckled softly.
“Most students there had spent years studying in solitude. They were quiet, withdrawn, and tense. At gatherings, everyone would just sit in silence. So I’d deliberately act silly, tell jokes, look after those being left out—make sure everyone felt seen, equally.”
He gazed toward the wagons.
Inside one sat Grad, holding a small notebook and a piece of charcoal. His brow was furrowed as he painstakingly traced each letter.
The notebook and charcoal were identical to Randall’s own—clearly a gift from him.
“Don’t tell Talan any of this,” Samael said.
“Why?” Randall blinked. “Doesn’t Priest Talan know about your past?”
“She doesn’t need to.” Samael shook his head. “She carries a lot of burdens—things that make her anxious, weary, and uneasy. I feel that too, but I can’t show it. In front of her, I have to stay relaxed and cheerful, as if... as if the one bearing responsibility must never falter, never show nerves. You must look calm and confident—otherwise, if others see your fear, they’ll lose heart too.”
“My gods, you won’t tell Priest Talan any of this, but you’ll share it with me?” Randall laughed, pulling out his notebook to jot down the insight. “Thanks for the lesson, Brother Samo. Uncle Carlisle once told me that an old officer in the Imperial Army used to crack dirty jokes when things got grim—maybe it’s the same idea. You must’ve been a fine leader yourself.”
“This isn’t anything serious. I know you’re tight-lipped, Brother Randall.” Samael spread his hands. “This is just talk between men. You’re a squad leader yourself — we both understand how this feels. Talking about it isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”
“Actually, I also studied at the Cro Mage Academy in the Edric Empire. I even served as the head of one of the student societies there.” Randall tucked away his notebook. “From that point of view, you and I share some similarities.”
He gazed toward the sun slowly sinking beneath the horizon.
“My father was a stubborn man, though his vision was poor. He missed every chance that could have changed his fate,” Randall said. “My grandfather was a farmer who left him a small piece of farmland. My father worked it tirelessly for half his life, and in the end, became nothing more than a farmer with a little more land.”
“Yet when he was young, the Edric Empire went to war with the Suparl Empire. He stayed behind to guard the fields and missed the opportunity to become a military noble.”
“Later, when Mages and Alchemists rose in prominence and became scarce and valuable, he didn’t spend his savings on study. Instead, he used them to buy more farmland.”
“The bold ones from our hometown went out to seek their fortunes. Some enlisted and became nobles; others succeeded in their studies and became veteran Mages and Alchemists. Even if they worked part-time to pay for school, they still made something of themselves.”
“But my father stayed. He never left the village once in his life. He sat there, full of envy, watching his peers return home laden with wealth and honor — while he could only stare blankly at his fields.”
“So when my younger brother and I were born, my father sent us both to Cro Mage Academy — not a great school, but at least one where we could receive some education in the arcane arts.” Randall leaned back against the tent, watching the last traces of sunset fade from the horizon.
“But I... I was never cut out for it.” He turned his head and smiled openly. “I didn’t like magic. I couldn’t understand the logic behind spell arrays. They were too complicated — too dull.”
“The Academy instructors wouldn’t let us practice, either, because Spell Catalysts are made from Demonic Materials — expensive stuff. Only the richest Mage Academies could afford to let their students freely experiment with Rune Stones and Spell Catalysts.”
“Cro Mage Academy was a small, provincial school in one of the Empire’s poorer regions. They had no such resources. All we could do was draw diagrams on paper, calculate periodic functions, and repeat meaningless exercises — memorizing lists of enchanted plants and beasts along with their material properties.”
“I was never... the kind of person who could sit at a desk for hours.” Randall gave a wry smile. The sunlight was gone, and stars glittered above. “There was no point in staying any longer — my grades were so bad I couldn’t even graduate properly.”
“I loved the tangible world, not abstract theories. I wanted to learn through experience, not from blank paper.”
“I wanted to touch enchanted flowers with my own hands, not stare at faded illustrations in a secondhand bestiary, daydreaming.”
“I wanted to measure the earth with my own footsteps, not memorize the provinces and climates of different Demon Domains.”
“At that time, a High-Level Adventurer Mage came to our Academy to give a lecture. He spoke about the wonders he’d seen across the world — the snow-covered northern mountains watched over by knightly families; the deserts and oases of the east, where travelers rode camels; the devout pilgrims of the southern Holy Light Theocracy who journeyed step by step toward sacred lands; and the young girls of the western Floren Kingdom wearing free and open short skirts.”
Randall laughed softly.
“That was when I realized how vast the world truly was — and how, like my father, I’d been staring at the same piece of dirt all my life.”
“My father was stubborn. When I told him I wanted to drop out and become an adventurer — to see the world — he whipped me so hard that my back was covered in scars.”
“After a terrible argument, I ran away from home,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I sneaked onto a merchant convoy heading into the wastelands. The old caravan master caught me halfway through, my stomach growling, but instead of kicking me out, he asked what had happened, gave me food, and let me stay. He brought me all the way to Thornfall Outpost.”
“When I first arrived in Thornfall Outpost, I was just like you two. It was Norman who helped me register as an adventurer, and he took the novice apprenticeship quest — letting me stay with his team for over a year.” Randall smiled.
“That’s why, when I saw the two of you, I wanted to help. Especially with Potions — they’re crucial. During my first mission, I almost died because I didn’t have any.”
“So when I saw you didn’t have any Potion Bags, I gave you mine — though it seems the two of you probably didn’t need them that much.”
“No, no — your potion bag saved Lucwin Rost’s life,” Samael recalled. “That matters.”
“Who?” Randall blinked.
“The Riftclaw Bird Slayer,” Samael replied.
They both burst out laughing.
“Anyway, that’s how I became an adventurer,” Randall said.
“I touched the White-Shelled Flower I’d only seen in textbooks. It smelled of mint and egg white, its petals as hard as steel.”
“I lived through a Rotdust Storm. That day, our team huddled together in the barracks hall, trembling as the brown dust pounded against the windows. The Tavern Mistress watched us panic and brought us hot tea to calm our nerves.”
“The world used to be small — only my father’s farm. Later, Cro Academy became another narrow prison.”
“It wasn’t until I stood freely beneath the sky, looking across the Kanna Plains and Thornfall Outpost, that I realized — this is the real world. Not the faded illustrations in a book, nor the words in a text, but the White-Shelled Flowers beneath the trees, the roaring Rotdust Storms, the howling Beak-Hounds, and the swaying Rootrot Spheres.”
“The world is... where I walk.” Randall looked up at the stars.
“To walk in such a vast world — we’re truly fortunate,” Samael said in awe, gazing at the brilliant sky. “Both of us are.”
They laughed heartily, watching Elliot in the distance carrying seven steaming bowls of soup, wobbling as he ran toward them.
“Are you blind, Ryska? Get over here and take one, damn it!” Elliot howled. “Hot as hell, gods damn it!”
“Coming, coming!” Samael and Randall both jumped up and hurried over to grab the bowls.
“Dinner time!” Elliot shouted toward the tents and wagons. “Food’s a man’s first priority, you hear? Our miserable lives only hold together ‘cause we eat!”
...
“As I said, girl of the Ronowe family.”
In the dark, uninhabited distance beyond the camp, a Demonic Raven chuckled softly.
“The Hunters of Setika have arrived — a high-ranking Demon Commander, leading twelve Demonized Ones, is swiftly crossing the Kanna Plains.”
“Meanwhile, the Imperial Border Towns now host a contingent of Bloodsteel Sword Guards in training, all equipped with powerful Bloodsteel Weapons.”
“Understood.” Thaleia crouched before the raven, shrouding it beneath her cloak, and nodded.
“You seem confident,” the raven narrowed its eyes.
“Because he travels with me,” Thaleia replied.
“That Nether-Copper Knight — what is he, exactly?” The raven tilted its head slightly. “Is he alive? Or perhaps an undead from the Age of the Gods?”
“I have to go. Withdraw your raven scouts before you blow our cover,” Thaleia said, hearing faint calls from the direction of the camp.
“How rude,” the raven croaked.
“Where’s your Crested Demonic Raven pet? Why send a mere ordinary raven as a messenger?” Thaleia asked.
“If you know I won’t answer, then don’t bother asking,” the raven snorted.
“You’re no better,” Thaleia said.
“Rude girl.” The raven flapped its wings and vanished into the night.