10743-chapter-52
Chapter 52 : The Frontier Lands
The basin under cultivation, carved between jagged ridges like a bowl held by stone giants, could only be reached by mountain pass. And though the Church had cleared the most forgiving route, it was still, in every sense, a climb through the wild.
The so-called road—if it could be called that—was a mere dirt path, narrow and unpaved, nowhere near the smooth thoroughfares Curtis had once seen in books from Earth’s world. At best, it resembled a backcountry trail, just wide enough to drag a wagon through.
And so, no matter how many joined the caravan—hundreds, even thousands—they could only travel in a single-file procession as they climbed the pass.
Wagons creaked. Horses snorted. Wheels jammed in the mud. The line stretched endlessly, and yet at any one point, no more than a few dozen souls stood together—hardly enough to repel the lurking beasts that called this place home.
For this was the frontier, where the corrupted roamed like whispers in the trees.
And so it was that, day after day, the caravan came under siege.
The journey, which might have taken three days on foot—or one, had they galloped hard—was scheduled for five. With good reason.
Though Curtis ’s position in the column wasn’t always the one under attack, each time the horns of alarm rang out—everyone stopped.
“Let’s move, Brother Curtis !”
“…Of course.”
Lilia was tireless. Incorrigibly, unrelentingly so.
At the sound of a warning horn, she sprang to action, charging toward danger without hesitation. She left Jenny and the other clerics behind, but Curtis had no such luck—he was always swept along.
“Excuse us! Coming through!”
Their group had been stationed near the middle of the caravan. This time, the signal came from behind—close enough to reach quickly. People parted without being asked.
It wasn’t just deference to her robes. Even those unfamiliar with Lilia had already learned what to expect. This was not the first time she’d raced headlong into danger in the past three days. It would not be the last.
So this is why everyone else turned down the job, Curtis mused with a dry smile as he urged his horse after her. We haven’t even reached the real fight yet, and already it’s this intense.
In truth, what Lilia did was interference, plain and simple.
Each group in the convoy had its own guards, many of them seasoned mercenaries. Unless they asked for help, there was no obligation to get involved.
But Lilia, driven by her vow to destroy the corrupted and protect the innocent, could never sit idle.
And while that idealism was admirable, mercenaries saw things differently. When gold exchanged hands, so too did expectations. They would fight for coin—no more, no less. Anything beyond that demanded extra pay.
Any other mage would have refused to follow Lilia into these battles. But Curtis ?
He had his own reasons. Reasons like combat experience… and hard-earned levels.
“Fanghogs! Eight of them!”
Her voice cut through Curtis ’s thoughts like a blade. He looked up—there they were.
Fanghogs.
Monstrous, lean beasts resembling wild boars, save their legs were longer, their tusks more jagged, and their eyes… wrong. There were no boars in this world, so most simply called them “boar-like abominations.”
But Curtis knew better. Even Earth’s boars were predators in their own right. These things were worse.
Their hides were thick—blades bounced off. Their tusks were long and sharp enough to pierce a man clean through.
“Damn pigs!”
“Hold the line! Hold it!”
Panic had taken hold. The mercenaries here were struggling. These were likely bronze-ranked, too green to handle this many corrupted beasts at once. Eight fanghogs was a coordinated assault—and they weren’t handling it well.
“Ah—!”
One man cried out as a tusk gored his thigh, toppling him sideways.
“Tch.”
Curtis clicked his tongue. So close. Just a few more seconds and they would have made it.
He let go of the reins, lifted his left hand, and summoned the elemental.
In an instant, water surged around his arm like a coiled serpent. A beat later—he released it.
CRACK!
The blast of water struck the attacking fanghog full in the side, slamming it away from the fallen man like a cannonball. It hit the ground with a heavy, wet thud.
“Brothers and sisters! Fall back and form ranks! Get the wounded to safety!”
Lilia’s voice rang out, strong and clear. Her presence alone brought calm—panic gave way to order.
She reached the fray and leapt from her horse before it had even stopped moving. Her feet hit the ground like thunder.
“Take care of my horse, please!”
She barely glanced back as she shouted to the nearest traveler, already sprinting forward.
The way she moved—fluid, explosive—was not natural. This was the work of a miracle.
Specifically, the Fifth Miracle—a divine invocation granted only to seasoned clerics: Body of Might, a sacred boon that amplified every physical faculty beyond mortal limits.
Lilia had cast it upon herself.
So that’s what it looks like, Curtis thought, recalling the first time he’d heard of such feats.
With one mighty bound, Lilia launched herself into the fray. Her boot crashed against the side of a fanghog mid-charge, sending the beast squealing and skidding sideways.
“A-A cleric?!”
“Fall back!”
“R-Right!”
She barked orders as she fought, snapping the stunned mercenaries out of their fear.
But the corrupted had no such hesitation. One fanghog, roused by the cries of its kin, twisted toward her and charged, tusks gleaming.
SWOOSH!
It lunged.
SNAP.
Lilia caught the tusks.
Long and lethal they might have been—but their length made them easy to grab. The beast shrieked and thrashed, but she did not move.
With a roar, Lilia twisted her torso and heaved.
The monstrous creature—easily the weight of two grown men—was flung into the air and slammed back to earth.
BOOM.
It landed flat on its back, stunned and twitching, eyes rolling skyward.
Lilia wasted no time. She turned—another mercenary was cornered.
But before she could move—
WHOOSH!
A torrent of water shot past her, blasting the fanghog away before it could strike.
It tumbled, crashing to the dirt, overwhelmed by the sheer force of pressure.
“All mercenaries have withdrawn,” came a voice, calm and composed.