On the Road

The bitter north wind howled across the desolate wilderness. The vast, boundless wasteland was dotted with only a few patches of yellowed grass and shrubs. Only plants with such tenacity could eke out a living in the Northlands' harsh natural environment.

From time to time, a few scorpions and geckos crawled across the yellowed earth, hunting for food to survive.

Across the sand-swept land, a long caravan made its way slowly along a barely visible road, leaving behind several messy lines of wheel tracks as the only witness to the Northlands' desolation.

Ryan pulled aside the curtain over the carriage window and gazed absently at the desolate yet expansive scenery outside, lost in a sweeping vista utterly unlike the lovely, elegant city of Silverymoon.

In his previous life, Ryan had spent year after year studying in an ivory tower. As a diligent cog in the machine, his time was often at his mentor's mercy, leaving him few chances to travel around the country. Having grown up in the mountains, he rarely had the opportunity to see such vast landscapes.

As for this life, Ryan had spent his childhood at home with his family, so he naturally had little chance to venture out.

When he was a little older, he had gone straight to Silverymoon to study magic, and had lived there ever since. Silverymoon was the Northlands' most beautiful jewel, with breathtaking scenery, exquisite architecture, and lovely vistas.

But even the most beautiful scenery grew tiresome after six years. So though Ryan felt apprehensive about this long journey, a part of him was also looking forward to it.

"Bill, about how long until we reach Waterdeep?" Ryan came back to himself and asked Bill, who was driving outside the carriage.

"Young master, I asked the caravan's manager yesterday afternoon. We're currently crossing the Everlasting Wasteland. Once we make it through and reach Yartar, we won't be far from Waterdeep. About a month, I'd say."

Hearing his young master's question, Bill promptly shared what he had learned.

"Mm. I hope the rest of the journey goes just as smoothly," Ryan murmured.

The caravan had been on the road for ten days since leaving Silverymoon. So far, everything had been peaceful. They had encountered a few raids by Goblin tribes, but the caravan's guards had driven off the small, green creatures without the mercenaries even needing to lift a finger. They left corpses strewn across the ground, some dead and others fleeing.

Along the way, Ryan had used magic to observe a few bandits lurking nearby. But perhaps because of the well-armed guards surrounding the caravan and the hulking barbarians who looked like trouble, the bandits had thought it over and decided not to bite off more than they could chew.

For safety's sake, Ryan had kept out of sight. Over the past ten days, he had spent most of his time quietly meditating in the carriage and studying new spell models. When he grew tired, he would open the window and admire the scenery to relax.

While traveling, Ryan remained cautious and wary of everything. He had even asked Bill to eat the food Sphinx had specially prepared for him.

There was an old saying in Ryan's homeland: "Do not harbor the intent to harm others, but never go without guarding against harm from others." Ryan had always taken it to heart and put it into practice.

As for his own food, he ate the dried provisions and bread stored in his demiplane. He had stocked it with enough dried food and clean water to last a five-person party three months if they rationed carefully—more than enough to meet his basic needs, no matter how harsh the conditions became.

As Ryan wondered whether the wilderness survival skills Bear Grylls had taught him in his previous life would work in this world of wondrous creatures, a commotion came from the front of the caravan, and the wagons ground to a halt.

"Bill, go see what's going on."

"Right away!" Bill jumped down from the carriage and sprinted toward the disturbance up ahead.

Ryan waited where he was for a while, then saw Bill hurrying back. Bill was pale with terror and panting hard as he shouted, "Young master, something's wrong! There are so many... so many corpses up ahead. They died horribly!"

"Corpses?" Ryan's curiosity stirred, and he decided to go see what had happened for himself.

Ryan walked to the spot surrounded by the crowd. The people who had been pointing and whispering among themselves saw the Mage, who usually kept to himself, approaching. They hurriedly made way for him, leaving a path through the crowd, while casting curious glances at the mysterious Mage.

Ryan stepped through the crowd and finally understood what Bill had meant by "died horribly."

Amid the charred, wrecked remains of wagons, scattered fragments of corpses lay everywhere. The mangled, twisted bodies looked as if they had been struck head-on by a siege hammer, then hacked apart by a clumsy butcher. The bodies had been piled haphazardly, stripped of their clothes and left clad only in thin undergarments that barely covered their misshapen forms.

The corpses' heads had all been chopped off and mounted on upright wooden stakes. Their blood-smeared faces still bore an indescribable look of despair and terror, and their wide-open eyes were filled with bitter hatred.

Ryan frowned. Such grotesque wounds and the custom of mounting trophies on stakes were unmistakably the work of Orcs.

But according to what Ryan had heard, weren't the Orcs supposed to be farther north, near the Great Glacier? Why had they come to the desolate Bloody Wasteland?

"Master Ryan, you're here too!" Sphinx hurried over to greet Ryan when he saw him arrive.

"Does this sort of thing ever happen around this time of year? Are there many Orc tribes in the Everlasting Wasteland?" Ryan asked Sphinx.

"No. Nothing like this has happened in previous years. They say the Bloody Wasteland became so desolate after a great explosion during a Mage's magical experiment long ago. The land was tainted by withering, deathly energy.

"Only the endlessly numerous Goblins can survive and multiply in such an environment. Orcs would never come to a place this barren."

Sphinx's voice trembled slightly. The carnage before them worried him, too. Who knew whether those murderous Orcs would target their caravan next?

"Young master, I think I remember something," Bill suddenly said from where he stood quietly nearby.

"Bill, go ahead and tell us what you remember." Ryan nodded to prompt him, and Sphinx looked at Bill expectantly.

"Young master, while I was asking around, I think I heard that someone had spotted Orcs in the hills not far from Silverymoon.

"According to a drunken traveler, a mad white dragon from the Great Glacier in the north had been kidnapping people from Orc tribes every day to use as experimental subjects. The tribes couldn't take it anymore, and after their attempts to fight back failed, they had no choice but to migrate south.

"But the story was so ridiculous that everyone in the tavern thought the fellow was drunk and babbling. Could it... could it have been true?" Bill still found it hard to believe.

"Whatever the truth may be, one thing we can't avoid is that there may be one or several Orc tribes ahead of us. They're currently rampaging across the Bloody Wasteland, robbing passing caravans. We may be one of their targets, too."

Ryan calmly assessed the situation, silently estimating the caravan's chances of defeating an Orc tribe if they encountered one.

In the wilderness of Faerûn, harsh natural conditions had produced wave after wave of hardy creatures. Through survival of the fittest, none of them were easy to deal with. The Orcs were one of the greatest scourges to the humans of the Northlands.

These fierce, savage-looking raiders worshiped Gruumsh, the Orcs' chief deity. They often gathered into tribes and used their strength to raid the surrounding lands. They burned, slaughtered, and plundered nearby villages and caravans, butchered roaming livestock, then killed any humanoid who dared to resist.

After their raids, the Orcs carried all the spoils back to their territory, then burned the village ruins to the ground. Once their bloodlust was sated, they returned to their homes, well pleased with themselves.

At the height of their power, the Orcs had even banded together into a horde to harass Silverymoon. They had once breached its walls, becoming the first enemy to enter the city since its founding.

Though Silverymoon had eventually repelled the Orcs and retaliated fiercely, sending out numerous adventuring parties and regular troops to sweep the wilderness and wipe out their tribes, driving them back toward the Great Glacier in the north and eliminating the threat they posed,

the shame left behind by the savage, brutal Orcs had never faded from the hearts of Silverymoon's residents. They remembered the Orcs as cruel and ferocious monsters.

"This isn't looking good. If it's a small tribe, the caravan guards and mercenaries might be able to handle it. But if the Orcs have gathered into a medium-sized tribe, they'll have spellcasters such as shamans—and there may even be powerful Orcs blessed by their chief deity, Gruumsh." Ryan spoke to Sphinx and the adventurers who had arrived, Kasla and Arata.

Hearing this, the towering barbarian made a bold declaration. "Arata will cleave those filthy scum in half with his great axe!" Meanwhile, the boisterous Dwarf warrior sobered up and said to Sphinx, whose brow was beaded with sweat, "I'll have Jelona widen her patrol range. She'll keep an eye out for even the slightest disturbance and make sure the caravan doesn't blunder straight into the Orcs."

Only then did Sphinx breathe a sigh of relief. He thanked the Dwarf, who had come through when it mattered most. "I'll add another twenty percent to your pay for this."

Ryan watched quietly from the sidelines without saying a word. Only after the conversation ended did he speak in a slow, hoarse voice. "I'll step in if necessary, too. My magic will alert me if any enemies approach."

Sphinx was delighted. With the mysterious Mage agreeing to help, the caravan's safety was at least partly assured. He had feared that this Mage, who kept to himself all the time, might be as arrogant as the Mages he had met in Silverymoon, indifferent to ordinary people's lives and unwilling to meddle in outside affairs.

"Bill, let's go back." Ryan called his attendant and headed for his carriage. Once the caravan's servants and laborers had buried the dead on the spot and taken care of the wreckage, the caravan resumed its journey.

Gazing at the gloomy sky in the distance, Ryan sighed softly. "A storm is coming."