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墨書 Inktalez
Gazing intently, then retracting his gaze.
After descending the mountain, Garen discovered a battlefield.
Both sides of the conflict were human, some clad in imposing armor, others wearing finely crafted combat gear, armed to the teeth. It was easy to understand why the Lost Land would suppress Harbinger's powers; individuals like Garen, with formidable physical strength, were few and far between. Most people focused their energy on equipment and weapons.
A Blonde Youth coldly shouted, "Canot, you should know what the consequences of this action will be."
The leader of the opposing side was a one-eyed brute who sneered, "Consequences? I only know that those who survive are the ones qualified to speak of consequences."
"You'll face severe punishment for your disregard for the rules!" the Blonde Youth gritted his teeth.
"Severe punishment? Oh... Sayo, are you referring to those old geezers?" The one-eyed brute feigned surprise and then casually continued, "Save your breath; they care far more about consequences than you do! If we can settle our matters here, it would actually make it easier for them to make decisions!"
Sayo furrowed his brow. Given this situation, there was nothing left to discuss. Although he despised Canot's opportunistic behavior, he might have acted similarly if he were in that position. After all, finding a weakened opponent fresh from battle was not an easy task in these times.
Sayo extended his hand, and the dozens of warriors behind him drew their weapons in unison. Canot's side was also prepared for battle; the smell of gunpowder began to rise as conflict loomed.
At that moment, an unfamiliar figure walked through the middle...
Garen, sword slung over his back, continued forward as if oblivious to everything around him.
"Something that doesn't know its own mortality..." Canot frowned slightly. Just as he was about to speak, a warrior appeared beside him and whispered something.
Canot's pupils suddenly constricted, and he was drenched in cold sweat as he respectfully stammered, "My lord!"
On the other side, Sayo also wore a face of shock and immediately bowed respectfully with his subordinates. In recent days, Garen, known as "The Legend of the Stone Statue," had become a well-known figure; even within Ahn'Qiraj, many recognized him.
In an instant, the battlefield fell silent.
About a hundred people watched as Garen ignored them and silently walked away. It wasn't until his figure completely disappeared that they let out a heavy sigh of relief.
Garen walked far away and still did not hear any sounds of battle behind him. No matter where he was, legends commanded respect, which was the best acknowledgment of Garen's current strength.
However, Garen did not dwell on it. By the time he reached the next mountain peak, evening was approaching.
He slowly came to a stop.
There was no path ahead. A tall mountain wall stood before him, with a crescent-shaped opening in the middle—it was an exit from Dead Man's Gorge. Garen did not want to leave just yet because he still had many companions out in the wilderness. So he turned around and retraced his steps.
Climbing back up the mountain peak, the setting sun cast its last rays over the horizon. As Dead Man's Gorge was about to vanish, the dark clouds above gradually thinned out. Being close to the exit allowed for a discernible day and night cycle, with faint starlight beginning to sprinkle down.
Everywhere lay broken blades and shattered weapons; the bodies of powerful warriors were scattered about, revealing how many strong individuals had been drawn by the arrival of Lost Land and how brutal the battles had been over these three months. Looking down from the mountain wall, he spotted two figures standing in the valley below—two werewolves.
"Hey, do you think we'll get praised by the elders when we return?" one of the werewolves with a severed arm shouted with a grin, his wound still bleeding but seemingly forgotten.
"Yeah..." The other burly werewolf nodded absently.
"Come on, buddy! Don't be down! Even though the other two artifacts were taken, we managed to wipe out an entire team and protect the last artifact!" The Severed Arm Werewolf put an arm around his companion's neck and offered an encouraging look.
All around them lay severed limbs and dismembered bodies, faintly revealing that this was an elven squad. However, the leading elven elder bore a bloody gash on his neck, a result of a sharp wolf claw. The fact that just two individuals could annihilate an entire elven team was a testament to their formidable strength. The Summit of Ten Thousand Mountains had always valued power; even without bringing back any spoils, the glory of such a victory was enough to elevate their status significantly.
Yet, Garen was not concerned with any of that.
Following his gaze, he noticed the Severed Arm Werewolf joking and laughing while the burly werewolf's vertical pupils were subtly fixed on the package behind him, which contained a relatively intact Power-Type Magic Armor.
His eyes flickered with struggle, his pupils occasionally shifting to slits, while the wolf claws hidden behind him oscillated between emerging and retracting, much like the murderous aura that intermittently surrounded him.
It was clear that the achievement of killing an entire elven squad was indeed impressive, but it paled in comparison to what one person could accomplish alone.
The Summit of Ten Thousand Mountains did not place much importance on spoils, but having some was certainly better than having none.
Garen looked at the hesitant vertical pupils and murmured quietly, "Greed."
Then, Garen turned and descended the mountain.
He paid no mind to whether the two werewolves would turn on each other; it was irrelevant. Once greed took root and bloodlust emerged, the cracks in their friendship had already been sown.
Since the path atop the mountain was impassable, Garen had to retrace his steps and find another fork in the road.
Perhaps it was due to the deepening night or because Garen had returned to the area thick with dark clouds; the surrounding light dimmed once more, plunging the world into darkness. Only the occasional flash of lightning illuminated his path ahead.
Four hours after leaving that mountaintop, Garen returned to the battlefield.
In just a few short hours, the air here had become saturated with a pungent smell of blood. Looking around, he saw nothing but drying bloodstains and uncooled corpses. Some severely injured individuals still had their chests rising and falling, savoring their final moments of life... which were also their most painful moments.
The outcome of the battle was naturally a victory for Canot's side, who had prepared thoroughly. However, after taking just a few steps, Garen came across the grotesquely mangled corpse of Sayo, crushed beneath a large stone.
Yet, Canot could hardly be considered the true victor.
For not far away, Garen spotted Canot's own lifeless body, pierced through the chest by nine long spears, skewered into the ground, with eyes wide open in regret even in death.
Among those nine spears, three belonged to Canot's own faction.
It was reminiscent of the earlier dilemma between the Wolf Brothers...
If someone was destined to win in the end, why should it be you?
Garen did not rush to leave this place. After years of warfare, he had long grown accustomed to the scent of blood. He stood at the edge of the battlefield, turning back to gaze at the horrific scene where blood flowed like rivers.
After a long silence, he murmured, "Slaughter."
At the edge of the battlefield, Garen found another path leading deeper into Ahn'Qiraj. Without much thought, he descended into it. He walked for an unknown duration until a beam of light broke through the heavy clouds above.
Garen raised his hand, and the light fell perfectly into his palm.
Thus passed the first day.
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