Seeing this, Anno finally breathed a sigh of relief, while Willo's eyes glistened with tears, clutching his hand tightly, unwilling to let go. "Thank goodness you're all right…"
After all, as a race originating from the Feywild, satyrs are highly emotional beings. The smallest thing can keep them happy for a whole day, while even the lightest tragedy can bring them to tears.
For Willo, to witness Charles, in her eyes, throw himself into danger and sacrifice himself to destroy the Chthonian, and yet to merely have tears welling up without bursting into sobs—this was already remarkably self-controlled.
Elsewhere, the middle-aged male satyr who had come with her was quietly wiping his own tears.
Behind them, the old half-orc shaman stepped forward, his face complicated, yet hesitant to speak. His spell slots were already long spent, and in the previous battle, all he'd managed were a few simple cantrips, making little contribution—so now he barely dared say a word.
Seeing Charles unharmed, he at last stepped forward, cautiously asking, "Matriarch Willo, are you all right? Danche is badly wounded—he's still unconscious…"
Willo only now seemed to remember, quickly released Charles's hand, and rose. "Oh, I know. Where is he? I'll go right away."
The priest pointed her in the right direction, and Willo hurried off. Soon after, Nidalee reached Charles's side, knelt down, took his hand, and began healing his burns with nature magic.
"Well done," Charles said softly. Instantly, Anno forgot about disguising her jealousy over Nidalee, stretched out her arms, and pulled his head into a hug.
Charles gave a wry smile. Meeting Nidalee's wounded gaze, he gently squeezed her hand in comfort, then patted Anno on the back and whispered, "I'm okay. I knew what I was doing. It was only because I saw it was nearly dead that I dashed in to purify it."
Anno said nothing—she just held him like that. Charles could only let her remain a while longer as he opened the system to check his rewards.
When he reached the attributes column, his eyebrows shot up.
15000!
Purifying the Chthonian just now had given him a full 7,200 Purification Points!
This adventure had truly been worth it—a tremendous gain in one sweep!
He could barely contain his joy. He remembered that purifying Theresa had only given him 7,500.
Of course, this didn't mean the Chthonian was necessarily stronger than Theresa. After all, Theresa, after being purified, had kept all her strength and now served at Charles's side, whereas the Chthonian was obliterated, erased completely—hence the greater reward.
And today, the Chthonian also held all the advantage of terrain; in the cavern, it could create repeated earthquakes and rockfalls, leaving the party battered. Had they fought it outside, the danger would have been much less.
But regardless, earning so much in a single day made his heart leap with joy.
Still, this cave was not a place to linger. Guessing that Anno's emotions had run their course, he gently freed himself from her arms, braced against the pain of his burns, and struggled to his feet. "We'd better get going. It's not safe here, and even though this Chthonian is gone, who knows what horrors still lie deeper in…"
Hardly had he spoken when Theresa's voice echoed from afar: "There's bad news, everyone."
"The tunnel we used to come in was blocked by the earthquake. It'll take a while to clear it."
...
Outside the cave, the satyrs and half-orcs on watch also felt the intense tremors and then observed a partial collapse inside the cavern. Fearful and uncertain, none of them could tell what was happening or whether their leaders had survived.
Reluctantly, after much indecision, debate, and even argument, they managed to settle on a plan: focusing what little magic strength remained, they would heal a single chimera nearly to full strength, then have its beastmaster ride out as fast as possible to seek Archdruid Ilarode for instruction.
No time was wasted: once the chimera was ready, its master mounted up and rode hard for the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers' main camp, hoping to find Ilarode there.
But the journey was proving taxing. After all, they were deep in the mountains, and even a lightly wounded chimera tired quickly—especially as the beasts were bred for battle, not long-range travel.
It took a day and two nights before, on the third morning, the rider finally limped back to the Alliance's temporary main base, within the Mountaineer tribe.
Meanwhile, at that very moment, at the main gate of the Mountaineer tribe—
"Tsk, what a hard place to find…"
Two mages—a tall one and a short one—both in black robes, wearing pointed round-brimmed mage hats with the Blackstaff Tower insignia on their chests, appeared amid the mountains.
"Fits the mountain people—all the habits of mice."
The short man grunted, clearly holding little fondness for the mountain folk. The tall one frowned and gently chided, "Don't say that. There should be scouts nearby. If they hear, our negotiations could suffer."
The short mage just snorted and looked away. Both pressed forward, and soon the Mountaineer tribe's encampment came into view.
Two burly minotaurs stood guard. As the pair approached, the guards hefted greataxes and glared warily: "Who are you?"
The tall mage quickly responded, "We're envoys from Blackstaff Tower, seeking to speak with the leaders of the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers."
At once, the minotaurs' faces hardened: "Blackstaff Tower—enemies! Get—Ugh—"
Reflexes trained since youth readied them to charge, but the short mage was quicker. At the instant they raised their arms, his spell was complete: "Hold Person!"
Buzz—
Instantly, both minotaurs froze, motionless where they stood. The tall mage gave a rueful smile, but said nothing more. He stepped over them and called boldly into the camp: "I am an envoy from Blackstaff Tower! I've come to discuss the Purification of the demon pollution in these mountains with the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers!"
He amplified his voice with magic, making it roll across the entire camp for several hundred meters. The Mountaineer tribe was thrown into confusion; people poured out, brandishing weapons, wary but not advancing as they saw their minotaur guards frozen in place.
The tall mage smiled, thinking, At least they're not rushing us with sheer numbers alone.
Otherwise, he'd have had to use Wall of Force to teach them what a real spellcaster could do.
He waited patiently, not for long—before long, a figure draped in a robe of colorful bird feathers and leaning on a wooden staff hurried up. It was Ilarode, followed by a minotaur with glossy black fur and a burly, broad-shouldered man—Torun and Luger Stonehide of the Werebear tribe.
At this moment, all three clearly deferred to Ilarode for negotiations.
"I am the Archdruid of the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers. You may call me Ilarode," he said. "We welcome all friends from Blackstaff Tower, if you've come to help drive out the demons."
The tall mage's face wore a polite smile; the short one looked grumpy, just like Torun and Luger at Ilarode's side, loyally playing their "opposition" roles.
But this wasn't the time for confrontation, so neither Ilarode nor the Blackstaff Tower envoys paid much attention to anyone's expressions. Smiles remained. Ilarode invited them to the tent for tea, and the envoys agreed.
Along the way, the envoys spoke at length about the demonic pollution and its dangers, repeatedly affirming Blackstaff Tower's determination to resolve the threat—a reassurance to Ilarode. The atmosphere was cordial and harmonious. It was as if they were allies already—no longer adversaries, but trusted partners…
Inside the tent, Ilarode and the tall envoy from Blackstaff Tower sat on opposite sides of the round table, sipping tea and chatting, appearing quite pleased with their conversation.
They had already spoken for a long time, exchanging flattery in a way that made them seem like lifelong friends, just short of swearing brotherhood on the spot.
Beside the tall envoy, the shorter envoy wore an openly disgruntled expression. He thought the tall mage was wasting time, but knew that if he himself spoke up, it would surely make things worse. He could only restrain his dissatisfaction, shooting looks of loathing across the table.
Nor was he alone—in the chair next to Ilarode, both Torun and Luger looked equally unhappy.
He especially despised these two envoys after they had just used magic to paralyze his tribesmen—a clear provocation in his eyes.
He also suspected Ilarode of making common cause with their enemies, only seeking new reasons to trick them into temporarily surrendering old grudges, and so on...
Finally, the massive black minotaur could stand it no longer, rising with a deep breath. "I need a walk."
Ilarode regarded him, smiling gently. "Yes, get some air. These stuffy, boring conferences just aren't for young people..."
The Blackstaff envoys offered polite smiles, seemingly unaware that this only disgusted Torun more. He strode from the tent, walking far enough that his mind could finally relax and let go of these matters for a while.
But then, he noticed a loud dispute in the distance: "Let me go! I have urgent business with the Archdruid!"
"No! The Archdruid is in a very important conference. We cannot disturb him!"
...
Torun turned and saw a middle-aged, honest-looking half-orc trying to push past the camp fence, only to be restrained by two minotaur guards gripping his arm, determined not to let him enter.
Behind the half-orc, a chimera bearing visible wounds panted heavily, its three pairs of eyes fixed on one of the minotaurs.
Sensing the situation would soon devolve into violence, Torun hurried over: "What's going on here? Let him go. I'm Torun. If you have urgent business, the Archdruid is meeting now. You can tell me."
The minotaurs released the half-orc, who rushed to Torun, gasping, "Lord Torun, Matriarch Willo and Young Lord Danche have been buried beneath the mountain!"
Torun's face instantly changed. "What happened? Tell me from the beginning."
The half-orc drew breath and recounted it all: "At the time, Matriarch Willo's team went into the cave to purify the wellspring of pollution. We stood guard outside, to prevent interference.
"That's when a group arrived—they looked like people from Liberl Port. Among them was a highlander woman claiming to be the Archdruid's daughter..."
Torun stiffened. "And? Did you believe her?"
The half-orc scratched his head. "Lord Danche wasn't convinced, but Matriarch Willo seemed to trust her eventually. Still, we all felt uneasy about it..."
Torun lowered his head, fighting down a surge of uncontainable anger. He took several deep breaths, then asked, "Who were the five? What did they look like?"
"Er... well," the half-orc replied after a moment's thought, "The one claiming to be the Archdruid's daughter was a mountain folk. The other four were clearly Liberl Port people. One was a mage in a blue robe, one a young and very handsome man from Sein, one a tall nun, and one fully armored paladin—she later claimed to be from Blackstaff Tower."
Young, handsome, from Sein!
It was him then!
Nigel Charles!
Torun could hardly contain his fury at this rival for Nidalee. With effort, he smothered his emotions and replied nonchalantly, "I see. Now tell me everything that happened next—slowly, and don't leave out a thing."
The half-orc continued, "Next thing, there was a sudden demon shriek from inside the cavern. Our chimera went mad and attacked, then their group began casting spells against us. We fought back..."
He recounted it all, but, as someone who'd spent most of his life learning to train chimeras, his memory for detail was not especially reliable.
Torun's frown only deepened as he pieced it together, calculating how to bend this story for his own purposes.
"Let me ask you," Torun interjected. "Do you recall if it was your chimera that first went berserk, and then spells were cast? Or did they start chanting first, so that their spell was ready the instant your chimera lost control?"
The half-orc hesitated, then scratched his head. "I... I'm not sure..."
"Casting spells like that takes time, especially strong ones capable of killing a powerful chimera," Torun pressed. "How mighty was their magic? And from the moment the chimera went mad, how long did it take before it was hit?"
The half-orc mulled it over, then muttered, "It must have been the latter."
He faintly recalled the spell being very powerful—almost instantly crippling Barbary, the tribe's strongest chimera.
Torun nodded. "So, these Blackstaff Tower folks, who finally dropped their camouflage, originally tried to trick you. When that failed, they attacked you first. Only when the demons came—when their own lives were threatened—did they fight side-by-side with you at Matriarch Willo's plea, correct?"
Gaping, the half-orc could only stammer. In the chaos of battle and consumed by his chimera's madness, he'd hardly noticed the details.
After a long silence, he nodded. "I think... that sounds right."
Torun clapped a huge hand on his shoulder. "Then it's clear. The collapse that followed—all of it—was conspiracy by those Sein outsiders.
"They pretended to come to destroy demons and tricked Matriarch Green Vines into trusting them. Once inside the cavern they betrayed her, killed the tribe, and disguised the murder scene as an earthquake to cover their escape!
"These are their usual tricks. As Highmountain tribes, we've dealt with Sein people many times. Liberl Port's folk cower in their iron boxes, estranged from the wild and weak in body—no match for mountain folk."
As he spoke, a burly man emerged from the tent—unable to stand the mutual flattery inside—none other than Luger Stonehide of the Werebear tribe.
Catching the conversation, Luger strode over. Torun glanced once at him but continued, "To slake their base desires, they rely on such underhanded tricks—trickery, sneak attacks—against us, the great mountain folk!"
"The Highmountain and Stonehide tribes have encountered this time and again. I'd stake my life—the truth is exactly what I've said."
He spoke at length, and as Luger joined them (even though he hadn't caught it all) he nodded. "Exactly right."
The half-orc now listened wide-eyed, persuaded almost entirely. "So that's it..."
"So," Torun finished in satisfaction, "when you meet the Archdruid, you know what to say?"
The half-orc's face grew grim. "Understood. I'll expose the Seine people's wicked plans before the Archdruid!"
Torun almost wanted to laugh aloud. He sent the half-orc off to wait outside while he returned to the tent to prepare Ilarode for what was coming.
He was determined that before winter's end, they would destroy Rockseeker Camp!
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