Bidding farewell to that primeval forest-sea that had carried both rebirth and pain, the Capitano's group set out on their southbound journey.
As they pushed deeper inland, the vegetation around them gradually shifted—from ancient sky-blocking giants to lower shrubland and broad earthen roads carved out by human hands. There was no doubt: they had officially stepped into the territory of that behemoth known as the "Federation."
The afternoon sun was a little harsh. Up ahead on the road stood a military outpost built from logs and rough stone. Several flags printed with fierce-beast totems snapped in the wind, and wooden chevaux-de-frise blocked the road's center.
Miguel, walking at the very front, had his signature pitch-black greatsword slung over his shoulder. He had just rounded a bend and stepped into the outpost's line of sight.
"Clang!"
A crisp sound of metal hitting the ground broke the quiet.
A sentry on the watchtower, the moment he saw Miguel's hulking figure and that huge sword, dropped the spear in his hands straight onto the floor in fright. Immediately afterward, the sentry let out a terrified shriek as if he'd seen a ghost, then tumbled and scrambled down from the tower.
Even more exaggerated—following that scream, the dozen or so Federation soldiers stationed at the outpost scattered like an ant nest that had been disturbed. They didn't even bother grabbing weapons. In a rush, they poured out the back door and fled into the woods behind the outpost, kicking up a bleak cloud of dust.
Miguel froze in place mid-step, sword on his shoulder, face full of shock.
"What's going on?" Miguel turned back, baffled, looking at his companions. "Isn't this a military camp? They're regular troops, aren't they? Why did they all run like mice seeing a cat the moment they saw us?"
Giovanni strolled up with an easy gait, fanning himself with a folding fan he'd somehow acquired from who-knows-where. Looking at the empty outpost, the corner of his mouth lifted into a sly smile.
"Maybe your one punch back on that beach scared them out of their wits permanently." Giovanni flicked his fan, his tone carrying an excited, troublemaking gleam. "The fear of a defeated army spreads. That general you sent flying probably already broadcast your 'glorious deeds' across the entire border line."
Giovanni paused; his eyes sharpened. "But this is actually a good thing, Miguel. In the body language of those soldiers as they fled, there was pure fear and not even a spark of willingness to resist. Heh. It's time for you to play a real pirate."
Miguel frowned, completely lost. "? A pirate? What do you mean?"
"Don't worry—just use their attitude. It's simple." Giovanni patted Miguel on the back. "In a place where the strong eat the weak, since they've decided you're a monster, then you might as well accept their awe with open arms."
As the two spoke, a few minutes later, a set of trembling footsteps came from the edge of the woods.
The sentry who had fled first returned now, drenched in sweat, leading a man in heavy armor. That man was clearly the outpost's captain.
When the captain was still ten paces away from Miguel, he dropped to one knee with a "thud," and didn't even dare lift his head.
"G-great existence!" The captain's voice shook like a leaf in the wind. "We had no intention of offending you! We have already heard of the divine miracle you brought down at Greenwood Village. We offer you—the great Tree God's divine envoy—our highest respect!"
Miguel was a little dazed by this sudden grand salute. Instinctively, he turned to the side, looked at Faith adjusting his glasses, and asked in a low voice, "Hey—this Tree God… is it the same Tree God the villagers worship? Isn't the Federation supposed to pride itself on being civilized and look down on village beliefs?"
Faith analyzed, "It should be more or less the same. On this sealed continent, reverence for supernatural power is carved into the bones. No matter what they claim to believe, when faced with absolute power, the totem worship in the subconscious wakes up. And like the villagers, they've clearly decided you're some existence beyond mortals."
Miguel clicked his tongue and turned his gaze back to the kneeling officer. He thought of Anya—thought of that girl lying in her blood. Since they were so afraid of him…
"Then, if that's the case." Miguel straightened his back, forcing his voice to sound like a cold "divine envoy." "If I forbid your Federation from continuing to claim sovereignty over Greenwood Village, and forbid you from plundering their 'memory'—will you leave that village alone?"
The captain shuddered. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead into the dirt. He hesitated a moment, then gritted his teeth and answered, "Yes! As long as the supreme ruler—the High Priestess—does not overturn your decree, we soldiers at the bottom will follow it like we follow law. We absolutely will not dare step into Greenwood Village again!"
Giovanni chose that moment perfectly to cut in. He stepped forward, looking down at the captain from above.
"Very good. Then I want you to arrange a high-level meeting immediately. I and my companions— including this war god's divine envoy—will personally speak with your Federation's highest High Priestess. Can you do that?"
"Yes! We can!" The captain nodded repeatedly as if granted amnesty. "I will dispatch someone at once, at top speed to the capital—'[Annual Ring City]'—to notify the High Priestess in advance and prepare a welcoming rite for all of you divine envoys!"
"How long will it take that messenger on the road?" Giovanni asked, stroking his chin.
"Using our military relay stations with runners, day and night without stopping… it will take about three days." The captain reported honestly.
"Running?" Giovanni couldn't help rolling his eyes, his tone full of disdain. "You're really primitive. Don't you even have rideable beasts? But… if you have relay stations, that means your roads should be decent, right?"
"Yes." The captain answered carefully. "Every year the Federation's soldiers set aside special time to clear gravel and weeds from the main road. The surface is very flat and well-compacted."
"Excellent!" Giovanni snapped his fingers in satisfaction, then turned and instructed the captain. "Go. Pick a few clever guides from your men. I can teach them a method that's less effort than running on two legs. I guarantee your message will arrive a full day earlier."
Half an hour later.
On the Federation's flat earthen road, a sight bordering on spectacle appeared.
"Waaaah—! So fast! Too fast! Long live the divine envoy! Long live the Federation!!!"
A young guide selected for the job was now riding a rough-looking but sturdy two-wheeled bicycle—urgently assembled from Capitano parts—tearing down the road at a breakneck pace. He pumped the pedals like his life depended on it, screaming with monkey-like excitement.
Walking behind, Miguel watched the figure in the sunset riding farther and farther away, flailing his arms in pure joy, and couldn't help asking Faith beside him, "Hey—riding a junk bicycle is really that joyful? He's screaming so loud my ears hurt."
Faith watched the dust trail fading into the distance, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. "Well… this guide has probably lived more than twenty years, and today is the first time he's experienced a speed faster than his own legs. For a civilization that has never touched mechanical power, bicycle wheels are equivalent to giving them wings to fly. That exhilaration—breaking what they thought were physical limits—is understandable."
With the bicycle guide clearing the way, the group's journey became exceptionally smooth.
They passed through five relay stations in succession. At every station, the garrison had already received notice of the "divine envoy's descent," and had prepared fresh water and food early, standing respectfully by the roadside to greet them.
Through this process, the group also gained a more direct understanding of this so-called "Federation."
By the time they reached the sixth, larger relay station, the sky had already darkened. They found that although the Federation had learned to mine and use iron ore, and even equipped iron halberds and armor, their smelting technology remained quite primitive. The iron surfaces were full of impurities and pores, and the forging process was nothing more than rough hammering.
Strictly speaking, they were only a little better than the Greenwood villagers who used bone spears—just a little. This was still a civilization sealed in an old era.
Given the days of travel, and the unknown challenges that might await them in their coming trip to Annual Ring City, the group suggested resting at this relay station for one night.
Night deepened.
In the guest room of the Sixth Relay Station, the furnishings were extremely simple: only a few plank beds laid with dry grass and animal hides. A faint scent of pine resin mosquito-repellent herbs hung in the air.
Miguel lay on his back on the bed by the window. Moonlight slipped through the wooden lattice and fell over his face, outlining his taut jawline. He stared with wide-open eyes at the wooden ceiling, listening to the occasional cry of night birds outside, unable to sleep for a long time.
Faith, on the other bed, turned over. In the dark, he keenly caught Miguel's heavy, irregular breathing.
"What is it, Miguel?" Faith sat up, looking at his restless comrade in the moonlight, voice gentle.
Miguel was silent for a long time—so long Faith thought he wouldn't answer.
"We're really useless, Faith."
Miguel's voice was hoarse, like his throat was full of sand. He didn't turn his head, still staring at the ceiling, but his hands clenched the animal-hide blanket beneath him so hard his knuckles whitened.
"We let that person… we let Anya do something that cruel to herself. We were right outside the tree hollow. We have so much advanced technology. We can even defeat an army… but we still could only watch her bleed to death."
Miguel's breathing quickened. Suppressed pain spread through the cramped room.
"Clearly… clearly there were better solutions! We could've tied up that old priestess. We could've forced Anya away. We could've pointed guns at their heads and made them abolish those bullshit rules! Why… why did it have to end with her dying?!"
Facing Miguel's near-collapse, Faith didn't answer immediately. He sat quietly at the bedside, letting the moonlight pull his shadow long across the floor.
"Perhaps… this is life, Miguel."
After a long time, Faith let out a soft sigh, his voice carrying a worn-through clarity and helplessness.
"Do you remember? A year ago… in our world, in that Great Library in the Central District—when you helped me move those heavy historical documents."
Miguel froze, his emotion cut short by the sudden memory. He angled his head slightly toward Faith. "I remember. You were organizing materials about an ancient city ruin."
"Yes." Faith nodded, his gaze growing distant. "An ancient city on the Old Continent. It was completely destroyed by a sudden volcanic eruption, buried under tens of meters of ash."
"But in later archaeological excavation, we discovered a heartbreaking fact. At the beginning of the disaster, the city's residents actually had enough time to escape."
Faith's voice sounded especially clear in the quiet night.
"Several hours before the eruption, there was a severe earthquake. But after the first quake stopped, they didn't realize that the truly lethal ash and pyroclastic flows were approaching. They thought the disaster had already passed."
"So they didn't flee toward the coast. They stayed, trying to salvage valuables damaged by the quake, trying to repair collapsed houses. And like that… the most precious time to escape was wasted. In the end, they were frozen forever inside that apocalypse."
Miguel frowned, not understanding why Faith was telling this story now.
"You're saying they were stupid?" Miguel asked in a low voice.
"No." Faith shook his head, eyes full of compassion. "I'm asking—did they do something wrong?"
"In that time, in that era of scarce knowledge, they had no chance to understand the规律 of volcanic activity. They didn't know earthquakes were a precursor to eruption, and they had no measures to protect themselves from volcanic ash. They were only using the limited common sense they had to protect the home they depended on to survive."
Faith stood, walked to the window, and looked out at the continent outside—also imprisoned by common sense.
"Because no one can be omniscient. Using a present-day god's-eye view to criticize the ignorance of the past is something anyone can do easily."
Faith turned back and looked deeply into Miguel's eyes.
"But from 'now' to predict—let alone change—'the future' is hard. Anya was inside a sealed civilization. She couldn't see the solutions we could see. In her understanding, this was the only way to break a thousand-year shackle—and the gentlest way. She did nothing wrong. We did nothing wrong. This is only the limitation of history."
Miguel's lips trembled. In his eyes—always full of battle-will—painful tears shimmered.
"You… you're… right."
Miguel closed his eyes. Tears slid down the corners and soaked into the rough animal hide.
"But I really can't…" he choked, the words "can't forgive my own helplessness" stuck in his throat, impossible to say.
Faith walked to Miguel's bedside, reached out, and gently patted his broad shoulder.
"It's okay." Faith's voice was as soft as a spring breeze, smoothing the wounds inside the soldier's heart. "You don't have to say it, Miguel."
"I understand."