CH437 Camp Red Rock I

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The moment the expedition party passed through the gates, they were greeted by an… interesting sight.

Camp Red Rock was built within a valley surrounded by three large, dry mountains. The enclosed basin had only a single entrance in or out, forming a natural geographical stronghold.

The Rock in the camp's name was obvious enough—the surrounding terrain was almost entirely stone. The three mountains loomed over the valley like silent sentinels, their weathered slopes forming an imposing backdrop.

As for the Red, it could just as easily have come from the mountains themselves, as the rocks carried a natural reddish hue. However, most believed the name originated from the Copper-skinned Orc who had founded, named, and now ruled the encampment.

Near the far end of the valley lay an oasis. From it, roughly eight shallow distributaries fanned outward, supplying the camp with its most precious resource—water. These channels never left the valley; by the time they reached its edges, the water had already been absorbed by the thirsty earth or evaporated under the merciless sun.

Even so, the oasis was undeniably the lifeline of Camp Red Rock—absolutely vital to its existence.

Like blood vessels branching from a heart, the distributaries sustained every corner of the settlement.

As such, control over the oasis rested firmly in the hands of the Copper-skinned Orcs, while the stronger powers within the camp divided authority over the distributaries amongst themselves.

But beyond the towering mountains and clever geography, the next thing Alex and his party noticed was the stench.

Refuse and waste were piled high along both sides of the road, uncared for and ignored by the residents. Most passed by without even sparing the heaps a glance.

The party even witnessed one man squat openly in the street, adding his own contribution to the filth without the slightest hint of shame. He didn't even bother moving toward the greenery near the oasis.

At the very least, it would have contributed to the ecosystem.

The sight was yet another reminder that the expedition party was far removed from civilised lands.

Even when governance was lax in the civilised world, people still knew better than to relieve themselves in the open. In larger settlements, there were either functioning sewage and waste systems, or at the very least, the convenience of a Priest's or Shaman's [Purification] and [Cleansing] spells—often both.

Ignoring the stench and the repulsive sights, the party urged their horses onward, heading deeper into the valley toward the oasis.

Along the way, they came across another scene that forced them to stop.

Three thugs had surrounded a scrawny youth and were beating the daylights out of him. Even a single one of the men would have been more than enough to subdue the boy—yet all three struck him without restraint.

It was another stark lesson in the difference between the Wildlands and the civilised world.

No matter how broken law and order might become in the latter, it was still rare to witness such wanton violence carried out openly and without fear of consequence.

And judging by the nearby residents—who merely watched from the fronts of their tents—this was far from unusual.

No one stepped forward nor even look the least bit conflicted.

Alex couldn't help but frown at yet another savage display of the Wildlands' reality.

Suddenly, the thugs noticed the stares burning into their backs.

They turned around to face Alex and his expedition party.

The men were skinny, filthy, and reeked of sweat and filth. It was obvious that—like the youth they were beating—they occupied the lowest rung in the hierarchy of Verdantis.

And yet, they looked at the expedition party—Alex in particular—with open disdain.

One of them even raised his hand toward Alex in a provocative gesture.

"Move along, brat," the thug sneered. "There's nothing for you to see here."

A flicker of surprise passed through Alex's eyes.

He couldn't recall the last time anyone outside of Merlin or Drake had called him brat. In fact, at this point, he had almost forgotten that—physically—he had only come of age less than half a year ago.

Surprise aside, when Alex looked into the eyes of the three thugs, he realised they were rabid dogs—individuals that respected no one and would snap at anything that moved.

Even while outnumbered, they dared brandish nail-spiked wooden clubs, openly threatening Alex and his expedition party.

For a brief moment, Alex couldn't understand what gave them the gall to do such a thing.

Then it dawned on him.

This was the Wildlands.

He had once again been reading the situation using the lenses of civilised common sense. But this land followed different rules entirely. So, of course he couldn't understand them.

'I still have a lot to learn about this place,' Alex mused inwardly.

"Hey, brat. Cat got your tongue?" the leading thug barked. "I'm talking to you. Want me to bash your skull in?"

By then, Alex noticed more people gathering along the street, drawn by the commotion. Eyes watched from tent entrances and alleyways, curious and expectant.

He realised immediately.

If he hesitated here, if he showed even a hint of weakness, he and his party would be marked as prey.

Instead of answering the thug, Alex turned to his party and said casually,

"I don't like his eyes. Someone crush them for me."

His voice was calm and, but cold.

The words sent a shiver rippling through the gathered crowd.

The moment his order fell—almost as if they had been waiting for it—three people from the expedition moved.

Naturally, Kavakan was one of them.

The hulking weretiger leapt from his mount, aiming to land before the thugs and knock them flat with brute force.

But he was too slow.

Silver had already drawn and loosed an arrow, its trajectory aimed cleanly at the thug's eye. By all logic, her shot should have landed before Kavakan even hit the ground.

Yet even Silver was not the fastest.

That honour belonged to Udara.

[Shadow Dash]!

The instant Alex gave the order, Udara vanished from her mounted position—only to reappear from the thug's own shadow.

Her hands flashed.

Before the man could even register what had happened, his right eye was already in her grasp.

And it wasn't over.

Silver's arrow came screaming through the air.

Udara's sudden movement would have caused the shot to miss—so instead, she caught the arrow mid-flight.

Without hesitation, she drove it into the thug's remaining eye and yanked it free.

As Kavakan's massive body came crashing down, before the man could even scream, Udara flowed seamlessly into a grappling technique.

She secured the thug's torso while forcibly extending the very arm he had used to disrespect Alex—stretching it outward, directly into the path of Kavakan's descending axe.

The hulking weretiger had already begun adjusting his fall, instinctively preparing to twist his weapon aside so as not to endanger Udara.

But in that split second, he saw her intention.

And so, he didn't pull back.

The axe fell.

With a wet, brutal crunch, it severed the thug's outstretched arm cleanly from his body.

"Ahhh!!!" The man screamed in agony.

Udara released him and stepped away in the same motion, making the entire sequence appear as though it had been meticulously choreographed.

Only the three involved knew how close it had been to chaos.

The remaining two thugs froze.

Their legs trembled violently as they stared at the dismembered wreck that had been their companion moments ago. They hadn't expected the outsiders to be so decisive—so utterly merciless.

Alex regarded them with a cold, detached gaze.

'Indeed,' he mused inwardly, 'in these lands, whether weak or strong, one must project ferocity. Fail to do so, and rabid dogs like these will bare their teeth at you—even if you are among the strong.'

"Deal with the rest as well," he ordered calmly.

Kavakan's grin widened.

He stepped forward and drove a fist straight into one thug's face, the impact lifting the man clean off his feet before sending him crashing into the dirt.

The other thug turned to flee.

He didn't get far.

Kavakan pivoted and delivered a brutal side-kick to the man's backside, launching him forward to land beside his fallen companion.

Standing over them, the weretiger cracked his knuckles.

Then, with a predator's satisfaction, he proceeded to pummel both men until he was thoroughly pleased with his facial rearrangement work on their faces.

By the time he stopped, neither thug was moving.

Kavakan exhaled slowly, feeling a deep sense of relief. The stress he had been suppressing since entering the Wildlands finally bled away.

The crowd had grown significantly larger by then.

Instead of fear or outrage, many of the onlookers watched with thin smiles and eager eyes. In a place like Camp Red Rock, seeing others crushed was entertainment—and welcomed sport.

"Sir…" Suddenly, a voice sounded.

Alex turned.

The voice belonged to the youth who had been beaten earlier. He was bruised, bloodied, and struggling to remain upright.

"Thank you for saving me," the young man said hoarsely. "But you need to leave quickly. Those men belong to Rolfe the Broker's gang. He won't take this quietly."

Alex's gaze hardened.

***

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