How long did they live?
They didn't dare to think about it, nor did they want to.
In their memories, the number of people in the village who lived past fifty could be counted on one hand. It was common for children to die young, and even more commonplace for able-bodied adults to fall ill for no reason.
They had always blamed it on the swamp's curse, on the cruelty of fate.
"Whether we live a long life or a short one, it is all a gift from the Swamp Spirit!"
From the crowd, a burly man retorted, his face flushed, but his voice betrayed a lack of confidence. "Leaving this land protected by our ancestors will only lead to a quicker death! Thirty years ago, the boy from Billy's family didn't believe it. He left with a merchant caravan, and not half a year later, we heard he'd been killed by bandits!"
"Twenty years ago, Lord Buck, the Pioneer Knight, led us into the mountains to clear land. And what happened? A flash flood swept down, killing more than twenty of our brothers! In the end, didn't we just have to flee back here?"
These words stirred the memories of many villagers, instantly giving the wavering crowd a new pillar of conviction.
The fear of the unknown overwhelmed their despair over the present.
The light in Old Walker's murky eyes dimmed a little.
He remembered the "great men" he had dealt with in the past. They, too, had come like Velin, bearing grand plans and promising a bright future.
But what was the result? The population of Gray Mist Village had only dwindled further with each of their grand endeavors.
He straightened up, his stooped back seeming to harden. He couldn't let history repeat itself.
"My lord, you do not know," Old Walker said, his voice deliberately low and heavy. "This swamp is alive. In its deepest part slumbers a giant crocodile the size of a small hill. We call it the 'Swamp Spirit.'"
"The reason Gray Mist Village has survived here for centuries is because our ancestors made a pact with the Swamp Spirit. We offer it our reverence, and in return, it protects us from the other Magical Beasts in the swamp's depths."
He pointed toward the gray mist in the distance, genuine fear in his eyes. "Do you see that place where the mist never gathers? That is the Swamp Spirit's slumbering ground. Whenever the 'Crying Moon' arrives, it awakens and devours any living creature that dares to be active in the swamp!"
His words successfully spread fear among the pioneers, and even Barrett's expression changed.
Watching this absurd scene unfold, Velin felt nothing.
He had long expected this. Logic was powerless against deep-seated fear.
These people, whether ignorant or indecisive, ultimately just wanted to live.
Velin pondered for a moment. 'It seems their suffering from this poisoned well hasn't been personal enough...'
A plan was already taking shape in his mind.
"Village Chief."
Old Walker flinched, looking at him with eyes that held both pleading and vigilance.
"In the past few days, while Ryo and I were surveying, we discovered that as the Crying Moon approaches, the swamp is 'concentrating' its toxicity."
Ryo looked up, stunned, and was about to say something, but Velin continued.
"If drinking the well water was chronic poisoning before, now, any cup of surface water could become an acute poison, fatal to a child."
Velin offered no more persuasion and continued with his orders.
"Those who want to live, pack your things. Captain Barrett will take you to your new home."
Then, Velin's gaze fell upon Old Walker and the other villagers, some wavering, some resolute. "If you don't want to leave, I won't force you."
The villagers were stunned. The remonstrance Old Walker had prepared was stuck in his throat.
"Barrett, carry out the order."
"Yes, my lord!"
The pioneers erupted in a massive cheer, like survivors of a catastrophe. They began packing with unprecedented efficiency, as if lingering for even a second longer would get them devoured by the invisible giant crocodile.
Two hours later, a long column of people, led by Barrett, departed from Gray Mist Village.
The bustling village instantly became terrifyingly quiet.
Only Velin, Xiaolan, three Mercenaries, and the one hundred thirty-three bewildered villagers remained.
Leaning on his wooden staff, Old Walker came forward and knelt respectfully once more. "My lord, thank you for your mercy. We will repay you with the finest game from our hunts."
Velin didn't answer. He simply found a clean stone to sit on, took out a notebook, and began writing something with a charcoal pencil, completely ignoring his surroundings.
For the next few days, Velin did nothing.
He wandered around the village each day like an ordinary visitor.
His followers also transformed into kind, helpful people. Xiaolan spent her days working alongside the village women, and the Mercenaries even helped a limping old man repair his leaky roof.
But the more peaceful Velin and his group acted, the more unnerved the villagers became. The lord and his followers were like five sharp swords hanging over their heads, creating an unseen pressure.
They didn't leave, nor did they try to persuade anyone. They just watched, as if waiting for a play, whose script was already written, to begin.
「On the third day」, a villager's hunting dog suddenly collapsed, howling and convulsing, after licking a puddle of water on the ground. It foamed at the mouth and struggled for over half an hour before it recovered, but it was left listless and sickly.
Most people dismissed it as 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 east end of the village, a boy playing in the mud suddenly began to cough violently, his little face flushed crimson.
Before his mother could even rush over, on the other side of the village, a girl chasing dragonflies collapsed, clutching her throat and gasping in pain.
"WAAAAH—"
The heart-wrenching cries spread through the village like a plague.
One, two, three... At almost the exact same moment, every child in the village under the age of ten began showing varying degrees of poisoning! They coughed, vomited, and convulsed, their small faces taking on a morbid, ashen pallor.
These were not the symptoms they were familiar with! This was an acute, fatal poison!
"My son! My son, what's wrong with you!"
"Help! Someone save my daughter!"
The villagers descended into a total panic. Cries and screams merged into a cacophony as Gray Mist Village fell into unprecedented terror and despair. They held their afflicted children, helpless, able only to watch as the small lives faded away in their arms.
Amid the chaos, Old Walker ran like a madman to the center of the village. His knees gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, kowtowing repeatedly toward the sealed-off poison well.
"Appease your anger, Swamp Spirit! We were wrong! I beg you, take back your punishment! Spare the children!"
But no matter how he prayed, the only answer was the children's ever more agonizing moans.
Into this desperate inferno, Velin slowly walked from the village entrance, accompanied by the vigilant Mercenaries and a distraught Xiaolan.
His pace was unhurried. The DA, DA sound of his leather boots on the muddy ground was terrifyingly clear amid the chaotic cries, like the grim reaper tolling a death knell.
Everyone's gaze involuntarily turned to him.
"It seems your 'Swamp Spirit' and your ancestors have not answered your prayers."
Velin's voice was cold and devoid of all emotion. He scanned the desperate faces before his tone shifted.
"Now, you can continue to kneel for the protection of a phantom, or you can beg me to save your children."