Region 7: Heart of the Black Pine Forest – Abandoned Outpost

  The sky grew completely dark. The nights in the far north were deadly. Once the sun set, the temperature plummeted to minus forty degrees Celsius. At this temperature, without shelter and a fire, even barbarian warriors dressed in animal skins could not survive a single night.

  “Arrive.” Sergei stopped in his tracks. Before him stood a dilapidated wooden hut, half-buried in snow. The roof was partially collapsed, and the door was teetering on the verge of collapse; it looked like a makeshift supply point left by hunters decades ago. If a pampered aristocrat saw this pile of rotten wood, they would definitely cover their nose in disgust; but in the eyes of special forces soldiers, this was a five-star hotel—because it had three walls and could block the wind.

  Sergei did not go straight in. He first placed Aria, who was on his shoulder, on a dry spot under a tree like luggage, then pulled out the dagger he had taken from the thief and silently crept into the cabin. Aria huddled under the tree, hugging her knees, her golden eyes fixed on the man’s back. She saw the man called “Black” pause for two seconds at the doorway, his fingers groping along the edge of the door frame before he expertly removed a rusty animal trap trigger—a well-hidden trap designed to protect against wild animals or bandits, which she hadn’t even noticed.

  “Safe.” Two minutes later, Sergei came out of the house and waved to her.

  The wooden house was filled with a musty, old smell. Sergei found a sheltered corner and piled up the dead wood he had collected. Aria huddled in her tattered fur coat, her golden eyes fixed on his hand. In this world, the strong could usually summon elemental fire with just a snap of their fingers or a simple incantation, "Ignis (fire)." But the man did not chant any spells, nor did he show any signs of mobilizing magical energy. He took out a flint and a knife from his pocket, skillfully scraped off the wood shavings, and then patiently struck the flint.

  Click, click, sizzle! Sparks flew and ignited the sawdust. Sergei lay on the ground, blowing rhythmically until orange flames leaped up, dispelling the deathly silence and cold in the room.

  “Come over.” Sergei sat by the fire, wiping the blood off his dagger with snow, and said calmly.

  Aria moved closer, the warmth of the firelight finally relaxing her stiff body. She looked at Sergei and finally couldn’t help but ask the question that had been bothering her: “Are you… a ‘martial artist’?” In her view, someone who could punch a demon wolf to pieces but couldn’t use magic to start a fire could only be a martial artist who cultivated his physical body.

  Sergei paused for a moment as he wiped the dagger. “No, not really.” He looked up, the firelight illuminating his dark eyes. “To be precise, I used to be a mage. But now…” Sergei pointed to his heart, his tone as calm as if he were talking about someone else, “my… Magic Circuit is completely burned down.”

  “Burn?!” Aria gasped. In this world, having one’s magic circuits burned out was equivalent to becoming a cripple, a more hopeless situation than losing an arm or a leg. “Then…how did you kill the demonic wolf?” She couldn’t understand. How could a cripple possess such terrifying power?

  “Who says you can’t kill someone without magic?” Sergei tucked the dagger back into his waistband, took the prepared snow rabbit out of his bag, and roasted it over the fire. “Magic or martial arts are just tools. When the tools break, people still have to live.” He sprinkled on some wild herbs, turned the grill, and his eyes sharpened: “I used tactics and physics.”

  “Attack the enemy’s weakest point with minimal cost; use the environment, traps, or even the enemy’s own strength to kill them.” Sergei glanced at Aria and pointed to the campfire in front of them: “Like this fire. I don’t deny that starting a fire with magic is indeed fast. But it’s an extremely expensive ‘waste.’ Once your mana (blue bar) runs out, you’re doomed in the wilderness.”

  “And this stone… although it’s slow, it doesn’t consume my energy. As long as I don’t die, I can use it indefinitely.” Sergei coldly concluded: “That’s called ‘reliability,’ newbie.”

  “In extreme environments, fancy techniques often die the fastest. Only stability is the key.” Aria nodded, seemingly understanding. Although she didn’t understand the word, she understood the logic of the strong—they did not rely on divine power, but rather on their own ability to control everything. This philosophy was more arrogant than any magician she had ever met, yet it also gave her a strange sense of security.

  The sizzling aroma of grilled meat filled the small wooden cabin. Glug— Aria’s stomach gave a loud, disapproving rumble. She blushed and stared intently at the golden, crispy roasted rabbit. Sergei tore off the fattest hind leg and handed it to her: “Eat up, partner. This is your ‘dividend’.”

  Aria ignored the heat and wolfed down the food. For her, who hadn’t eaten for three days, this was a life-saving delicacy. Sergei tore off a piece of meat for himself, chewing it slowly and deliberately, while seemingly casually dropping a bombshell: “Judging from your disheveled appearance, it doesn’t seem like you’re hiding from wild animals… you’re hiding from that group… a ‘mad dog in white robe’?”

  Cough! Aria choked on the rabbit meat she had just swallowed and coughed violently. Her golden eyes widened in horror as she looked at Sergei, her hand instinctively reaching for the broken iron sword beside her.

  “How…how did you know?” Her voice trembled. She had never mentioned the "man in the white robe" to anyone; it was her deepest nightmare.

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  “Take it easy.” Sergei pointed to his eyes (actually referring to the system’s scanning interface), his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather: “I have my own channels. And…” He pointed to Aria’s heart: “The energy within you is too conspicuous. It’s like holding a torch in the dark. Apart from those self-proclaimed ‘purifiers’ church charlatans, no one would be so persistent in hunting down a homeless beggar.”

  Sergei’s words were half true and half false. They were indeed intelligence from the system, but he disguised them as his own experience. Aria’s wariness subsided slightly, but it was replaced by a deeper despair.

  “Yes…they are from the Inquisition.” Aria lowered her head and clenched her fists. “They burned down my village and said I was a ‘vessel’ that had to be taken back.”

  “As expected, they are a bunch of hypocrites.” Sergei sneered.

  “Um…” Aria hesitated for a moment, then asked cautiously, “We’re less than forty kilometers away from that legendary ‘Demon King’s Castle.’ I’ve heard it’s very chaotic there, and the church people are afraid to go… Could we go there to take refuge?” In her mind, the most dangerous place was the safest place.

  “No.” Sergei refused without hesitation.

  “Why?”

  “Because that place is now a… Dead End.” Sergei drew a circle on the ground with his dagger: “Although the Demon King’s Castle scared away the merchants of Osia, the outer perimeter has already been… the Ironblood Empire’s regular army has blocked the entrance. If we try to cross the blockade with you, this ‘third wheel,’ we’ll be riddled with bullets before we even get inside.”

  “And…” Sergei glanced at the dilapidated house with its bare walls, “we need salt, we need medicine, we need clothes to keep warm. There’s nothing in the abandoned Demon King’s castle but dust and corpses.”

  “Where do we go?” Aria asked, bewildered. Surrounded by dangers, it seemed like every path led to a dead end.

  Sergei pulled the map he had taken from the thief’s corpse from his pocket and pointed heavily at a spot. “Go here.”

  Aria leaned closer to take a look, and her face instantly turned deathly pale: “Black Iron Outpost?! That’s a border fortress of the Ironblood Empire! Isn’t that just walking into a trap?”

  “On the contrary.” Sergei put away the map, a deep, unfathomable smile curving his lips—the shrewd smile of a CEO. “This is called ‘the darkest place under the lamp’.” He patiently explained (actually, he was giving new employees onboarding training): “First, although all the forces share the same goal in defeating the Demon King, they are not actually united internally. They have diplomatic relations with each other, but in reality, the Ironblood Empire and the Papal States are true mortal enemies. The Church’s inquisitors can roam freely in the wilderness, but they would never dare to openly enter the Empire’s fortress to search for people.”

  “Secondly, although the people of the Empire are ruthless, they have no grudge against you. They are currently investigating the ‘mysterious powerful figure who killed the demon wolf,’ not a homeless beggar.”

  “Third, and most importantly…” Sergei stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the faintly flickering firelight in the dark forest in the distance, his eyes revealing a calmness that had seen through the world. “Unlike those religious fanatics who shout ‘Kill me’ the moment they see you… The Ironblood Empire follows the rules.” He turned around and looked at Arya: “In the eyes of the Church, your very existence is original sin, and you must be burned at the stake; but in the eyes of the Empire, as long as you don’t cause trouble or reveal your abilities, you are just an ordinary taxpayer or cheap labor.”

  Even if it was something they were going to, the Black Iron Outpost, although a military fortress, was also a famous Black Market Gold Depot. Smugglers, mercenaries, fugitives… you name it, you’d find it there.

  Sergei walked over and stomped out the fire with his toes. “Do you understand? In a place full of swans, you, the ugly duckling, will stand out; but in a place full of crows, you will be safe.”

  “What we need to do is disguise ourselves as two inconspicuous ‘crows,’ sneak in, secure the supplies, and then…” He reached out in the darkness and pulled Aria up. “Take advantage of the chaos there to make the company’s first pot of gold.”

  Aria nodded, seemingly understanding. Although she didn’t know what "a den of iniquity" meant, she understood the metaphor—blending into the flock of crows.

  “Let’s go, newbie.” Sergei reached out from the darkness and pulled Aria up. Pushing open the decaying wooden door, the wind and snow rushed in again. In the distant forest, the flickering lights (signals from the Imperial scouts) became clearer.

  Sergei stared at the flames for a few seconds, a playful smirk playing on his lips. “Three long and two short, with a five-second interval.” He muttered to himself, as if analyzing a set of data: “This is the standard ‘security patrol’ signal frequency of the Ironblood Empire. These Germans… I mean these Imperial soldiers, are as rigid as ever. Twenty years have passed, and they haven’t even changed the Field Regulations.”

  He turned to look at Aria, who was staring blankly at him, and pointed to the time on his bracelet: “According to their regulations, security patrols are conducted every four hours. The current slowing of the signal rhythm indicates that these scouts are exhausted and preparing to return to camp for a handover.”

  “In other words…” Sergei stated the number precisely, “…distance from where their defense is most lax: Shift change window! Twenty minutes left.”

  “Stay close to me. Don’t fall behind, and don’t make a sound.” Sergei lowered his body, like a ghost melting into the night, and slipped into the depths of the snowstorm. “Our ‘infiltration game’ has begun.”

  ----------------

  Area 7: Edge - Black Iron Outpost

  The massive black city walls, like broken mountain ranges, stretched across the wind and snow. There were no sacred hymns, only the clanging of gears and the roar of steam boilers. Above the city walls, enormous searchlights, like the eyes of giants, coldly swept over the long lines of refugees below.

  Sergei mingled with Aria in the crowd. Before entering the city, he gave Aria a vivid "disguise lesson." Without using any magic, he simply adjusted the light and shadow on Aria’s face with soot and had her stuff pebbles into her insoles, forcing her to walk with a hunched gait reminiscent of someone suffering from chronic malnutrition.

  “Remember, in a wolf pack, the safest animal is not a lion, but a vulture that looks sick and tastes bad.”