Translator: CinderTL
Roland nodded gently at Holm.
"Yes, I have eliminated the monster lurking deep within the Granary Hall."
He stated this fact calmly before continuing, "Moreover, we have successfully repaired and activated the ancient machinery within the hall. After we retrieve the water and food our party needs and depart, you may use the machines as you see fit."
Holm stood frozen, as if turned to stone.
Disbelief and shock filled his sunken eyes, then melted away like ice and snow.
A surge of overwhelming joy and gratitude, so immense it threatened to crush his frail body, erupted within him.
He lurched forward, his emaciated hands gripping Roland's arm with astonishing force. His voice, choked with emotion, trembled as he spoke.
"Th-thank you! Great Veilbreaker! You—you not only banished the demon, but—but you have also restored our Holy Land! You have given us—given us hope to live!"
He stammered out his gratitude, nearly collapsing to his knees.
But in the next moment, as if remembering something even more important...
Releasing Roland's arm, he staggered to his feet and turned to face the towering, headless stone statue. With a posture of profound grief and unwavering devotion, he once again knelt heavily in the dust.
Raising his arms high, he gazed up at the statue's broken torso and cried out in a voice choked with tears yet remarkably clear:
"Thank you! Great watcher! You guided the savior, banished the darkness, and restored peace to the sanctuary! Your grace shall never be forgotten!"
His cry echoed through the desolate ruins, and the other survivors, as if infected by his fervor, prostrated themselves even more devoutly toward the statue.
An indescribable atmosphere filled the air—a blend of sorrow, hope, and steadfast faith.
"watcher?"
Roland's eyebrow arched at the title.
He quickly searched his mind for the names of various deities, confirming that no such god was known by that name. Curiosity piqued, he asked,
"You—you don't know the original name of this statue?"
Holm slowly rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his knees. He shook his head.
"I don't know. Since my ancestors, and their ancestors before them, we've only ever called him the watcher."
This answer only deepened Roland's confusion.
"Then, the watcher—is not a God?"
Holm paused, as if he'd never considered the question before. He shook his head and, in a voice tinged with memory, began to recount the blurred origins passed down through generations.
"According to the elders' tales, in an age so ancient we can no longer trace it, a great catastrophe or crisis befell this land."
"It was the watcher who stepped forward, a mortal performing the deeds of a God, saving our ancestors who were struggling to survive here."
"To commemorate his sacrifice and protection, our ancestors erected this stone statue. We, his descendants, have worshiped here generation after generation, honoring his benevolence and praying that he continue to watch over this land."
As he spoke, Holm seemed to be moved by his own words, and his voice grew more animated.
He tilted his head to gaze at the damaged statue, his tone filled with sorrow and indignation.
"Though I've only ever known him in this—this broken state—the elders of our clan say the statue was once whole and majestic, as if it could truly see everything and guard all four directions."
He clenched his emaciated fists, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fury as he hissed, "I don't know which damned bastard, which blind fool, could have reduced the watcher to such a state! This is... an unforgivable sacrilege!"
Hearing Holm's heartfelt, almost tearful curse, Roland couldn't help but be moved.
He looked up again at the headless, armless, and broken stone statue, his mind churning with questions.
Judging by Holm's tone, the watcher's deeds must have occurred in the distant past, so long ago that even his true name had been worn away by time.
What earth-shattering, soul-stirring feat could this watcher have accomplished in that ancient era, to inspire such enduring reverence in the hearts of the local people, even after countless ages of hardship and suffering? How could this reverence have transformed into a faith so deeply ingrained it felt almost instinctual?
He let out a long sigh, temporarily setting aside these unanswerable speculations. Turning to Holm, he asked, "Holm, where in this area do demonic beasts congregate in large numbers?"
Holm's face showed surprise, as if he hadn't expected Roland to ask such a question. He frowned in thought for a moment before answering.
"Demonic beasts? You mean those wandering, dangerous monsters? According to refugees who have occasionally passed through from farther away, they frequently ravage the northern regions and the area known as the Blood-Weeping Hills to the west. It's extremely dangerous there."
Roland keenly picked up on the geographical limitation in Holm's words. "Are you saying there aren't any around here?"
Holm shook his head emphatically.
Then, as if struck by a thought, his gaze involuntarily drifted back to the silent stone statue. His eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and reverence as he spoke with near certainty:
"Yes, there are none around here—except for the one you eliminated in The Granary Hall earlier. In all my decades of life, this area has never been plagued by demonic beasts. It's as if they deliberately avoid this place."
He paused, his voice deepening with piety.
"You might find this hard to believe, but we all believe that Lord watcher—even in his slumber—continues to protect this land he once swore to defend with his life."
Hearing Holm attribute the region's safety to the stone statue's protection, Roland shook his head slightly in his mind.
To Roland, this seemed like utter nonsense.
The moment he arrived, he had already carefully scanned the massive, broken stone statue with his senses. It contained no energy fluctuations or special aura—just a masterfully crafted but fundamentally ordinary stone creation.
However, seeing the unwavering reverence in Holm's eyes, Roland wisely kept this fact to himself. Instead, he pulled out the ancient map from his pouch, unfolded it, and precisely pointed to a mark. "How far is this place from here? Do you know the specific route?"
Seeing this, Holm immediately and respectfully leaned closer to Roland, bowing slightly as he examined the map.
When he saw the full scope of the map, he couldn't help but let out a soft gasp. "This—this is—a map of the continent?"
A flicker of shock crossed his clouded eyes. After composing himself and focusing on the mark Roland indicated, he frowned, recalling as he spoke slowly.
"The Whispering Grove Fair?" he mused. "That place... according to the stories passed down by my ancestors, it used to be a dense jungle. In the center of the jungle was a fairground, a place where adventurers and trade caravans once gathered to exchange information and supplies..."
As he spoke, he raised his head, his gaze seeming to pierce through the gray mist before him, fixed on the desolate wilderness in the distance. His voice was filled with the melancholy of things having changed.
"As for now—I once ventured near there to find something to eat and took a distant look...
"There's no forest left. It's like everywhere else—just this endless, damned wasteland."
He lowered his gaze, returning to the map. With his finger, he drew a straight line across it.
"Still, this makes the journey straightforward."
"Without the forest to block the way, no winding paths, you just need to keep walking in this direction. If you don't waste too much time on the way, your stamina should be enough to make a round trip in a single day."
After obtaining the necessary information from Holm, Roland thanked him and returned to the Granary Hall to inform his companions of his plan to explore the Whispering Grove Fair.
As Roland had anticipated, both purifying enough drinking water and synthesizing improved Rock Core Blocks with the limited materials to sustain them for the next few days would take considerable time.
Therefore, no one raised any objections to his decision, though Durga cautioned him to be careful.
Roland nodded in agreement. After a brief moment of tidying up to ensure his equipment and supplies were complete, he set off in the direction of the Whispering Grove Fair.
Holm's description of the route proved remarkably accurate.
After traveling for about half a day across the vast, barren gray wasteland, the landscape remained almost unchanged, save for the cracked earth beneath his feet and the eternal dust haze in the air.
Yet, at the end of this monotonous and desolate panorama, a distinct shadow began to take shape on the horizon.
As he drew closer, the shadow revealed its true form:
A sprawling ruin of considerable size.
Unlike the concentrated and majestic architectural complex of The Granary Hall, these ruins were more scattered and low-lying.
One could vaguely discern the remnants of structures that had once been primarily wooden, supported by stone foundations. Now, they had completely collapsed and carbonized, leaving only charred wooden stakes and fractured stone bases to outline the vague layout of former streets and alleys.
Rusting metal debris, almost fused with the ground, lay scattered throughout.
Even the relatively sturdy stone buildings had not been spared. Their walls had collapsed in large sections, leaving only crumbling remnants stubbornly standing.
The entire area was permeated by a silence even more profound than that of The Granary Hall, as if even the wind itself had become stagnant here.
Roland slowed his pace, his sharp gaze meticulously scanning the ruins.
Just as he was fully absorbed in his observation, an extremely faint yet unnervingly dense "skittering" sound suddenly reached his ears.
The sound—
As if countless tiny limbs were rapidly scraping across the dry ground and rubble.
Closing in from all directions—
(End of the Chapter)
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