How long had they lived?
They dared not think about it, nor did they want to.
As far back as they could remember, only a handful of villagers had lived past fifty. Children dying young was commonplace, and able-bodied adults falling mysteriously ill was nothing unusual.
They had always blamed it on the swamp's curse, on the cruelty of fate.
"However long we live, it's all a blessing from the Swamp Spirit!"
A man in the crowd flushed red as he argued back, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty. "Leaving this land protected by our ancestors will only get us killed faster! Thirty years ago, the boy from Billy's family refused to believe it and left with a caravan. Less than six months later, we heard he'd been killed by bandits out there!"
"Twenty years ago, Lord Buck, the Pioneer Knight, took us into the mountains to clear land. And what happened? A flash flood killed more than twenty of our brothers. In the end, didn't we still have to flee back here?"
His words stirred memories in many of the villagers, instantly giving those who had begun to waver something new to rally around.
Fear of the unknown overwhelmed their despair over the present.
The light in Old Walker's clouded eyes dimmed a little as well.
He recalled the "great men" he had dealt with. Like Veylin, they had arrived with grand plans and promises of a bright future.
But what had come of it? With each new scheme they put Graymist Village through, even more of its people had died.
He straightened, his stooped back seeming to stiffen a little-he could not let history repeat itself.
"My lord, you don't understand." Old Walker deliberately lowered his voice. "This swamp is alive. In its deepest reaches sleeps a giant crocodile the size of a small hill. We call it the 'Swamp Spirit.'"
"The reason Graymist Village has survived here for hundreds of years is that our ancestors made a pact with the Swamp Spirit. We offer our reverence, and in return, it protects us from the other magical beasts deep in the swamp."
He pointed toward the gray mist in the distance, genuine terror showing in his eyes. "Do you see that patch where no mist ever forms? That is where the Swamp Spirit sleeps. Whenever the 'Weeping Moon' comes, it wakes and devours every living creature that dares move through the swamp!"
His words successfully spread fear among the settlers. Even Barrett's expression changed.
Watching this absurd scene unfold, Veylin remained utterly unmoved.
He had long expected logic to crumble before deeply rooted fear.
Whether ignorant or uncertain, these people ultimately wanted nothing more than to stay alive.
Veylin considered it briefly. Apparently, they had not yet suffered enough at the hands of this poisoned well...
A plan had already taken shape in his mind.
"Village chief."
Old Walker jolted and looked at him with a gaze that mingled pleading and wariness.
"During our surveys over the past few days, Leo and I discovered that as the Weeping Moon draws near, the swamp is 'concentrating' its toxins."
Leo looked up in surprise and was about to say something, but Veylin continued.
"If drinking well water used to cause slow poisoning, then now, any cup of surface water could contain a fast-acting poison lethal enough to kill a child."
Veylin made no further attempt to persuade them and continued issuing instructions.
"Anyone who wants to live, pack your belongings. Captain Barrett will take you to your new home."
Then Veylin's gaze settled on Old Walker and the villagers, some wavering, others resolute. "If you don't want to leave, I won't force you."
The villagers froze-the objections Old Walker had prepared caught in his throat.
"Barrett, carry out the order."
"Yes, my lord!"
The settlers erupted into thunderous cheers, as though they had narrowly escaped death. They packed with unprecedented efficiency, as if staying even one second longer would leave them prey to an invisible giant crocodile.
Two hours later, a long procession left Graymist Village under Barrett's leadership.
The bustling village fell terrifyingly silent in an instant.
Only Veylin, Xiao Lan, three mercenaries, and the one hundred and thirty-three bewildered villagers remained.
Leaning on his wooden staff, Old Walker approached and respectfully knelt to thank him again. "My lord, thank you for your mercy. We will repay you with the fattest game we can hunt."
Veylin did not answer. He simply found a clean stone to sit on, took out his notebook, and began recording something with a charcoal pencil, paying no attention to anything around him.
Over the next few days, Veylin did nothing.
Like an ordinary visitor, he wandered around the village each day.
His attendants all became helpful, kindly people as well. Xiao Lan worked alongside the village women every day, and the mercenaries even repaired the drafty roof of an old man with a lame leg.
But the more peaceably Veylin and his companions behaved, the more unnerved the villagers became. This lord and his attendants were like five sharp swords suspended overhead, exerting an invisible pressure.
They neither left nor tried to persuade anyone. They simply watched, as though waiting for a play whose script had already been written to begin.
On the third day, a villager's hunting dog licked a puddle on the ground, then suddenly collapsed with a howl, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. It struggled for more than half an hour before recovering, but remained sickly afterward.
Most people thought it was distemper, but a seed of doubt had been planted in the villagers' hearts.
Disaster struck at dusk on the fifth day.
"Cough... cough, cough, cough!"
At the eastern end of the village, a boy playing in the mud suddenly began coughing violently, his little face turning scarlet.
Before his mother could reach him, a girl chasing dragonflies nearby also crumpled to the ground, clutching her throat and gasping in pain.
"Waaah-"
Piercing cries spread through the village like a plague.
One, two, three... almost simultaneously, every child in the village under ten showed symptoms of poisoning of varying severity! They coughed, vomited, and convulsed, their little faces taking on a sickly, ashen pallor.
These were nothing like the symptoms they knew! This was a fast-acting, deadly poison!
"My son! My son, what's wrong with you?"
"Help! Someone, please save my daughter!"
The villagers lost all composure. Sobs and screams mingled as all of Graymist Village descended into unprecedented panic and despair. They held their stricken children, helpless, able only to watch those tiny lives slip away in their arms.
Amid the chaos, Old Walker charged toward the center of the village like a madman. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, bowing again and again before the sealed poisoned well.
"Swamp Spirit, spare us your anger! We were wrong! Please take back your punishment and spare the children!"
Yet no matter how he pleaded, his only answer was the children's increasingly agonized moans.
Into this hell of despair, Veylin slowly approached from the village entrance, accompanied by the wary mercenaries and a helpless Xiao Lan.
His pace was neither hurried nor slow. The tap, tap of his leather boots against the muddy ground sounded terrifyingly clear amid the chaotic cries, as though Death were tolling a funeral bell.
Everyone's eyes turned involuntarily toward him.
"It seems your 'Swamp Spirit' and your ancestors haven't answered your prayers."
Veylin's voice was cold and utterly devoid of emotion. He surveyed the despairing faces, then changed tack.
"Now, you can keep kneeling before protection that doesn't exist, or you can ask me to step in and save your children."