Chapter 63: The Tip of the Iceberg

Victor hurried toward the lower camp with Renault in tow, intent on joining up with Jack and the others. Gathering purified crystals was now the highest priority, and this was also the first deployment of alchemical creatures—a fact that left Victor quietly exhilarated.

As Victor approached, the guards stationed at the main gate quickly saluted their lord with utmost respect.

“Prepare two horses for us. I need to head out,” Victor commanded coolly.

In no time, two sturdy horses were brought forth. Victor and Renault mounted and rode off, leaving dust swirling in their wake.

An hour later, Lilia arrived back at the camp in haste, old Hamm following closely behind.

“Where is Lord Victor?” Lilia demanded of the gate guards.

“My lady, he didn’t say. He and the big fellow, Renault, took two horses and left directly,” one of the guards replied, visibly nervous at Lilia’s anxious demeanor.

“Uncle Hamm! Can the hounds still track them?” Lilia turned to the old man.

“They’ve been badly frightened. They won’t be of any use for a day or two,” Hamm replied heavily.

“What now?! My brother isn’t here! All the veterans of the company went to Blackfort Town with him. Those idiots! Nothing but depraved brutes!” Lilia cursed aloud, panic rising as she considered the looming danger.

“Lilia, don’t panic. His Lordship is strong, and with the big fellow by his side, nothing will happen to them. What matters now is sending word to those outside and raising our vigilance, just in case,” Hamm quickly advised, seeing her so unsettled.

“You’re right. I’ll have someone notify Sister Linda and Chief Morin, then I’ll lead a team to track Lord Victor myself.” Remembering Renault’s formidable strength, Lilia managed to calm herself a little.

“Lilia, without the hounds, it’ll be nearly impossible to find him. But… well, I have no choice but to sacrifice two old companions,” Hamm sighed.

Seeing Lilia’s stubborn determination, Hamm gave up on dissuading her. He decided to use a secret method to awaken the life potential of two of the hounds—though it would kill them, Lord Victor’s safety mattered more.

Meanwhile, Victor and Renault soon spotted alchemical ravens circling in the sky—the rendezvous point he’d established.

“You made good time,” Victor remarked, surprised to see five alchemical militiamen already waiting. After all, he and Renault had come on horseback.

“We ran all the way, my lord,” Jack answered respectfully.

The location was forty kilometers from the camp. The interval between Victor’s and Jack’s departures hadn’t been long, yet Jack’s group had arrived first—meaning they’d run the distance at a warhorse’s speed. Such stamina made Victor deeply envious.

“Well, everyone’s here! Wait, where are those others?” Victor noticed something missing.

Jack gave a long whistle. Instantly, five black shapes shot out from the distant brush, racing toward them.

Victor looked up to see the shapes, roughly six kilometers away, moving at a remarkable speed. The rough terrain posed little obstacle; they leaped over a ten-meter-wide ditch with ease, barreled through thorny brambles, and in just five minutes had reached Victor’s side—heads low, tongues lolling, thick tails sweeping up clouds of dust as they pressed eagerly toward him, whining.

“Stupid dogs! Halt! Sit!” Victor exclaimed in alarm, making quick gestures to stave off their affectionate advances; he had no desire to be drenched in their slobber.

These were the alchemical warhounds, newly crafted by the alchemical tower.

Alchemical warhounds: Physical 18, Mental 4, Perception 14, Vitality 5; cost: 800 gold sol each; innate abilities: tracking, bloodthirst, feral instinct; lifespan: four years. They were the standard sentry units of the Alchemical Empire.

Each warhound stood over ninety centimeters at the shoulder, nearly two meters long, weighing around 120 kilograms—a true giant breed. Their fur was dense, slate-gray, their bones thick and steel-hard, their bodies packed with powerful muscle. Their muzzles jutted forward, teeth sharp and strong, upper canines a full eight centimeters, protruding from their mouths like blades, giving them a terrifying appearance—one look and it was clear they were creatures of violence.

Victor had only conducted a few simple tests since their creation, but already confirmed their astonishing strength and endurance. He’d had Renault compete in tug-of-war with one; though Renault, having mastered the Ox-Bowing Form, could match the hound evenly, once the warhound activated its bloodthirst, Renault was dragged across the ground helplessly. Of course, after the effect faded, the warhound was left so weak it could barely stand.

In addition, these warhounds were incredibly resilient; even tumbling down steep slopes from the upper camp left them unharmed, as Victor had tested himself.

To keep the alchemical tower’s secret, Victor had cordoned off the area near the upper camp’s cave with fencing, declaring it forbidden—even Lilia and Nelson were barred from entry.

However, once these fierce-looking dogs were produced, Victor faced the headache of how to get them out. In the end, he had Renault simply toss them, one by one, over the eight- or nine-meter-high fence. The hounds would whimper as they rolled down the steep slope, but halfway down, they found their balance and joyfully ran the rest of the way.

Thus, the five warhounds were sent out. Following Victor’s instructions, they concealed themselves here under the alchemical raven’s guidance.

Looking at his five militiamen, five warhounds, and ten alchemical ravens, Victor felt a surge of satisfaction.

“This time, you’re to enter the great marsh and collect this kind of purified crystal. Blackfeather will lead the way,” Victor said, handing a crystal for Jack to examine.

“During the mission, avoiding danger is paramount. If you can’t collect the crystals, don’t force it. Abandon the task and withdraw at once,” Victor ordered coldly.

Alchemical creatures were powerful, but the great marsh was rife with peril—even Bruce’s party had suffered losses. Victor had no illusions that his team was stronger. Thus, stealth in and stealth out with the target was the strategy.

“My lord, with the warhounds, we can avoid most dangers. Their instincts are sharp; they can sense threats ahead of time,” Jack assured him.

Victor nodded. That was the effect of the warhounds’ feral instinct—the king had told him this was their core skill, while bloodthirst was for covering others’ retreat in danger. Alchemical warhounds existed to be cannon fodder.

“Don’t be overconfident. We know little of the marsh, but it’s certain there are lizardman tribes—among them, the most formidable half-dragon kin. Smear yourselves with mud to mask your scent from them. Collecting purified crystals is secondary to your safe return.”

He had invested 10,500 gold sol in this team—his strongest force yet. He didn’t wish to lose even the warhounds.

“My lord, if it’s lizardmen, mud is useless. The serpentine monsters they tame can sense heat. We can gather black stink mushrooms to smear on ourselves—all scions and bloodlines of Tewaril abhor the smell and will avoid it instinctively,” Jack explained.

“Tewaril? Who is that? And what are its scions and bloodlines?” Victor was startled by this new information.

“Tewaril—the ancient Black Marsh King, ancestor of all serpents and lizards. Its bloodlines form the marsh’s ecosystem, including lizardmen and serpent monsters. The Hydra is its direct descendant.”

“How do you know all this? Why didn’t the king tell me?” Victor demanded.

“My lord, this is knowledge embedded in our will. The tower spirit lacks permission to read or alter the contents of our will.”

“How much do you know about Tewaril?” Victor pressed.

“We only know Tewaril is the ancient Black Marsh King, and the traits and powers of its descendants.”

“Very well. Tell me about the lizardmen, serpent monsters, and Hydra.”

The Alchemical Empire clearly didn’t load extensive ancient lore into alchemical militiamen, so Victor focused on specifics.

“Lizardmen, bloodline of the Black Marsh King: maximum lifespan seventy years, sharp sense of smell and sight, skilled with spears and hunting bows, capable of underwater breathing and level-three regeneration; a few have level-two regeneration. Lizardmen possess level-three intelligence, can communicate with most Black Marsh bloodlines, and rare elite individuals have supernatural abilities.”

“Serpent monsters, bloodline of the Black Marsh King: resemble large lizards, lack intelligence, breathe underwater, possess level-two regeneration. Rare elites have a supernatural gift: petrification. Their hearts are third-class materials; elite eyes are second-class materials.”

“Hydra, direct descendant of the Black Marsh King: maximum lifespan sixteen hundred years, level-four intelligence, underwater breathing, supernatural regeneration, elemental resistance, toxic domain, supernatural gift: elemental stasis. Hydra’s hide is first-class material, heart and bones are precious materials, eyes and venom are first-class, droppings third-class, and…”

“Enough, enough! I get it—the Hydra’s like a fat pig, every part a treasure! Now, tell me about petrification and elemental stasis,” Victor cut him off, well aware of the alchemical men’s penchant for exhaustive detail.

“Meeting an elite serpent monster’s gaze slows the elemental flow in the body, causing paralysis and stiffness—just like petrification.”

“Elemental stasis is also petrification, but because the Hydra has many eyes, the likelihood is greatly increased, nearly unavoidable.”

Victor nodded to show he understood, then asked, “Why is this knowledge and the material grades loaded into your will? Does that mean your primary duty is to collect these materials?”

“My lord, collecting materials in dangerous environments is the alchemical militiamen’s primary task.”

Jack’s answer confirmed Victor’s suspicion. He decided not to press further; all the alchemical militiamen shared the same knowledge base, so he could always ask Renault later.

“Seems collecting purified crystals will be no challenge for you,” Victor remarked with a smile. If even Hydras were on their menu, crystals should be easy—though he himself believed the militiamen would be no match for such a beast.

“My lord, by your criteria, is this a third-level mission?” Jack asked.

“Does it matter?” Victor wondered.

“My lord, third-level missions prioritize survival, with crystal collection secondary. Second-level missions prioritize crystal collection, with survival secondary. First-level missions focus solely on collecting crystals,” York replied calmly.

“Third-level! You may sacrifice up to three warhounds at most,” Victor declared at once. He had greater plans for these death-defying alchemical men; he would not waste them here.

“Understood, my lord,” the militiamen answered in unison, startling Victor a bit.

“You have fifteen days. If you finish early, gather here and have Blackfeather notify me. In fifteen days, return here no matter the results and await my orders. Go!”

At Victor’s signal, five fully armed alchemical militiamen, five massive warhounds, and ten alchemical ravens set off toward the great marsh.

It was their first mission—or perhaps their Nth.

Victor rode in silence, pondering the flood of information Jack had revealed. He could now sketch the outlines of the Alchemical Empire’s logistics: ravens for reconnaissance and search, militiamen for gathering and hunting, warhounds for security and defense, auxiliary soldiers for processing and production.

The knowledge the militiamen possessed showed that the Empire’s alchemists had a deep grasp of ancient secrets, evidence of a long and rich tradition.

With this in mind, Victor turned to Renault. “Renault, whose bloodline are humans from?”

“I don’t know.”

Victor nodded; he was not surprised. The imperial alchemists had no need to impart knowledge about humans to their creations.

“What about gnolls?”

“The Gluttonous Lord, Grimku.”

“Elves?”

“I don’t know.”

That answer surprised Victor. He frowned and tried again, “Barbarians?”

“I don’t know.”

Just as he suspected. Victor sighed. “Let’s go home.”

He and Renault rode at a leisurely pace back toward the hill camp. Halfway there, they saw Lilia and a group of guards coming to meet them.

“My lord is here!”

At the sight of Victor and Renault, Lilia and her company quickly surrounded them, weapons ready, bows drawn, blades unsheathed—preparing for trouble.

“Lilia, what’s going on?” Victor tensed at the display.

“Victor, thank goodness you’re safe.” Relief overcame Lilia, her voice breaking.

“Can someone tell me what happened?” Victor half-embraced Lilia, calling out to the people around them.

“My lord, Lilia feared you were in danger. My hounds detected a pack of vicious beasts nearby!” Old Hamm explained hurriedly.

“What? A pack of vicious beasts?!”

The news shook Victor. They were at their weakest, and a pack of such creatures could spell disaster for the freemen’s settlement.

“Yes, my lord. I checked their tracks—they’re savage wolves, at least five, which is rare,” Hamm confirmed.

“...” was all Victor could muster.