Chapter 15: The Rain Curtain
April 18, 1189, the southern border of Silgaya, Alectine City, light rain.
The river flowed with a great rush, the mountains veiled in mist.
Since the Heretic Villains broke through the coastal defenses of Mosiri in 1187 and that brutal war erupted in Alectine City between the Third and First Knights Orders, nearly two years have passed. From a distance, the breach in the city wall, once shattered by Infernal Fire, had been rebuilt long before this year. The new city gates looked sturdier than ever, and the damaged towers and streets within the city, though not quite restored to their former glory, now barely showed any signs of the fierce battle that had once raged there.
That year of chaos turned the entire southern region into a bloody disaster, a sight that was hard to bear. However, ever since the Knights’ purge came to an end early last year, people slowly began to notice that, inside and outside the city, whispers of fleeing heretic activity had become as rare as a unicorn.
Only then did Alectine City start to truly buzz with life.
Gathering from all directions were the soldiers who had been ordered by the Church to support Alectine City unconditionally, as well as scattered merchants and farmers who had lost their homes. They were joined by waves of Travelers, most of whom had been affected by the calamity, losing their lands and towns. Some arrived in tatters, dragging their families along, hoping to find new opportunities in this city that was gradually recovering, even if it meant laboring on construction just to have a bite to eat and a place to lay their heads.
The displaced and the destitute hoped to reclaim their fields, while merchants and petty nobles strategized on how to rise again like the phoenix. But before that, whether poor or rich, they all lived in confusion and helplessness, watching their families grow thin with hunger, racking their brains to solve the daily dilemma of making ends meet.
Last year, the sight of hurried figures became the most common view on the roads of Alectine City. This scene only began to shift this year; construction within the city gradually picked up pace, new opportunities began rolling in, and half of the previous trade routes had reopened. The many farmlands devastated by fire and plunder began reconstruction at the start of this year, and by April, the outlines of development had already begun to take shape.
As people walked through the streets, a small fraction of them were dressed a bit more gleefully.
It seemed things were finally moving in a good direction.
Yet, how long would it take to return to the bustling activity of the past, with vendors, nobles, and ambitious young lords everywhere, thriving markets, and a joyful populace? That was still an unanswered question.
Outside the city, the once battle-scarred fields, hillsides, and canals remained lifeless, as if they had never breathed again after the flames of war. Patches of withered vegetation lay rotting in the foul muck, and the thick brown sludge had polluted large spans of the river. Although the piles of corpses were no longer visible, the inexplicable, nauseating stench lingered in the air, making anyone within three to five kilometers want to cover their noses.
“It’s been almost two years, and every time I walk out north of the city into the fields, I can smell that rancid stench that smells like dead birds marinating in pig slop. Why does that smell never go away?”
Up on the northern city wall, members of the Alectine Warhammer Army—now mostly freshly recruited bl**d from the battlefield—were on guard duty. Some, feeling tired, leaned against the wall, taking swigs from their flasks before passing it to a nearby companion who was also lounging against the wall.
The drizzling rain soaked through their armor and clothing, but neither of them cared about such trivial matters.
“I’ve seen my fair share of battle and corpses, but just standing over there makes me want to hurl… I don’t know how those merchants coming down the river can keep a straight face and endure that smell…”
The man casually prattled on, while his companion took a few swigs from the flask and replied, “How do you know they aren’t just pretending? You haven’t been on the same boat with them… If you ask me, they’re all just pushing through it. Look, merchants go where the gold is… If I could make that much coin, I’d stay there for three whole days and nights…”
“Cut it out, you don’t have a business-savvy brain.”
The first man chuckled, swiping the flask back, muttering under his breath, “You blockhead! You can’t even keep track of the cost of a loaf of bread.” He wiped the rain from his face and took a drink.
The man being called out didn’t feel angry; rather, he chuckled and leaned in, conspiratorially lowering his voice, “I’ve heard about a deal lately—feels like you and I could really jump on this.”
“Oh? What deal could you possibly know about…”
The man, named Westerlo, was somewhat unimpressed and about to shake his head and stand up when the other continued, “I’m serious, Westerlo! Don’t tell anyone, but I got this info from the black market… You gotta listen! This is a deal worth doing…”
“Then spill it.”
Westerlo started to show a flicker of impatience.
But he had to admit, curiosity had been piqued a little, so he settled back down, staring into his companion’s eyes—seeing the mix of tension and excitement there.
“Last year, the knights stationed in the city had a serious mutiny among them… you remember this, right?”
Westerlo blinked, momentarily dazed.
His companion thought he hadn’t understood or was pretending to be dense, which made him a bit irritated. So he clicked his tongue and whispered even lower, “I mean the Third Knights Order, those who survived under the Heretics… Many of them were assimilated by the Heretics after being tempted by demons; they fell to darkness… They took those fools outside and chopped their heads off! But I’m telling you, that’s not the end of it—”
“Shh!”
Westerlo quickly clamped a hand over his companion’s mouth as realization dawned. “Don’t go spouting that! Aren’t you aware of the city’s decree? Loose lips sink ships! Are you trying to get us killed?”
His voice was a hushed shout, his eyes wide with a mix of alarm and caution. He looked around instinctively before relaxing slightly when he saw no one was paying attention.
He then waved his hand, “Get lost! Go away! Don’t say another word! I don’t want to hear your foolish thoughts. I’m not looking to throw my life away! I have a wife and daughter waiting for me to come home…”
“…Fine, fine.”
His companion seemed to snap back to reality, feared by the frantic look on Westerlo’s face. He felt a pang of regret but didn’t dare say more.
After a while, the two finished the flask of liquor and stood up, feeling a bit tipsy. The companion tapped Westerlo on the shoulder, ready to say something again. Just then, something caught his eye, flickering across the sky and zipping into the city.
“…Huh?”
“What’s up…?”
Noticing his companion had suddenly looked up with a puzzled expression, Westerlo followed his gaze—drizzle pattering on their faces, not too heavy, the wind blowing a bit cool, gray clouds hiding the sunlight, everything about the sky seemed hazy yet refreshing—but they saw nothing else.
“Bird?”
“What bird?”
“I thought I saw a big bird just now…”
“Stop spouting nonsense! You’re half in the bottle, aren’t you?”
“What’s so strange about a big bird…?”
They exchanged idle chatter a bit longer, but in the end, his friend couldn’t resist it anymore. As a small patrol of guards walked away from behind them, he leaned in close to Westerlo’s ear, whispering, “Listen, I know you care about your wife… and I understand you’re not like me. My one full belly doesn’t starve the whole family… but you have three to feed. We’re friends, and that’s why I wanted to share this deal with you. It’s a money-making opportunity! You can earn enough for your wife and daughter to not worry about food for at least three years, understand? And then I can drink to my fill… Okay? If you’re interested, let’s meet tonight at our usual spot for a proper chat… just the two of us.”
Having said that, he feigned innocence, waved his hand dismissively, and returned to his previous spot, leaving Westerlo standing in the rain curtain with his flickering, undecided eyes.
