115: Land of Despair

Chapter 114: Land of Despair

The carriage rumbled over the heavy wooden drawbridge.

Beneath the bridge was a shallow gully, its bottom piled with charred remains.

The Sheriff stepped aside, allowing the carriage to pass through the arched gate and into the gloomy tunnel leading to the town.

A damp, foul odor permeated the passage, mixed with a faint scent of blood.

Heir leaped from the carriage and embraced her brother, Ismark, tightly.

“Damn it, little frog, you shouldn't have run off.”

Ismark's voice held a hint of reproach, yet it couldn't hide his joy at his sister's safe return.

Heir shrugged indifferently, pointed at the carriage, and said, “You'll never guess who I brought back.”

Arthur's gaze fell on the burn marks on the wooden wall, the soil before him clearly trampled furiously by hundreds of feet.

This place was already a mess.

Only after entering Mist Town did Arthur truly see the residents of Qingfeng Valley.

But there was no joy in his heart, for it was difficult to find suitable words to describe them.

Eastern Amn could not be called a land of abundance; aside from the rulers, wealthy merchants, and gentry, most of the populace struggled to survive.

Among these pitiable commoners, the landless serfs were the most wretched.

They were short, slightly hunchbacked, perpetually melancholic, their faces always clouded with worry.

They had no homes of their own, living in narrow poplar huts provided by their landlords.

They performed forced labor, ate coarse food, wore bark shoes on their feet, and hemp clothes on their bodies, often wearing the same set of clothes for ten years or more.

Yet, even such serfs seemed respectable compared to the residents of this place.

The villagers holding weapons stared blankly at the carriage.

The most spirited among them merely had an extra pair of straw sandals.

As for the others, they were hardly worth mentioning.

Arthur averted his gaze, unwilling to look at those poor souls any longer.

They were no different from beggars, especially their lifeless faces, which were truly unbearable to behold.

Flora, who was driving the carriage, also disliked any of them.

When she stopped the carriage in front of the largest house in town, a foolish, tall fellow blocked their way.

At the same time, the man with the thick grey beard and ragged leather armor spoke, “Greetings, sirs, may I ask your purpose in coming here?”

Drax stepped down from the carriage, looking him up and down.

The Orc's appearance clearly diminished the simpleton's imposing presence, yet it made everyone present tense.

“Move aside, Joshua.” Heir said impatiently, “This is the new Baron of Qingfeng Valley; he doesn't need to explain anything to you.”

“Amn's Barons are worthless here!” Joshua shouted.

He probably wanted others to agree with him, and indeed, many expressed their approval.

Arthur knew in his heart that the locals would not easily allow an outsider with only a letter of appointment to take over this place.

“I know you don't need to explain anything to me,” Joshua continued, “But how long has Amn Empire abandoned us?

“We have fought on this land for many years, yet they send not a single soldier.

“They merely send a fellow with a parchment to claim this land belongs to them.

“Therefore, I deeply doubt your rule. Perhaps by this time next year, we will see another Baron just like you.”

“Then what about my ancestor?” the Village Son questioned, “My ancestor, Stepan Lovich.

“He led the locals to repel the terrifying tide of monsters and saved Mist Town. He was a Baron sent by Amn.”

Scattered sounds of agreement rippled through the crowd.

Just then, Drax suddenly drew his axe and chopped down a roadside tree with a single swing.

The Orc raised his axe high, his gaze sweeping over everyone present, then he asked, “Is this enough then?!

“If anyone questions me, I'll be waiting right here. You are welcome to challenge me!”

No one dared to respond.

“Uncle, he's too strong,” the simpleton whispered to Joshua, “I'm scared, please don't make me fight him.”

“Shut up!” Joshua glared at his nephew with disgust.

The Orc's intimidation undoubtedly extinguished most of his inciting fervor.

So, he turned and threw the question to the Sheriff: “I hope you make the right choice, Grey!”

With that, he stormed off angrily.

A decaying mansion stood behind rusty iron gates.

That was the Village Chief's house, a two-story brick building.

There were many deep claw marks on the walls, as if something fierce had scratched them.

On the tiled roof, a tall chimney swayed precariously, supported by wooden pillars.

The iron gate of the front yard was twisted and torn, its right half leaning crookedly to one side.

The left half swung lazily in the wind like a swing, intermittently emitting creaks and clangs.

Weeds choked the ground, spreading towards the house.

Not a single pane of window glass remained, not even fragments could be found.

Every window was tightly sealed with wooden boards, and on each board, there were claw marks left by the Undead.

The interior decoration of the house, however, was quite luxurious, almost like a small palace.

Some unburnt firewood remained in the stone fireplace, and tapestries hung on the wide mantelpiece.

Some of them appeared faded with age.

The floors and stairs were made of polished wood.

Arthur followed the Sheriff's footsteps, looking around as he went.

They climbed the unstable stairs to the second floor, arriving at a spacious room.

A desk stood in the center of the room.

The Sheriff sat down behind the desk.

Arthur sat opposite him, carefully observing the middle-aged man with sunken cheeks and a scraggly beard.

“Perhaps we should switch seats,” the Sheriff said.

Arthur waved his hand, indicating that he didn't care for such formalities.

“So, Baron, what brings you here?”

“As you can see, Sheriff, I am a priest of Mother Earth.”

The Sheriff scrutinized Arthur for a few moments, then nodded: “I can see that.

“But we haven't had a true priest here for a long time. They've either died, gone mad, or run away.

“Only one fool still persists, but I don't know if he can be called a priest.

“With all due respect, faith isn't very necessary here.”

Flora disagreed sharply, correcting him: “Such words are blasphemy against the gods.

“A town needs a priest; he will bring discipline and hope to the people.”

The Sheriff looked coldly at the mountain dweller, as if looking at the victim of a cruel joke.

“Hope?” he said, without a trace of a smile on his face, “Little girl, you people, dressed in clean clothes, carrying beautiful weapons, coming from who knows where,

“Act as if you live in hope all day long?

“I bet you come from very far away, otherwise you wouldn't say that word.

“If you knew what happened in Qingfeng Valley and here, you would never dare to say that word.

“It would stick in your throat like a stone.”

Arthur looked coldly at the Sheriff.

He began to understand why Heir would say that Mist Town was on the verge of destruction.

In the hands of a group of people who had lost hope, even the greatest nation would head towards ruin.

And he finally understood what he needed to do next.