Chapter 102: Miss Lemore’s Courage

Having passed the canyon controlled by the Corrupted, we have effectively stepped into enemy territory. The air remains damp, heavy, and stagnant, while the muddy shoals make every step a struggle. The cunning and ferocious swamp creatures are, as always, eager to cause us trouble. Everything is exactly as it has been throughout our journey; nothing has changed. If not for the magical map indicating our precise location, I bet you would never be able to tell where you were—Imperial territory or Alliance dominion.

Yet, despite how natural everything around me seems, I still feel as though the atmospheric pressure has intensified, weighing heavily on my chest and making my breathing labored. I have become somewhat neurotic, sensing a tense aura behind every tree and every leaf, as if we are perpetually surrounded by enemies, ready to burst forth from the depths of the dense forest at any moment to tear us to pieces.

In truth, I am well aware that this is merely my own paranoia. This place is not nearly as dangerous as I feel it to be. Along the way, we have encountered several Imperial adventurers wandering the woods, but upon seeing our large, well-armed group, they all retreated early. It is a blessing from the Supreme God that we don't rush forward to slaughter them ourselves; they certainly have no courage left to provoke us.

However, facts are one thing, and feelings are another. I have scouted Imperial-occupied territories before, but those were always open plains or even the desolate wasteland of the northwest, stretching as far as the eye could see. Any movement could be spotted instantly.

But this is a rainforest, entirely different from those flat expanses where danger cannot hide. If someone wants to conceal themselves, they need only stand behind any tree to vanish without a trace—unless that person is the legendary Paladin Niu Baiwan; even if you buried him deep in a grave, I fear he would still be impossible to hide.

Some madmen claim the continent beneath our feet is round, and on the other side, others walk and live with their feet pressed against ours. A key question that has always troubled me regarding this conjecture is: if we buried Niu Baiwan head-first into the ground, would his "great name" (which is indeed quite great) emerge from the other side of the world?

And now, this most conspicuous human—forgive me, bovine—target is standing right beside me. His name towers higher than the tallest tree in the rainforest. With him by our side, we never need to worry about our safety—because it is certainly never safe.

That is the reality: we are traveling with the most obvious target, passing through the most treacherous, concealment-friendly area in occupied territory. How could you expect me to enjoy this journey with ease? I keep my binoculars raised, scanning the surroundings constantly until my neck feels like it might snap, my nerves stretched to the point of breaking. If conditions permitted, I would gladly set this entire forest ablaze just to feel a bit more at ease.

It was precisely because of my constant unease regarding these phantom dangers that my heart finally settled when a human manor suddenly appeared before us.

To be precise, it could only be called a "former" manor. Flanking a small three-story building were two-story corner towers, with several smaller houses scattered about. In front of the buildings were stables, pigsties, and farmland. The farm was in shambles, as if swept by a hurricane. The wheat and various vegetables grew listlessly; I held little hope for this year's harvest. However, many crops, mostly root vegetables like potatoes or yams, remained, having been well-preserved underground.

The manor was surrounded by high fences, with only one main gate facing south. I am certain this was a "human manor" because, as we passed, we caught sight of its busy owners—a group of farmers, grooms, blacksmiths, and barbers in simple work clothes, charging one after another toward the manor gate to resist an attack by over twenty of the Corrupted.

These part-time soldiers, thrown together to protect their homes, wielded a bizarre array of weapons: a stout lady with a face nearly twice the width of mine, covered in flour and wearing an apron, stood in the front row, brandishing a thick rolling pin in her left hand and a kitchen knife no smaller than an ordinary axe in her right. Behind the plump cook stood an elderly farmer of about fifty, wearing a straw hat and gripping a massive manure fork, the tines dripping with a viscous, yellowish-brown liquid. Beyond that, there were rakes, razors, and plowshares—strange yet powerful weapons. A teenager was even throwing a stack of horseshoes like throwing stars at these ghouls who had escaped death, and the damage was quite significant.

A blonde girl in a white gauze dress stood behind them. She must be a priestess, constantly channeling divine magic to heal the wounded, occasionally releasing an offensive spell to repel the encroaching Corrupted. I found it difficult to gauge her magical proficiency from her performance.

Spells were cast one after another from those fair, small hands without a single pause, as if she never had to worry about exhausting her mana. Logically, a believer of God with such abundant mana should have mastered powerful spells, yet this girl consistently used only the most introductory, clumsy spells like "Heal" and "Holy Strike," as if she knew nothing else.

It proves that in this world, those who possess magical secrets are not only the Void-Walkers who traverse space-time; sometimes, seemingly simple and dull natives exhibit inexplicable phenomena—for instance, this priestess with mana as vast as the ocean, and the observer who looks nothing like a native—myself.

As a group of brave and conscientious adventurers, helping our besieged kin out of danger was, of course, our duty. Without hesitation, we drew our weapons and charged with a loud shout toward the Corrupted attacking the manor.

It was not a difficult battle. Although there were over twenty enemies, they had reached a stalemate with the manor’s defenders, with neither side able to truly eliminate the other.

Our arrival shattered this balance, trapping the twenty-odd Corrupted in a pincer attack. They were completely unprepared for our assault and were caught off guard. Within three exchanges, one of the Corrupted, already weakened, fell under my blade. My comrades also selected their targets and engaged them.

Before me, over twenty undead monsters were packed into a dense mass, their backs turned to me as they desperately tried to push into the manor gate. For a warrior, such a rare opportunity to slaughter is nothing short of a luxury. I lunged to their side and, without hesitation, unleashed the "Bladestorm" combat skill, launching a fierce assault on the three Corrupted in front of me. One of them, already low on health from the boy's horseshoes, lasted less than five seconds under my hand before returning to deathly silence. My longsword immediately swung toward a fourth enemy; as I attacked, he was already being devastated by the plump cook's rolling pin. Under our alternating attacks, the poor wretch couldn't determine which of us was the greater threat. He faced me one moment and turned to the cook the next, unable to organize any decent counterattack. Soon, we beat him into a pile of shattered bones.

Within the fifteen-second duration of "Bladestorm," I sent five Corrupted back to the realm of the dead, and my comrades’ achievements were no less impressive. Soon, when the last defiant skeleton fell under the Orc Warlock’s shadow bolt, this unexpected skirmish finally came to an end.

With the enemies vanquished, the residents of the manor cheered in celebration and returned to their homes with renewed spirit. We were delighted to find that with their return, the dilapidated manor regained some of the normal functions of a village. We could repair our damaged equipment at the blacksmith, and purchase delicious dishes at the food shop that temporarily boosted various attributes. Best of all, we could even buy large doses of health potions from the local apothecary—just as we were worrying about the powerful enemies we might face ahead. After all, the reckless actions of the Orc Chieftain Hondos had already cost us quite a few potions.

However, the prices here were staggering.

"This is outright robbery! Eighteen silver coins for a bottle of health potion? That's three times the market price! And we helped these guys kill those undead, too. If we’d known, we should have helped the undead slaughter these stingy misers!" Dingding Xiaoge was beyond furious at the residents’ ungrateful behavior.

The gray-haired apothecary raised his eyes with a look of utter disdain, not even sparing the Orc Warlock a glance. He ignored Dingding Xiaoge’s vicious curses; judging by his demeanor, perhaps this wasn't the first time he'd heard such things. His expression clearly conveyed his attitude: *If you don't like the price, don't buy the potion!*

Given the dangerous mission we were planning to complete and the powerful enemies we might face, this was a simple binary choice between money and life. I would love to tell you that a resolute adventurer would never be coerced into acting against their principles, but the cruel truth is that in the face of despicable merchants, even the greatest adventurer is no better than a lamb waiting for the slaughter.

Walking out of the apothecary's house, Dingding Xiaoge looked as if he had just been robbed—which, in a sense, he had.

...

Everything was prepared, but we were not in a hurry to leave this human manor deep in enemy territory. The owner of the manor, Lady Lelle—the blonde human priestess in white—asked us to stay, hoping we could do her a favor.

"Warriors, thank you for helping my manor escape disaster. Please accept this meager reward so that I may have the opportunity to express the gratitude in my heart."

I must admit, Lady Lelle’s conversational skills were excellent. Before making her request, she generously gave us a little incentive. It is hard to refuse a favor once you have accepted a gift, and thus we found it difficult to decline the task she was about to entrust to us.

"...As you can see, I am the master of this manor. But in truth, it belongs to my brother, Baron Bink. Originally, this was a beautiful place, but just a few months ago, everything changed. The army of the End-Time Empire broke through the front lines and took control of this region..."

"...Since then, many strange changes have occurred in this area. More and more Corrupted have gathered; they attack our people and destroy our manor. Most strangely, these Corrupted carry a potent toxicity. Anyone they wound finds it hard to survive. Before this, such things had never happened..."

"...My brother felt this was a dangerous conspiracy. He investigated extensively and finally determined the source: the Gravel Fortress located to the southwest. He took all the guards from the manor, hoping to stop the plans of the End-Time Empire's army..."

"...But he has been gone for seven days, and there is no news. If you see him, please tell him that everything is safe at home, and I will do everything in my power to protect our home..."

"...If..." Here, Lady Lelle hesitated, her brave expression suddenly softening, tears welling in her eyes. "...If you truly see my brother, if... he is still alive, I beg you, bring me word of him. I... I miss him very much. We... we need him..."

Lady Lelle lowered her head deeply, and a crystalline tear dropped before her feet, moistening the ground.

She is a gentle yet strong noblewoman. In such a turbulent and dangerous place, this dilapidated manor is like a small boat in a hurricane, weak and helpless, liable to be swallowed at any moment. Yet, even so, this young lady courageously took on the responsibility of defending it, leading her people to resist the threat of destruction time and again.

However, this is not what she truly desires. When facing powerful enemies, she feels fear, too, wishing she could hide behind her brother and receive protection and love. She does not want to be a strong protector, fighting bloody battles for the lives of others.

And I think this is true bravery.

Whether a person is brave is not measured by how many enemies they defeat, but by the responsibilities they bear, and whether they can overcome their own cowardice and weakness to face their mission without flinching.

This respectable young lady before me had done all of that. She carried the weight of all responsibility on her fragile shoulders, bringing the hope of life to those who followed her. I do not know if anyone could do better under these circumstances—at least I know I could not. I am merely a cowardly and mediocre warrior; while I do not fear risking my life against the strongest of foes, I lack the courage to shoulder the lives of dozens of others.

For such a brave lady, I hold only respect.

Who could refuse such a request? Who could bear to refuse such a respectable lady? Standing here, I even felt that if we refused the commission, it would be a crime—a cowardly sin of spurning courage and betraying duty.

Moreover, completing this task would be effortless for us, as the Gravel Fortress was already our destination.

"Please rest assured, we will certainly deliver your message. May the Supreme God bless you, your kin will surely be safe and sound."