A thin, sporadic drizzle, like fine silver needles, silently fell from the sky, soaking the sowhat desolate land of the Serpentine Earth Rift. The air filled with the damp scent of earth and the fresh fragrance of grass after rain.
This trade route, winding along the northwestern edge of the Ser Wilderness, had for long ages been naless and rarely trodden by caravan wheels.
Mainly because monsters often prowled and pillaged here, and because it lay a long distance from the Federation garrison camps, making safety uncertain, it remained neglected and nearly abandoned for years—its most faithful companions being only wind-blown sand and wild grass.
Only those small, penniless rchant teams who could not afford the hefty tolls of the main highways would, in desperation, bite their lips and gamble on this perilous path.
However.
From a turning point more than twenty years ago, everything here underwent an earth-shattering change.
Although the Serpentine Earth Rift still could not compare to the bustling, prosperous main routes, it was no longer the nearly deserted goat-path of old.
At this mont.
On a road already more than twice as wide as before, the old rchant Matthew huddled under a heavy, dark waterproof cloak, curled up among the cargo in the covered wagon.
Cold rain seeped through gaps, bringing waves of chill.
He turned slightly and, toward the inexperienced young apprentice beside him—whose face still bore travel fatigue and curiosity—began recounting the long-closed history of this trade route.
The engine rumbled deeply under the drive of black oil.
This wagon of tal and hardwood moved with unexpectedly steady speed through the mud.
Matthew wiped the rain from his face with a hand; his voice sounded distant amid the drizzle.
"Back then... right here on the Serpentine Earth Rift, sothing impossible to ignore happened. The commotion was enormous—enough to wake up many highborn nobles. That's how this godforsaken stretch of land got a little prosperity afterward."
The young apprentice straightened imdiately, curiosity in his eyes intensifying.
As the wagon progressed at an unhurried, even pace through the misty rain, the old rchant recited the tale with the calm, storytelling manner of a bard, smiling as he spoke.
The apprentice listened raptly; the story’s reasons slowly beca clear in his mind.
Over twenty years ago, a fierce cluster of wilderness monsters consolidated and took possession of the Serpentine Earth Rift, claiming it as their territory.
But, to everyone's surprise,
the monsters nesting here were not, as rumor claid, brutal bloodthirsty slayers who massacred or looted passing traders.
On the contrary.
They miraculously restrained their inherent ferocity and greed. They brought out the rough minerals they had painstakingly mined deep in the wilds and the raw-slling hides of beasts they’d hunted, and actively signaled passing human caravans that they were willing to trade fairly—barter for barter.
Even more unbelievable,
they voluntarily assud the role of "scavengers," clearing out truly savage beasts and dangerous magical creatures in the vicinity. They forcefully transford the peril-strewn Serpentine Earth Rift into a relatively safe and reliable wilderness passage.
Bear in mind,
on this vast and hazardous land, only major trade routes that paid heavy tolls and taxes could count on the Federation garrison to periodically sweep away threats—a security guarantee bought with rchants’ real gold.
Yet this free, monster-governed passage proved no less safe; in so respects it was even superior.
rchants’ nature is shrewd pursuit of profit.
Once they perceived the unique value and potential earnings of the Serpentine Earth Rift, more and more caravans began testing this road. After verifying that the monster clans indeed restrained their claws and fangs and that trade could proceed smoothly, the route gradually beca lively.
"But—"
At that point, the young apprentice, not yet twenty and straightforward to a fault, could no longer suppress his bubbling doubt.
"Old Matthew, why have we been on the road for so long and haven't seen so much as a single wilderness monster? Aren't they supposed to own this place?"
He glanced at the desolate rainy surroundings, his voice full of bewildernt.
"Young man, don't be impatient—listen patiently."
The old rchant took a sip of his hot tea and continued in a voice roughened by years, painting the turning points in the tale.
Just as the Serpentine Earth Rift prospered and caravans ca and went, apparently moving everything in a good direction,
the nominal owner of the area—the Viscount Iron Thorn—had his greed swelled by the sight of his territory’s flourishing.
He raised the taxes on rchants traveling the Rift, extracting obscene levies.
At the sa ti, he extended his greedy reach toward the monster clans that maintained order on the route, demanding heavy tributes as if those creatures were his tenants.
The apprentice frowned and asked, puzzled: "Do you an Viscount Iron Thorn forced those wilderness monsters away?"
"Yes. But more precisely, the monsters killed Viscount Iron Thorn, and then voluntarily abandoned the Serpentine Earth Rift."
Hearing this, the apprentice’s confusion deepened: "That... can't be right?"
"A noble of high rank, with honor and status—why would he personally risk going into such a dangerous wild place?"
"And even if those wilderness monsters were fierce, how could they possibly kill a noble who surely had layers of elite guards? I don't get it."
Seeing the apprentice's mixed expression of confusion and shock, the old rchant's lips curved into a highly satisfied smile.
He took special pleasure in the emotional ripples of the young—especially the stunned, wrong-footed look they wore upon learning the truth. It always ward him, like seeing his forr self.
Slowly shaking the rain from his cloak, the old man cleared his throat and continued.
To train his heir and give the future ruler of his lands opportunities to gain rits and prestige, Viscount Iron Thorn had dispatched his heir to this wilderness, accompanied by nurous elite family guards—including alchemical golems.
The force was strong and its purpose clear:
to back negotiation with military might and coerce the ungrateful monster clans into submission, forcing them to pay the exorbitant taxes.
But no one expected the matter to spiral beyond imagination.
Behind that seemingly ordinary monster clan stood three Young Dragons!
Evil dragons are naturally proud and savage—how could they tolerate human extortion?
They tore apart the illusion of peace in an instant, ruthlessly slaughtering the noble’s heir, then withdrew with the entire monster clan, vanishing into the deep wilds.
Viscount Iron Thorn, furious at the news, spent vast sums recruiting a powerful Dragon Hunting Team and personally led the pursuit deep into the wild.
Yet that force ultimately vanished like a stone sunk in the sea—no more word.
Those who knew of the incident quietly assud the three evil dragons had killed the viscount and his dragon hunters in turn.
Though the dragons’ habitat is harsh and often invites human reprisals, no one underestimated their brutal strength.
Examples of hunters being slaughtered by what they sought to hunt were nurous.
"A noble viscount and his heir were killed by monsters in the wild... At the ti, that caused quite a stir and shook many of the Raymond Duchy's powerful circles," the old rchant said with a little sigh.
"Then, to pacify the situation and demonstrate power, the Federation garrison launched a large-scale sweep of the areas around the Serpentine Earth Rift."
"The surrounding feral beasts, magical creatures, and even so isolated or weak monster clans were nearly wiped out—nothing left. That bloody purge made the Rift’s surroundings more stable than ever—at least on the surface."
"And with Viscount Iron Thorn dead, his control collapsed, and the crushing tolls and taxes he had imposed disappeared with him."
"Caravans didn’t decrease because of the cleansing; instead, freed from heavy taxes and with temporarily improved safety, trade grew even busier—arguably more crowded than before."
Doubts still swirled in the apprentice’s mind; he pressed on: "But when we ca in earlier, we were stopped at the road checkpoint by soldiers and paid a hefty toll, right?"
The old rchant clicked his tongue, displaying a faint helplessness.
"That was because seven years ago, the Albert family—the relatives of Viscount Iron Thorn—sent people to retake control of the Serpentine Earth Rift and began imposing checkpoints and taxes again, and they did it worse than before."
"Their greed scared off many caravans, making so abandon the route. But overall, the Serpentine Earth Rift remained far more prosperous than in the beginning, so caravans like ours still pass this way out of necessity."
Albert—this was the surna of the late Viscount Iron Thorn.
The Albert family held deep, entrenched power within the Raymond Duchy; at their peak they produced a marquess whose influence towered.
Though their glory had faded, the family still retained a count and several viscounts guarding their interests.
A dying cal is still bigger than a horse—their network and tangled interests far outstripped an ordinary count's clan.
The fine rain continued without pause, like unbreakable threads, shrouding the world in a gray vapor.
As ti passed, the modest caravan—only a few wagons—slowly approached the junction and checkpoint through the misty rain.
Gazing forward through the hazy curtain, the outline of a small but complete town gradually beca clear.
Built beside the Serpentine Earth Rift, low wooden-and-stone houses huddled together, their thin cooking smoke quickly dissipated by the rain.
—Ximu Town.
It rose from nothing over the Rift’s twenty-year ups and downs, serving passing rchants, stationed soldiers, and adventurers scraping a living on the wild frontier.
Now, the town seed especially quiet under the rain.
When the caravan finally reached Ximu Town, slanting rain hamred the tiles on the watchtower’s peak.
Six soldiers wearing cloaks bearing the Albert family crest blocked the road at the barrier.
Their bald captain’s eyes were sharp, sweeping across the caravan like a hawk.
"Sa old rule! Thirty percent tax on each cart of goods!"
The captain impatiently tapped the wagon’s iron rail with the scabbard of his sword; rainwater ran down his shiny scalp into his collar.
He grinned, revealing white teeth, his greed unconcealed in his voice: "Or... do you have a special donation?"
Matthew slid nimbly from the wagon and walked quickly to the captain.
He first respectfully handed over a travel docunt stamped with the Raymond Duchy’s red seal, then—like a sleight-of-hand—produced two bottles of amber honey wine from his pocket.
"Sir, you've toiled in wind and rain; this little sothing will help warm you and drive off the chill."
He smiled ingratiatingly and offered the wine with a very humble posture.
The bald captain grabbed the wine without courtesy and shoved it into his coat.
Matthew then lowered his voice and leaned closer: "I heard a caravan ‘donated’ only twenty gold coins last month?"
He unconsciously held up three fingers, voice dropping lower: "Our caravan runs on small capital, but we know the rules. We're willing to donate that amount—please be kind and give us a receipt showing full tax paid."
The captain squinted.
This ant he could pocket thirty gold privately while reporting to the viscount only ten gold as tax.
"Haha, sensible!"
The captain laughed loudly and patted the rchant’s shoulder hard. But when he took the heavy money pouch, his expression changed sharply and his tone cooled.
"However, the market’s different now! Tis are hard, brothers have expenses! We need—" He spread five fingers and waved them before the rchant.
The young apprentice trembled with anger nearby, fists clenched, but dared not strike these ard soldiers.
Their weapons at their waists and the alchemical golems standing in the rain, glinting with cold tal, were no re props.
"Damn bloodsuckers! Greedy bastards!"
The apprentice ground his teeth and muttered a curse so low only he might hear, then couldn't help whispering,
"At least those wilderness monsters taking over here would be better! At least they weren't so insatiable!"
His voice was extrely low and nearly swallowed by the steady patter of rain, but a warrior’s acute hearing still caught the faint sound.
"Huh?!"
The bald captain spun around and stared at the apprentice with a dangerous glare: "You! What did you just say?! Little mutt! Say that again if you dare!"
Matthew's face went pale and his heart sank—this was bad; he braced for a heavy loss to calm the situation.
In that knife-edge mont, when the air seed to freeze—
Suddenly—!!!
A piercing, unbearable sound ripped through the sky, like giant leather being torn apart!
A silhouette, hard to describe in color, spread enormous wings and circled in the gray rain. Around it, countless falling raindrops seed touched by an invisible force and instantly turned an eerie jade green.
As this green-tinted rain struck the ground, it imdiately emitted unnerving sucking sounds.
A thick mist with a sweet-and-fishy odor spread.
Several low-ranked soldiers closest to it inhaled even a little and imdiately felt dizzy and nauseous, nearly fainting on the spot.
Almost at the sa ti, the ground shook violently.
Countless erald-green vines, covered in poisoned barbs and seeming alive, burst from the soft mud and wrapped around the limbs and bodies of every soldier.
The soldiers’ terrified screams and curses were drowned by the creaking of vines constricting them.
Even the heavy alchemical golems of tal were quickly wound and tightened by thicker, tougher vines, their tal emitting piercing groans as they were bundled into huge, shrinking green cocoons, rendered motionless.
Five-colored Dragons!
A Green Dragon!
The bald captain’s pupils constricted; overwhelming fear seized his heart.
"Enemy attack! It’s—"
His words were cut off by an even more violent, tearing roar of wind and rain! A wolf-tooth club, huge and terrifying, was hurled like a teor!
Crack!
A sickening thud!
The wolf-tooth club hit the captain’s upper body with uncanny precision; the horrific force pulverized him, hot blood and shredded flesh and bone spraying like a fountain across the old rchant standing before him.
Thud-thud-thud! Thud-thud-thud!
A heavy, rhythmic vibration like a giant’s footsteps ca again from the depths of the rain.
A massive ogre warrior, armored and riding a huge armored rhinoceros like a moving hill, pushed aside trees as if brushing straw and lood before the stunned garrison soldiers.
But that was only the beginning of the disaster.
...From the dark folds of the rain, countless cold, ghostly eyes flickering with eerie green, scarlet, and ghastly white light suddenly flared up without warning.
Layer upon layer, dense and overlapping.
They had already encircled the entire checkpoint, including Ximu Town, leaving no gaps.
Look at the human scouts and sentries—unresponsive.
Sowhere along the line, lizardfolk assassins hidden in the shadows had silently killed them.
The soldiers were torn apart by the swarming monsters; the alchemical golems were smashed into twisted scrap tal by powerful monster warriors. Scattered resistance looked hopeless against the overwhelming force.
Many rchants and adventurers sheltering in the town cowered under eaves, watching in horror, helpless.
At that mont, the Green Dragon Ludwig spread his wings, circled low, and bellowed a roar that declared dominance and shook the ears.
"From this mont! This place belongs to the mighty Molten Iron Tribe!"
"Surrender and live. Resist—and die!"
The old rchant wiped the blood blurring his eyes with shaking hands, instinctively dropped to his knees, and forcefully dragged his dazed, stunned apprentice to the ground beside him.
Molten Iron Tribe?
What a familiar, terrifying na.
Those monsters who killed the noble and then decisively fled into the wild twenty years ago—they had returned! And their coback seed far more unstoppable than before.
Now, the wind and rain intensified,
but an even denser, invisible veil had already quietly shrouded the Serpentine Earth Rift.
Everyone in Ximu Town realized at once: a change of rule was coming.
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