Chapter 11: The Stain on Golden Bloodlines
Three days ago, Valerius Fortress, the Baron's Council Hall.
In the fireplace, priceless Elven Magic Crystal Wood burned quietly. The warm glow stretched the shadow of the mounted wyvern specin on the wall into a grotesque, snarling monster.
“Mother, you insisted on calling back from the training grounds just to discuss that bastard?”
Lucius Valerius, the family's most prized heir, irritably tugged at the lion-headed golden clasp on his collar—crafted by the Royal Capital Artisan Guild.
His hunting attire, custom-tailored from dwarven blended fabric, bore not a single wrinkle. The ruby ring on his finger, symbolizing his status as a “full Knight,” glimred like a drop of coagulated blood in the firelight.
“A maggot crawling in a cesspit—is his life or death truly worth wasting our precious afternoon tea ti?”
His gaze fell upon the enormous map of the Empire on the wall, sweeping contemptuously over the pitch-black region marked as the Wailing Wastes, as if regarding a stain that had soiled an expensive carpet.
Behind him, Lady Elanor, clad in a purple velvet gown, delicately held a gold-trimd bone china cup between two pale fingers.
Her crimson lips parted slightly as she sipped the scalding red tea, a playful smile gracing the corners of her mouth.
“My dear Lucius, patience is the most important virtue of a future ruler.”
“After all, in na, he is still your brother.”
“Don't use the word 'brother,' Mother. It disgusts !”
Lucius spun around sharply, his handso face twisting with revulsion.
“A bastard born in the greasy, filthy corner of a kitchen to that lowly kitchen maid—he deserves to be ntioned in the sa breath as ?”
“The very thought that our family's noble, golden surna has been tainted by such filthy blood for eighteen full years makes want to burn down that old kitchen—people, ground, and all—until nothing but ash remains!”
This secret, known to everyone in the family's inner circle, was the root of their lifelong contempt and tornt of Caesar.
A servant's son was born a slave. To dare share glory with lions was itself an original sin.
Especially since Caesar had failed to condense even a trace of Battle Energy before turning eighteen—centing his reputation as a worthless wretch of impure blood.
“Father's ridiculous lies back then, conjured to save his face, and now he's even granted him a Pioneer Order—he must have gone mad!”
“That honor should have been used to enfeoff Knights who've rendered service!”
“Of course not, my proud lion.”
Lady Elanor set down her teacup and gently smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on her son's collar, her eyes full of admiration.
“I rely wanted to share so amusing news with you.”
“Do you rember those fifty guards he took with him, and those commoners? A few days ago, near the edge of the wasteland, they were torn apart by a pack of starving Horn Wolves.”
“I just received word that not only did that bastard survive, but in a place like Grayrock Town, he used his remaining gold coins to recruit two hundred vagrants who can't even see tomorrow's sun.”
“Recruit vagrants? Hahaha…”
Lucius laughed as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world, doubled over with mirth.
“Him? That waste who can barely hold a sword steady? Leading a bunch of beggars and deserters?”
“Does he think he's playing house in a garden? I bet he won't even survive the first snowfall of winter.”
“No—a pack of Dread Wolves will be enough to devour him and his pathetic beggar legion down to the bones.”
He stroked his ring, his gaze ice-cold.
“I've already sent the Fang rcenary Squad to—”
“I called them back.”
Lady Elanor interrupted him, her voice soft yet cold as a blade.
“Why?”
Lucius furrowed his brow.
“Mother, we must uproot the grass! What if he has a stroke of sheer dumb luck—”
“My son, wasting three hundred gold coins and the favor of the Fang Squad on a stray dog destined to die is not worth it.”
Lady Elanor's nails, painted with crimson lacquer, tapped lightly on the black region of the map.
“What is the Wailing Wastes? It's a graveyard forsaken even by the gods.”
“Let him go. Let him take that laughable army of his and struggle in the quagmire of despair.”
“Let him think he's grasped hope—and then watch as hunger, cold, magical beasts, and the very scum he recruited with his own hands… gnaw away his soul and flesh, bite by bite.”
“That is far more effective than killing him with a single stroke at washing away the sha his lowly blood has brought upon the family.”
Lucius fell silent.
He had to admit—his mother's proposal better suited his twisted aristocratic sensibilities.
Watching hope shatter bit by bit before one's eyes was the cruelest punishnt for vermin.
“Very well.”
He finally nodded, his disgust transforming into indifference.
“Let that cursed land beco his most fitting grave.”
He sneered dismissively, as if stating an established fact.
“Let's just pretend he died of illness eighteen years ago, alongside that lowborn mother of his.”
……
Three days later, the Blackspine Mountains, nightfall.
Reality was crueler than legend.
Here, the night held no insect song—only wind.
A frigid wind that howled like countless resentful souls wailing in unison, whipping up black sand from the ground and hurling it into faces with knife-like pain.
Bone-piercing cold burrowed through the gaps in tattered leather armor and into the marrow, making teeth chatter uncontrollably.
At dusk, the column had reached a relatively flat, open mountain basin at the edge of the range.
“My lord, it's dark, and the wind is strong enough to blow a man away! We must make camp imdiately!”
Barrett shouted over the wind to Caesar.
“Scouts have surveyed the surroundings. No large magical beasts detected for now, but the wasteland changes in an instant at night! We must construct defensive fortifications imdiately!”
“Pass the order.”
Caesar dismounted, his voice carrying clearly to Roland and Barrett over the gale.
“All carts form an inward ring, wheels connected, creating a temporary barricade.”
“Everyone takes turns on watch and rest. Keep only three campfires—minimum lighting and deterrence.”
“No one leaves camp without permission before dawn!”
“Yes, sir!”
Roland and Barrett's hearts tightened. Their lord's orders were concise, efficient—the manner of a seasoned battlefield commander.
The night passed without incident.
When the first wan rays of sunlight pierced the clouds the following morning, everyone was roused by a sharp whistle blast.
After a night's rest, though still weary, the soldiers' spirits had improved considerably.
Caesar wasted no words. After distributing black bread and small rations of water, he walked alone to the center of the basin.
He closed his eyes. God's Eye activated once more.
In his vision, the entire world beca a model composed of countless pale golden lines.
Familiar text floated before his mind's eye.
【DING! Detected: Underground river. Water quality: Excellent. Flow rate: Stable. Depth: 97 ters.】
Caesar's breathing paused slightly.
He opened his eyes. The world before him returned to normal.
He walked to an unremarkable patch of blackish-brown frozen earth at the basin's center and used his sword tip to carve a circle roughly three ters in diater into the ground.
“Roland, Barrett.”
“Present, sir!”
Both n stepped forward imdiately, their voices resounding.
“Dig here.”
Roland looked at the hard-packed earth beneath his feet. His lips moved—he wanted to say sothing—but in the end, he swallowed all his doubts. Obeying one's sovereign's orders was every Knight's sacred duty.
He spun around sharply. That scarred face looked savage in the morning light as he roared at the n still standing dumbfounded behind him.
“Are you all deaf?! The lord's order! Pick up your tools and dig!!”
“Yes, sir!”
Barrett snapped to attention as well. His single eye blazed with ferocity as he kicked the backside of a nearby recruit.
“If you want to live, get moving! Anyone caught slacking off, I'll twist his head off first!”
Under the coercion of these two fiends, the soldiers dared hesitate no longer.
They grabbed crude pickaxes and shovels and began hamring away with clanging strikes.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Pickaxe points collided with rock, sending up sparse sparks—but leaving only shallow white marks on the surface.
This land was harder than they'd imagined.
A sense of helplessness, like the wasteland's cold wind, quietly spread through the crowd.
At that mont, Caesar moved.
He removed his shirt, revealing an upper body that appeared slender but was lined with smooth, flowing muscle.
On his chest, over his heart, the dark-red Sword-Devouring Dragon tattoo pulsed faintly with his breathing, radiating a savage, ancient aura.
He took a brand-new pickaxe from a soldier's hand and drew a deep breath.
In his core, the strand of black-gold dual-colored Battle Energy that had lain dormant for eighteen years awakened like a slumbering dragon, surging violently into both arms!
There were no flashy light effects. All his power was compressed with terrifying control into a single point—the gleaming tip of the pickaxe!
“To survive!”
He let out a low roar. The muscles in his arms swelled instantly, veins coiling across them like small serpents.
The pickaxe in his hands traced a vicious arc that tore through the air and slamd down!
CLANG—!!!
A deafening explosion rang out, as if a siege ram had struck a dragon's scales! Countless sparks burst in the morning light, brilliant as shooting stars!
That basalt, enough to drive any miner to despair, was smashed open by this single blow—creating a bowl-sized crater!
Spider-web cracks radiated outward from the center, spreading madly in all directions!
Dead silence gripped the scene.
Even the wind seed strangled in that instant.
Everyone—including Roland and Barrett—stood as if struck on the back of the head with a sledgehamr, eyes bulging, minds blank.
This… what the fuck… was still human?
Was this the strength a Squire Knight should possess?
“A… a miracle…”
Soone in the crowd murmured in a trembling voice.
Caesar's chest heaved violently. Tearing pain lanced through his palms—but his expression only grew colder.
He tossed the pickaxe to Finn Stonefist beside him, his voice hoarse yet brimming with power.
“Continue.”
Roland snapped out of his shock. He t Caesar's deep purple eyes and instantly understood his lord's intent.
This wasn't a display of martial prowess—it was a declaration to everyone: Your sovereign has split open the path. The rest is up to us!
This Grand Knight, weathered by countless battlefields, felt long-dormant blood roar to life in his chest!
“ROAR!!”
Roland unleashed a bellow that barely sounded human. Gripping a spare pickaxe with both hands, every muscle in his body bulged. The vast Battle Energy of a Grand Knight erupted without reservation, forming a visible, earthen-yellow aura!
“For our lord!”
His pickaxe beca a streak of yellow lightning, following the crack Caesar had opened, and crashed down with savage force!
BOOM!!!
This ti, it wasn't a crisp clang—it was a muffled explosion!
Shattered stone flew in all directions. The crater expanded several tis over, its depth now reaching the knee!
If Caesar's blow was a miracle, then Roland's strike transford that miracle into thunderous reality!
“What the fuck are you all standing around for?”
Roland's eyes were bloodshot, his voice wild with fury.
“The lord has shown us the path to survival! You bunch of spineless cowards—are you going to stand there and watch?! Dig!!”
“DIG!!!”
Finn Stonefist let out a bestial roar, seized an iron pick, and brought it down with every ounce of strength in his body!
In that mont, no one was confused. No one hesitated.
All eyes burned with fanatical devotion.
CLANG! THUD! CRASH! CLANG!
Dull, chaotic hamring rged into a wild symphony.
On this desolate wasteland, a group of people forsaken by the world followed their lord, carving into the earth's depths a future nad “Hope.”
When dusk fell once more, a muffled puncturing sound echoed from the bottom of the shaft.
Imdiately after, a stream of crisp underground water ca gurgling up through the hole they'd broken open!
“Water! It's water!!”
The entire camp erupted! Everyone surged madly toward the well.
“Everyone get the fuck back!”
Roland stood like an iron tower before the well opening, his notched greatsword barring the way. That icy killing intent instantly sobered the frenzied crowd.
Caesar climbed up from the shaft, drenched from head to toe, his face sared with mud—only those deep purple eyes shone startlingly bright in the twilight.
“From this day forward, this well shall be nad the Well of Life.”
“All water will be managed by Knight Roland and rationed equally.”
“Anyone who dares hoard, waste, or steal—”
He paused, his frigid gaze sweeping over every single person.
“Will be executed without rcy.”
This was the first law he decreed upon this land.
Simple. Direct. Brutal.
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