Chapter 612 — The Restless Kingdom
Blade of Dawn · Page 4 of 4
His cloak hung in tatters, only a few shreds of cloth still clinging to the clasp at his shoulder; his light armor was mottled and split, scarred all over with the wear of several hard-fought battles. The wounds he had taken days ago had still not healed, and they announced themselves now with fine, sharp stabs of pain—yet Belcron did not halt, still pressing onward across the wilderness.
For he did not know how far that deadly corruption had spread, nor how far those monsters might pursue.
After wading across a small stream, Belcron came to a stop. He lifted his head to the sun, got his bearings, then drew a small talisman of the God of War from within his garments and began a brief prayer to the deity he worshipped, beseeching blessing and restoration for both spirit and body.
Yet the prayer was all but useless.
It seemed the exhaustion and injuries accumulated over days on end had exceeded the limit of the gods' blessing.
Belcron sighed, put the little talisman away, and looked around.
There was no human habitation nearby—in truth, after all these days, he had not encountered a single trace of another soul.
He had indeed been deliberately avoiding inhabited places, fearing that wherever people gathered had already been tainted by that "crystal-cluster curse"; yet along the whole road he had met no traders and no travelers either... Either this was pure coincidence, or something far more terrible was at work.
Belcron shook his head and banished those too-grim speculations from his mind. He knew he still had a long way to go, and until he reached his destination, he could not afford to frighten himself.
He was bound for the south—bound for the Duchy of Cecil.
The roads leading to the northern regions had already been seized by those crystal-cluster giants, and the roads to the Eastern Marches were in much the same state. Of the directions left to choose from, only west and south remained; perhaps these two had not yet been corrupted. And after some thought, he had finally decided to head south.
For no particular reason—in a situation this dire, instinct was reason enough. Instinct told him he should go to the Southern Marches, to carry the warning there, so that its guardians might learn as soon as possible of what had happened at the Great Wood Pass.
Duke Gao Yang Cecil had warned this nation more than once. Now it was time to repay him.
Belcron drew a breath, corrected his heading, and set off toward the Southern Marches.