Chapter 48: Movements of the Jackal-Humanoids

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More than half a month had passed since the gnoll pack left Lake Starprayer and continued eastward. During this period, the lake had returned to its usual bustle: improving the castle, cultivating farmland, building canals, excavating salt mines, and patrolling the domain. Every knight under Wylin’s command attended diligently to their respective duties, each completing their work with unwavering dedication.

As lord, Wylin was far from idle.

After the battle with the gnolls, he became acutely aware of his own shortcomings in combat technique. Determined to improve, he set himself a rigorous daily regimen: official affairs of the domain in the morning, sparring with other knights in the afternoon, and training his battle aura by night—seizing every moment to better himself.

In late December, the scouts returned to Lake Starprayer, bringing Wylin the latest intelligence from the province of Kadero.

Within the castle’s great hall, the scout captain, Mike—a low-ranked Silver Knight—was respectfully reporting to Wylin.

“My lord, there are five separate monster armies attacking the borders of Kadero Province, targeting the border fortress of Montas, our own domain of Lake Starprayer, the Evinmouth of Yellow Sand Valley, and two other locations. Of these, the border fortress of Montas faces the greatest threat, with more than thirty thousand monsters gathered there.”

Upon hearing this, Wylin asked, “What is the situation in the interior of the province?”

“It’s chaotic—utterly chaotic,” Mike answered after some thought. “Nobles everywhere are reacting differently to the monster attacks: some resist resolutely, others flee after defeat, and some abandon their posts at the first sign of trouble. The closer to the provincial capital, the more common this becomes.”

“A hundred years of peace has dulled the valor of some of these nobles,” Wylin sneered, clearly disdainful of their conduct.

In this upheaval, who knew how many noble houses in Kadero Province would lose their lands, or see their succession rights reassigned by their liege lord?

Yet, none of this held any real significance for him.

“What about that particular group of gnolls I asked you to keep an eye on?”

“My lord, that battered remnant headed east after leaving Lake Starprayer, overrunning several noble domains along their path. Perhaps due to their weakened state—or having learned a lesson from assaulting the castle—they’ve only raided villages and towns near the castles, ignoring the strongholds themselves. As a result, they’ve amassed a considerable fortune.”

“I returned this time because I learned the gnolls plan to bypass Lake Starprayer, skirt past us by some sixty kilometers to the south at Bedrock Mountain, and return to the wasteland with their plunder and captives.”

“Is the information reliable?” Wylin’s interest was piqued; he stared at Mike and questioned him sternly.

“It’s absolutely reliable, my lord. I captured the chieftain of a Silver-ranked gnoll clan and learned this from his own mouth.”

Wylin fell silent, deep in thought. Was it possible the gnoll leader might change course if he discovered his subordinate was missing?

Mike stood quietly, awaiting further orders.

“Specific timing?”

“The information from the gnoll indicated it should be in early January, but I couldn’t learn the exact date.”

“Take your men and continue scouting. Report to me the moment anything changes.”

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“Yes, my lord.”

Once Mike had departed, Wylin moved to stand beside the map, studying the regions surrounding Lake Starprayer.

He couldn’t be certain—if the gnoll leader discovered his subordinate’s disappearance, would he suddenly change plans and escape by another route?

If he hastily led his main force to ambush early at Bedrock Mountain, might it all be for naught?

“Best to wait a while longer; now is not the time for rash decisions.”

With that, Wylin instructed Baird to mobilize the domain’s army and prepare for departure, though the exact time would depend on his further orders.

...

In a village of Kadero Province, Rogs the one-armed gnoll clutched a roasted beef shank, chewing with gusto as he quietly surveyed the room.

“Chief, these past twenty days of raiding have brought us more spoils than we can count—over ten thousand strong human slaves alone,” said a gnoll clan chieftain seated below, excitedly toying with a handful of gold coins.

“Chief, do we continue eastward? I’ve heard the further east you go, the richer the human nobles become—and the more treasures they possess,” another clan chief, his face marred by a scar, asked tentatively in the lull.

At that moment, Rogs noticed something amiss. He carefully counted his subordinates and then asked, “Where is Dorago?”

The assembled gnolls exchanged perplexed glances, each looking at the other in confusion.

“Bring someone in,” Rogs commanded, his expression darkening at this display of incompetence.

Two towering gnolls entered and knelt on one knee, awaiting orders.

“Fetch Dorago’s clansmen.”

“Yes, chief.”

Moments later, several filthy gnolls were brought before him, bracing for Rogs’s interrogation.

“Where is your chieftain?”

One of them prostrated himself and answered respectfully, “Honored chief, our chieftain went out raiding three days ago and has yet to return.”

“In other words, your chieftain’s been missing for three days, and I—the chief—know nothing about it?”

The prostrate gnoll trembled with terror, recalling how many of his kin had been inexplicably executed these past twenty days. He began to pray for the protection of Golarilak, god of the gnolls.

“Take them out and roast them.”

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The gnolls collapsed in terror, only to be dragged away by the guards.

The other clan chieftains all lowered their heads, not daring to make a sound. Ever since their chief had lost an arm, his temper had grown increasingly violent, and he vented his fury by slaughtering his own followers.

Rogs swept his gaze around the room; not a single gnoll dared meet his eyes.

“In two weeks, we return as planned.”

“Yes, chief!” Every gnoll responded at once, eager to prove their loyalty.

...

On the night of January 1st, 9721, Wylin uncharacteristically set aside his training and lay in bed, quietly waiting.

Tonight, according to his previous predictions, fate’s guidance would bring him new tidings.

Soon, the hour struck eight, and a melodious voice rang out, imparting him with valuable information.

[Seven days from now, in the Gray Mist Mountains north of Lake Starprayer, a legendary mage from the stars will fall here. Save her, and you shall earn her protection for thirty years.]

“A legendary mage?” Wylin sat up abruptly, astonished. “How could I possibly save her?”

The next instant, he realized he did, in fact, possess something that could rescue a legendary mage.

Yet that very day, he had received word that the gnolls had set out, intending to return to the Graylight Wasteland, just as previous reconnaissance suggested—departing the province from the south.

“I cannot be in two places at once. I must choose.”

Wylin was torn: on one hand, an immense haul of resources that would push his domain to new heights; on the other, the friendship of a legendary mage, though her protection would last only thirty years.

“So be it, then.”

Soon, Wylin’s mind settled on a clear decision.