Chương 39: Target On Sight!

As we sat leaning against the rough trunk, Galer reached into his pouch and pulled out a small glass vial filled with shimmering liquid. He held it out to me. I stared at it, confused.

"What is in this vial?" Galer gave a small, tired smile.

"Have you forgotten already? This is the Healing Liquid from Richárde in Tabraca. I won it as first place prize. Take a sip. You've been carrying that broken arm for far too long." I uncorked the vial and drank. The moment the liquid touched my tongue, a divine warmth exploded through my body. It felt like liquid sunlight pouring into my veins. The excruciating pain in my left arm, the constant throbbing that had haunted me since the desperate punch in the mine... vanished in seconds.

Bones realigned with audible cracks, muscles knit themselves back together, and deep bruises faded as if they had never existed. The fire in my blood surged stronger than ever, burning away the last traces of exhaustion, heat stroke, and accumulated wounds from the caves. My whole body sang with renewed strength. For the first time since the mines, I felt truly whole again. I flexed my newly healed arm in awe, clenching and unclenching my fist.

"This… this is incredible."Galer nodded, a faint smile on his lips.

"Richárde didn't lie when he said it was the best. Save the rest for later. We might need it again.

"We rested a while longer beneath the great tree, sharing the last of the grilled cacti we still carried and washing it down with water from the merchant. The sweet, watery flesh brought again a moment of comfort. We also made a good trade earlier for two Tagelmusts, traditional veil scarves that wrapped around the head and face. In this land of sudden heavy rains followed by fierce sun, they were practical. More importantly, they would help conceal our identities for as long as possible.

The night deepened around us. I suggested to Galer that four or five in the morning would be the safest time to slip into the outpost, when the guards would still be tired from the night shift. He agreed, adding that the soldiers would likely be even more exhausted since they were still reinforcing the border. We took turns keeping watch under the shelter of the great tree, its wide crown hiding us well from prying eyes. We slept until Galer gently woke me at two in the morning.

Both of us felt the weight of only four hours rest, but we forced ourselves up. After eating the last scraps of cactus, we set off running toward Muzape. By the time we arrived, the sun was only just beginning to greet the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of gold and rose. Muzape rose before us, anchored against a prominent rocky hill that served as a natural lookout and defensive anchor for the settlement. The outpost appeared as a compact, fortified cluster emerging from the savanna plains.

Reddish-brown earth tones dominated everything, giving the walls and buildings a warm, baked-clay appearance that blended almost seamlessly with the surrounding landscape. From a distance, Muzape resembled a low, sprawling earthen fortress that hugged the savanna rather than towering dramatically like the stone or ironcoal castles of Europarum. The air carried the mingled scents of woodsmoke, livestock, and indigo dye from the textile workshops.

The defining feature was the massive earthen wall encircling the core settlement. The construction looked relatively new. It stood roughly fifteen to nineteen meters high, with a base up to fourteen meters thick, built from sun-dried mud bricks called tubali, conical in shape and reinforced with grass or straw for added strength. A deep moat-like trench ran along the outer base, providing extra defense against both human attackers and wild beasts.

Three sturdy timber gates controlled entry, each featuring narrow passages and thickened sections above for archers. Luckily, the archers were nowhere to be seen. Only about twenty guards patrolled the perimeter in disciplined, controlled patterns. After a careful observation from the high part of the hill, we spotted a viable route. We could climb down from the ridge and drop onto a lower building to infiltrate the outpost. The descent was surprisingly easy for both of us, silent and controlled.

Once we landed on the rooftop, the sun had risen higher and the day had properly begun. We stayed hidden on the shade-heavy side of the roof until evening fell, using the time to rest and recover. Galer knelt in a deep genuflection, his left knee pressed firmly against the warm stone while his right foot remained planted. His hands rested on his thigh as he meditated, breathing slow and steady, his single visible eye closed in focused calm. I tried to join him at first, but I quickly grew restless.

Meditation had never been my strength... I was far too impatient for that kind of stillness. Instead, I drew my sword-axe and began training in slow, deliberate motions. I moved with controlled precision, careful not to let the blade whistle through the air or scrape against the rooftop. Each swing, each shift of weight, each practiced form was done in near silence. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the shade, but the rhythmic movement helped calm the fire burning inside me.

While Galer restored his spirit through quiet, kneeling reflection, I sharpened mine through motion. Both of us prepared in our own ways for whatever waited for us in Muzape. Fifteen hours later, after a solid rest and some light training or meditation to keep our minds sharp, the day was slowly dying and evening was taking hold. We slipped down from the rooftop and made our way into the bustling market district. The streets were alive with the scent of spices, grilled meat, and fermented milk.

We found a modest stall and bought two servings of Fura, millet balls rolled and mashed with fermented milk. The refreshing, slightly tangy taste was perfect after the long day, giving us quick energy without weighing us down. It was the kind of simple, nourishing meal favored by guards and merchants alike. While we ate, we kept our Tagelmusts wrapped tightly around our faces, blending in as weary travelers. We listened carefully to the conversations around us.

Whispers of the war with Chaddore filled the air, soldiers boasting about recent victories, merchants complaining about disrupted trade routes, and worried citizens speaking of conscription. No one mentioned a white man with a monocle, but we did catch a few references to "important guests" being housed near the central barracks. Galer leaned closer to me, voice low.

"If he's as connected as the old man feared, he won't be out in the open. We start with the richer quarters after full dark." I nodded, flexing my newly healed left arm. The Healing Liquid had done wonders, but the memory of the mines still lingered like a shadow. We finished a portion of our meal in silence, paid the stall keeper, and melted back into the growing evening crowds, hearts steady and purpose clear. But these Fura were truly the food of the Tharaj outposts, simple, hearty, and strangely comforting.

After having finished the second portion of our dinner with Galer, we slipped deeper into the center of Muzape. What we found left us unsettled. The merchants' registry had been closed for more than two years. That was strange. The man with the monocle had supposedly been operating here for at least two and a half years, yet the entire merchant network appeared to have vanished. Galer pondered aloud, his voice low.

"An outpost this large with no need for outside force like Mercs… that doesn't feel right." We kept walking in silence for a while, the weight of the discovery settling between us. Heavy rain soon began to fall, soaking us through in minutes. The downpour lasted for hours, but it worked in our favor, as the soldiers concentrated their patrols elsewhere, allowing us to move more freely through the shadows. By the time we reached the barracks area, it was one in the morning.

The rain had cooled the air, turning the ground into slick mud. We climbed onto the rooftops once more, using the downpour and darkness as cover while we moved silently from roof to roof, getting closer to the main complex. From there, we dropped down quietly into the rear yard behind the barracks. We took cover behind large stacks of food supplies, crates of grain, dried meat, and barrels and waited. The rain continued to hammer down around us.

The downpour grew more powerful with every passing minute, the drops falling so heavily and fast that they struck the ground like thousands of tiny fists. What began as scattered puddles quickly swelled and merged, turning the entire outpost into a shallow, churning sea of muddy water. The rain roared so loudly it drowned out almost everything else, creating a constant, drumming wall of sound that both shielded us and made the world feel smaller, more isolated.

The warm water, that with every second got colder streamed down our faces, soaked through our clothes, and pooled around our boots as we crouched motionless, hearts pounding in the darkness. It felt like the strong rain was hitting us for a good while, maybe hours. The warm drops hammered down relentlessly, turning the ground into a slick, deeper muddy mess than it already was.

It helped us that the soldiers had concentrated again their forces on other points, allowing us to slip through to certain places undetected giving us a better hiding spot behind other supply crates. From our hidden position, drenched, cold thanks the now colder water, and breathing shallowly, we finally saw him. A soldier pushed a cart filled with glowing red tourmaline ore. Walking beside it was the man we had come for... Professor Étienne dú Sissione. He was a tall, pale-skinned white man standing at 1.

79 meters, carrying himself with the deliberate, scholarly posture of a historian rather than a soldier. His face was sharp and intellectual, accented by a neatly trimmed mustache that curled upward elegantly at the ends. A delicate circular monocle sat firmly in his right eye, held in place by a thin silver chain that disappeared into the folds of his fine robe. The monocle gave him an air of constant, precise scrutiny.

His clothing was rich and well-tailored, that immediately set him apart from the rough uniforms of the outpost guards or those around him. Thus making it clear this was the man we needed to remove from this world. While the guards here wore short, practical tunics of rough leather in dark blue reinforced with padded armor for battle, he wore a voluminous ankle-length outer robe of deep indigo wool, cut loose and of dignified quality, with wide hanging sleeves that brushed against his knuckles.

Beneath it, a finer pale linen under-tunic was visible at the neck and cuffs, cinched gently at the waist with a simple braided cord. On his head rested a soft, round scholar's cap of dark felt, and on his feet were refined leather shoes. Galer also added that he had a Latiume invention, the Umbraculum, made to protect one from rain. I had never seen such an invention before. He noticed my curious look and continued explaining in a quiet whisper, "It's a clever device, like a portable canopy on a stick.

The canopy is usually made of treated fabric stretched over thin ribs, black in color so it doesn't show dirt easily. You hold it above your head and it keeps the rain off completely. Very useful in places like this where the rain can be very powerful." Just right after the quick explanation, as the marked target began moving with the cart, we followed the man from the barracks, sidelined thanks to the rain.

The bright stones in the night made it easy for us to track him into a huge facility protected by two very powerful guards. Galer used his Animo spirit reading ability and checked their levels at 3, 200 and with maybe more, around 2, 500ish elite level all around this outpost. It had to be an important outpost for Tharaj, for it to have such dense defensive force lying here.

With that information, we wanted to attack from the back when a sand wave moved slowly toward us, hidden thanks to the strong rain, as it was hiding beneath it. It revealed behind us a parchment paper with its content asking us to come out and meet Jabare at these coordinates for something important. Galer read it and said, "Thirty kilometers from this place, east-northish from here. Let us go and meet him." And so we slowly retreated from the facility to find out what Jabare wanted from us.

The rain continued to pour as we slipped away from the barracks under cover of darkness. We moved silently through the wet streets, the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke mixing in the air. Professor Étienne dú Sissione had been right there, close enough to strike, yet the mysterious message from Jabare Magkosi pulled us away before we could act. The tall Chaddorian ex-champion was still alive and calling for us.

Thirty kilometers east-northeast waited answers, perhaps about the state of the started war between both Nations, or information about the red-black stones and osmium mining that had started this situation in the first place. We left finally let Muzape behind under the cover of rain and night, our bodies refreshed in the wet state but our minds heavy with questions.

The savannah stretched out once more in wide view, the massive solitary trees standing like silent guardians in the distance again for us to hide from patrolling units. War raging between Tharaj and Chaddore, with us running straight into its colossal storm to get the old man's promise kept.