“Another one of the Count’s men … dead.”

“Another one … body hollowed up.”

“Another … limbs missing.”

As the adventuring wagon proceeded on the giant roots of Earthgate Forest, Vance counted the corpses and marked their locations on his map. It was his new task, but he enjoyed it much more than the last. Every time he pronounced someone dead, he would hear Kathi praying for them from the driver’s seat, and he would see Fairuz wrinkling her face in anger, and he would glimpse Maxwell hiding his tears to protect his fragile machismo. Most adventurers showed excessive sympathy toward the victims of monster attacks, and Vance found this phenomenon amusing. Did they care for the lives of total strangers, or did they imagine themselves as future victims and commiserate out of fear?

“Another one … gutted and drained of blood.”

Kathi prayed; Fairuz grimaced; Maxwell looked away.

“Oh, wait, that was a monster’s corpse,” Vance smiled. “My bad.”

The other three looked at him as if they had been betrayed.

Rest in peace, my monster friend. You fought well while you still could.

The Saturn Tunnel had already been restored. In fact, it had been down for only one hour or perhaps even less. But these brave monsters, who sacrificed their lives so heroically for food, had caused significant losses to the humans, who sacrificed their lives so heroically for gold. As he marked the locations of the corpses, Vance was well-aware that he was also indicating where to search for any lost cargo. They’ll come looking for the gold and only bury these dead people on the side. He laughed at the cynical thought. But we all have to pretend that I’m making this map to give the victims a decent burial. It’s always like this. He added another mark and then looked up; Maxwell had started to say something.

“We’re almost at Fort Hamadryad, aren’t we? I’d reckon we are.”

Vance examined the map and said, “We should be there in a few minutes.”

“A few minutes, huh?” Maxwell sighed in relief. “I’m glad we made it in one piece. This trip was real nasty … as nasty as it gets. And that’s coming from a disciplined Paladin like me.”

“You haven’t seen the worst yet,” Fairuz scoffed.

“What could be worse than this?” Maxwell seemed tense. “All these corpses around us … They belong to town guards and sellswords and even adventurers from the Guild. They gave up their lives for Amirani, but it’s still a big loss.”

“At least they died fighting. I imagine things are worse at Beaucourt.”

“Well … If that’s what you mean, I guess you’re probably right.”

“The half-humans will pay for it,” Kathi said solemnly. “For everything.”

Speaking of the dwarves, we haven’t seen any of them around. Vance paused a second and wondered where the Kunzites could be. Are they disabling the tunnel and letting the monsters do the dirty work? If such was the case, then it would be harder to hunt them down. The harsh terrain favored guerilla warfare and put any organized force at a disadvantage. But it’s still a risky game. Their dependance on monsters could easily backfire, and the more they bring down the Saturn Tunnel, the more evidence they leave behind for the light mages at the maintenance stations. Evidence that can be used to track them. The wagon continued onward, and Vance continued to analyze the delicate situation until a checkpoint finally appeared and distracted him.

There was an improvised roadblock made of wood and stone, and five men in chainmail were stationed at it. They checked the papers of the Cromish Dawn, asked for a list of the weapons the party possessed, and stared at Vance with rustic suspicion—possibly on account of his feet. Then they finally granted the wagon a permit to Fort Hamadryad. Eager and impatient, Kathi and Maxwell inquired about the current situation: “Did the dwarves strike?” “Was the fort attacked?” “Why did the Saturn Tunnel go down so suddenly?” “Who restored it? And how?” The questions flowed out uninterrupted, but the stationed men shook their heads and said they knew nothing, other than that the fort itself had not been breached.

“The dwarves must’ve targeted the tunnel somewhere else,” Maxwell said.

“Could be the case. You should talk to Commander Lyon about it.”

“Is he the one in charge around here?”

“Yes, uh, the Commander keeps the peace on behalf of the Count.”

“Got it. Thanks for the tip.”

The stationed men started to clear the path for the wagon to pass, and Vance took a second look at them as they worked. It was not unusual for town guards to have a certain emblem, sign, or insignia to indicate their affiliation; but these men had no such thing. They were either mercenaries or peasants who had been equipped in a hurry and flung right into the fray. Vance suspected the latter—that they were miners or farmers who had lost their daily livelihoods and needed jobs. It was surprising, however, that Count Monet had armor and weapons to spare for their kind. Beaucourt must be in a resource crunch, but the kind-hearted Count still found a way to arm his peasants before sending them to die. Is it just bad decision-making, or is it the power of money?

“Drive on!” one of the men said, as soon as the road was clear. “The gate to the fort is straight ahead! Amirani be with you!”

“Thanks again, and stay vigilant!” Maxwell waved one last time.

The wagon advanced, and a mere minute later, Fort Hamadryad finally stood before the Cromish Dawn and Vance. It emerged from behind a white curtain of dangling leaves and immediately commanded all attention. It was nothing like a conventional fort, nothing like the buildings of Cromsville or Beaucourt. Its structure itself consisted of three conjoined giant trees—three Noble Giantuas (Atlanteia, Colossae, and Asteria) that had merged into one by a long process known as inosculation. These trees formed a towering mass that the humans then carved, chipped, and shaved into a fortress of massive scale. Everywhere in Earthgate Forest there was a bitter clash between nature and humanity, but here the two seemed to have cooperated with great success.

Looking up as far as the eye could see, Vance found hundreds of magical orbs floating in the air like a constellation. Their light seemed to be linked to the Saturn Tunnel, but Vance could not yet tell how. It illuminated windows carved into the tree trunks, and tiny bretèches built for archers and mages to fire upon enemies. Above these scattered defenses there was the forest canopy, and below there was a large gate with a sturdy portcullis. Surrounding this portcullis, a wooden relief portrayed the fort’s three trees as young hamadryads guarding the entrance. Atlanteia was the long-haired nymph on the right; Colossae was the Junoesque beauty on the left; and full-breasted Asteria appeared above the gate with her arms outstretched to welcome refugees as her children.

“Who goes there?” a voice shouted from the darkness behind the portcullis.

Maxwell alighted, waved the entry permit, and said with some pretension, “The Cromish Dawn. We’re an adventuring party hired by Count Pascal Monet to deal with the dwarf situation. We would like to speak to Commander Lyon.”

Silence followed and developed into an unusually long wait. Then the metal finally rose open with both creak and clank. Out of the darkness stepped none other than the commander himself.