Steep Cliff

February 6, Year 1 of the New Calendar

Steep Cliff

"My lord, I'm sorry. The assault failed again. The enemy seems to have realized we won't stop until we achieve our goal, and their counterattacks have grown fiercer."

"Is that so?"

Gazing at the gate that had resisted assault after assault and listening to his subordinate's report, Gron stood atop the watchtower erected in their temporary camp, lost in thought.

After capturing the Snail Shaman, Gron had conducted several thorough sweeps of the entire Sacrificial Grounds. He would not let something like that happen again.

During those searches, several clan warriors had unexpectedly discovered a hidden passage leading upward.

But since the Glow Clan still needed time to decipher the ancient information in the Sacrificial Grounds, Gron had chosen to lead his army straight through that passage and continue their expedition upward.

Inside the passage, Gron had made ample preparations, firmly convinced that no matter how unusual the landscape ahead might be, his Ashen Clan would adapt quickly and strike back decisively.

Yet with a familiar gust of windblown sand, something Gron had never expected happened.

The landscape was familiar. This place was practically identical to the wasteland.

That sense of familiarity made it feel as though the pain of their migration across the desert still hung over the entire clan.

According to the ancient documents restored by the chroniclers, this place had originally been called the Royal Station. In the past, it had served as something like a way station and a warehouse for supplies.

Now, however, it looked as though it had suffered the aftermath of some great war. Vast hollows and caves lay everywhere.

Countless round holes pierced straight through the rock walls, allowing the wasteland's wind and sand to blow in unimpeded and further accelerate the deterioration of the local environment.

Apart from the hardiest little crawlers in the entire wasteland, absolutely nothing could survive here.

With no enemies, there was naturally no need for conquest. The real challenge here should have been figuring out how to develop and use the place.

Gron immediately dispatched several scouting teams to gather information. Without exception, all they reported was deathly silence and dust.

If the occupied territory had merely been unsuitable for production and habitation, that would have been tolerable. What truly troubled Gron was something else.

The enormous gate.

It was the most conspicuous structure in the entire area, and the only one.

Set into the rust-stained rock walls, the gate stretched across the landscape like the jawbone of a sleeping behemoth. Its dark brown stone was more ancient than Ashen City itself.

Faded Spiral Totems were carved into its surface, with fragments of crystal ore embedded in their grooves. Half-rotted vines and shed insect husks lay crushed beneath the gate.

The gate panels were made of some unknown material. Their edges had faded to an ashen gray, yet they remained hard enough to repel the strikes of nail weapons, leaving only a dull echo, like the final breath of an ancient shelled creature.

It simply stood there, barring neither wind nor mist, yet every bug that approached instinctively softened their footsteps.

At first sight, Gron realized that this creation had likely witnessed the rise of the first Kingdom, and watched the abyss gnaw away the last trace of life.

Now only silence remained, guarding two long-desolate worlds, one behind the gate and one outside it.

Beyond it lay the expedition's destination, but this gate alone was already a trial.

There was no telling how many layers of metal had been pieced together to make it. Even now, some of its automatic mechanisms and traps still functioned.

That was not even counting the beasts circling along the walls. The packs that had made this place their home would certainly not surrender it willingly.

But a gate meant there had to be something behind it. Gron had studied the map Mortas provided and concluded that beyond that gate lay the Royal City of the Ancient Civilization, the destination of this expedition.

The final battle lay before him, but Gron had not let joy cloud his judgment. As a commander, he knew well that he could not let his guard down until the very last moment.

The failure of several probing attacks had now proved that point, and Gron had begun considering other strategies.

"Mortas is responsible for the Fungal Wastes, but he hasn't found any other passages. In other words, if we want to enter the Royal City, this is currently our only way in."

"If only there were another passage. This is clearly the most heavily defended position."

A flicker of regret passed through Gron's eyes, even as it confirmed his judgment.

A direct assault could certainly take it, but that would waste the precious lives of countless warriors, especially when this was merely a gate.

He could naturally deploy the "Walkers," but as the most elite force in the entire Expedition Army, they had to achieve results whenever they were committed.

But once this place was dealt with, what came next? The Royal City beyond the gate would surely hold dangers greater than these. "No, not here."

Gron made his decision. He would save his elite forces for that place.

"If only there were another passage, or some other variable."

"Heh heh heh, seeking power? If you need a variable, I have one right here."

That grating laugh was impossible to forget after hearing it even once. Gron and his subordinates immediately turned to look.

As though he had heard an incantation summoning him, the source of the voice hidden in the shadows appeared before them, grinning and bringing along what he considered his treasures.

"Snail Shaman! You actually dare show your face before me again?"

Gron snarled at the figure slowly emerging from the shadows.

As the figure stepped out, the bugs finally got a clear look at him.

Sure enough, it was the Snail Shaman whom Gron had previously sent back to Ashen City.

The Snail Shaman had now retrieved his confiscated tools and changed into a brand-new robe that matched the snail shell atop his head.

The prayer beads that had hung around his neck were gone, and the wooden staff in his hand had been replaced with an iron one topped by a burning lantern.

The newly outfitted Snail Shaman spoke calmly, as though he were not the one who had arrived uninvited.

Gron's gaze turned fierce. He had personally handed him over to the Sunfire God, yet now he had appeared again. There was only one explanation.

"Don't be nervous. I've come to offer you... a variable."

Under a host of wary or hostile gazes, the Snail Shaman slowly bowed. He could hardly wait to test the results of his research.

"Results" were far more important than "whether he was trusted."

For a moment, the Snail Shaman and Gron stared at each other. The former's eyes brimmed with eagerness, while the latter's held mostly vigilance.

"Chieftain, should we..."

"No."

Gron sighed and rejected his subordinate's suggestion. The fact that the other party had appeared before him with such confidence already explained the situation.

Has he demonstrated his worth and received my lord's permission?

That sensation-there was no doubt that he bore a gift from the Sunfire God.

"Soulfire."

That could not be faked. As someone who had received the same blessing, Gron could sense it.

"Another outsider has received the same divine grace as the Ashen Clan."

Gron's improved capacity for thought had come with a corresponding drawback.

His thoughts tended to wander. Put plainly, he was prone to overthinking.

To his mind, this incident carried a hint of danger and an ominous warning.

Does our clan truly have no advantages? Our progress in martial strength is slow, and we know nothing about those pens and papers.

Now even our use of the Soulfire Arts falls short of this pitch-black snail before me.

Perhaps it is precisely because we are not good enough that the Sunfire God chooses outsiders, isn't it?

By the time even the least perceptive soldier realized that something seemed wrong, Gron finally spoke.

"Very well. If you think you can open that enormous gate, go ahead and try."

In the end, Gron chose once again to force his frustrations deep down. After all, however dissatisfied he might be, this was his lord's will.

"Heh heh heh, then I won't hold back."

The Snail Shaman laughed in response to that slightly tainted expectation. There was no malice or provocation in it, only a pure love of power.

"Results alone stand above all else."