Chapter 1350
The Burden of Survival
Titanion Realm: The Human Kingdom
The road of comrce was paved with hardship.
Trade between the Human Kingdom and the Stoneheart Horde had begun with nothing.
Since the era of Torin, starting with the fortification of Highbird City on the Kingdom's border, the trade route had been a vein of constant conflict. In those early days, caravans had to navigate the perilous territories of the violent Ogres just to reach the Stoneheart lands.
Back then, only the most suicidal rchants and the hardest rcenary Corps dared to walk that path.
Nowadays, the trade route was no longer plagued by the chaotic violence of the Ogre Tribes. Instead, it was suffocated by the rigid, bureaucratic extortion of the Blood Elves.
While the bloodshed had decreased, the cost of doing business had skyrocketed. Every caravan and rcenary Corps passing through Blood Elf territory had to bleed gold to pay the tolls. The Elves had paid a high butcher's bill to conquer these lands, and they had no intention of letting anyone—Human Kingdom or Stoneheart Horde—pass through for free.
Yet, paying the toll was no guarantee of survival.
The trade route was still a graveyard for the careless. It was a path walked by desperate n living on a razor's edge, infested with bandits and starving beasts waiting for a mont of weakness.
Under the relentless glare of the sun, dust billowed into the air, marking the approach of a caravan.
Draft horses plodded forward with heavy, powerful steps, dragging wagons groaning under the weight of goods from the Human Kingdom. In the center of the formation rolled a carriage that was both opulent and fortified. Two heavy crossbows, etched with shimring magical runes, were mounted on the rear, tracking the tree line. Two squads of elite guards circled it constantly, their eyes scanning the periter.
Whoever sat inside was clearly a man of significant importance.
"Edwin, are we still within the Kingdom's territory?"
Marquess Roderic was the firstborn son of Grand Duke Richard, the very man who orchestrated the trade deals with the Stoneheart Horde. This wasn't Roderic's first journey to the Horde's lands, but the air felt heavier this ti.
He was restless. The scenic views that usually captivated travelers now only deepened his unease.
"My Lord, at our current pace, we are three days from Soaring Bird City," Edwin replied smoothly. "If the journey is taking its toll, we can rest there for a few days before pushing on."
Edwin was a senior handler for the Golden Apple Chamber of Comrce, the rchant faction backed by Grand Duke Richard. To him, Roderic wasn't just a noble; he was the future of the enterprise. His tone was a masterpiece of practiced deference.
"Three days?" Roderic frowned, drumming his fingers on the armrest. "That's too long."
Edwin swallowed his surprise. In his professional opinion, they were making excellent ti. The carriage was pulled by blood-crossed stallions—beasts with magical lineage bred for endurance and speed. They were flying compared to a standard convoy.
"My Lord," Edwin ventured cautiously, "is there a pressing urgency?"
He asked only because Roderic's anxiety was filling the carriage like smoke. But Roderic, currently a bundle of raw nerves, snapped his head up, his eyes narrowing.
Edwin's heart skipped a beat. He had overstepped.
"Forgive ," Edwin said quickly, bowing his head.
"That is not your concern," Roderic said, looking away. He knew Edwin was loyal—the magical contracts ensured that—but fear made n irritable.
"I only ask because your distress is visible, My Lord. It worries ."
Roderic exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from his shoulders. He composed his features, donning the mask of the idle aristocrat once more. "We are carrying a massive shipnt of rare goods. Perhaps I am simply overthinking the security."
It was a plausible lie. As a manager, Edwin knew the manifest was worth a fortune. He nodded and wisely chose silence.
Roderic turned his gaze to the window. The passing forest seed darker than usual, the shadows between the trees hinting at monsters lying in wait.
His mind drifted back to the private conversation in his father's study before departure.
"The Giant King has ascended. He is a Demigod now," Grand Duke Richard had said, his voice grave. "His glory shines over every corner of the continent. Roderic, you will represent our family. You will present him with a tribute befitting his new status."
That was the official story. That was why the rcenaries were in high spirits—they were part of a historic diplomatic mission to a new Demigod.
But Roderic's stomach churned because of the second thing his father had told him. The secret that terrified him.
The ascension of the Giant King was the good news. The bad news was a nightmare that had begun to spread through the highest echelons of the Titanion Realm.
Their world had been breached. An invasion from another plane was imminent. The war between worlds could ignite at any mont.
This wasn't a trade run; it was an escape route. The security of the Kingdom was an illusion.
"Roderic, you are my firstborn. By rights, you should stay and inherit my title," the Duke had said, his face etched with a father's fear. "But we cannot risk extinction. When the war starts, the safest place in the Utessar continent will not be the Human Kingdom, nor the Dragon lands. It will be Stoneheart City."
"The Giant King is there. A Demigod can protect you. Take a portion of the family wealth. Go there. Survive. Ensure our bloodline continues."
He was being partitioned off. A seed sent away to sprout in safer soil. Roderic wasn't just seeking profit; he was seeking asylum.
Is our future really with the Stoneheart Horde? he wondered. Can we truly—
Hiss… Hiss…
The train of thought was shattered by a sharp, sibilant noise erupting from the dense woods flanking the road.
Before Roderic could react, the foliage exploded. Dozens of long, serpentine shadows shot from the tree line like living arrows.
They were segnted, worm-like monsters, each over six feet long and covered in chitinous plates. They launched themselves into the air, their spines bristling and jaws unhinged to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth.
They slamd into the convoy, aiming straight for the throats and faces of the protectors and rcenaries.
Panic flared instantly. The sheer volu of the attack threw the formation into chaos.
But the guards were veterans of the trade route. After the initial shock, instinct took over. Blades flashed, and shields slamd into place.
Despite their ferocity, the worm-monsters were fragile. They were biologically comparable to low-tier beasts—dangerous to a farr, but fodder for ard professionals. The rcenaries regrouped and unleashed a counter-offensive, hacking the creatures apart in a spray of ichor.
Within minutes, the road was littered with twitching, segnted corpses.
"My Lord, we're clear," the captain of the guard called out, wiping green sli from his blade. "It wasn't a beast tide. Just a swarm of Thorn-Worms. The vibrations of the wagons must have provoked them."
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