chapter 4.3

That morning felt heavier than usual. The cold air still clung between the wooden barracks, mingling with the faint scent of blood lingering from last night's battle. Though the sun had risen, the sky above The Wall remained somber, as if it too understood how fragile this momentary peace was.

Alcard stood at the edge of the main courtyard, his eyes trailing over the recruits who shuffled past with uncertain steps. Their shoulders were a bit straighter than before, but their gazes still held doubt. Last night, they had witnessed death for the first time—and now, they had to live with the reality that it could come for them at any moment.

As he continued sharpening his blade, his thoughts drifted far into the past. He had once heard whispers about a name that few dared to speak aloud, a name uttered only in hushed conversations among those who had lived long enough on The Wall to fear what lay beyond.

"Ragonar," he murmured, the name escaping his lips as softly as the wind threading through the cracks of the ancient stone around him.

An old Outcast, long since perished, had once warned him about the Black Dragon's existence. The man had always spoken in whispers, his voice laced with caution—as if saying the name too often would make it real. But now, as mutations among the southern monsters grew more frequent, Alcard couldn't help but wonder: Was it truly just a myth?

His gaze shifted toward the main gate, still under repair after last night's assault. If Ragonar was indeed the source of these mutations, no wall—no matter how high or strong—would be enough to stop the darkness that was approaching.

A set of heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts.

Turning slightly, Alcard spotted Thornek, a seasoned Outcast who had fought on The Wall for years. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, either from aiding with the repairs or simply trying to shake off the morning cold.

"Alcard." Thornek's voice was deep and weighty. "I heard you talking to the recruits about the Black Dragon."

Alcard met his gaze, expression unreadable. He gave a slight shrug before responding, "They need to know what they might face one day."

Thornek exhaled sharply before lowering himself onto the nearby wooden steps with a measured, deliberate motion. "We've all heard that story since the day we arrived at The Wall. But no one has actually seen the damn thing."

Alcard remained silent, his fingers still idly spinning the blade in his grasp.

After a brief pause, Thornek's voice dropped into a near whisper. "Some of the older veterans who ventured far south… they said they heard something. A sound—deep, unnatural, not like anything we've ever fought before."

That caught Alcard's attention. He turned to Thornek, his red eyes narrowing slightly. "When?"

Thornek leaned back against the wooden frame, his gaze drifting toward the overcast sky. "During a supply run for Rotrofila Root. We traveled south, just beyond the cliffs overlooking the canyon that separates the wastelands from the desert. That night, everything was… silent. No wind, no distant howls of creatures, just… stillness.

Then, out of nowhere… a growl."

Alcard's grip on his sword tightened slightly.

Thornek's expression hardened as he continued. "It wasn't like an Ogre's roar. It wasn't the screech of a mutated beast. It was low, heavy… like the sound of something ancient breathing. It made my entire body tense up, even though we saw nothing. We left before sunrise."

Alcard didn't look surprised. He merely slid his blade back into its sheath, then spoke in a calm yet unwavering tone. "Then the rumor is no longer just a rumor. But we can't let the recruits hear about this."

Thornek frowned. "Why not?"

Alcard let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting back to the partially repaired gate.

"If they believe Ragonar is real, they will only have two choices—run or take their own lives. We both know what a dragon's power is capable of. If they lose hope before even facing it, they won't last here."

A heavy silence followed.

Thornek eventually nodded, a slow, reluctant agreement settling in his features. "You're right. Even some of us would rather flee than face what's lurking in the south."

For a while, they said nothing more. Only the distant clinking of metal and the murmur of Outcasts repairing their gear filled the morning air.

Then, Alcard broke the silence.

"But you realize it, don't you?" His voice was steady but cold. "The southern creatures are evolving. The mutated Ogres and Goblins we fought last night were far stronger than anything we've encountered before. If this continues, then the myth will become reality sooner than we think."

Thornek let out a low grunt, his gaze sweeping across the busy courtyard.

"Then we need to prepare," he muttered. "But I'm more concerned about the recruits. If we keep losing them at this rate, we won't have anyone left."

Alcard's reply was immediate. "That's why they need to learn faster." His tone held no room for doubt. "We don't have time to train them at a comfortable pace. The Wall is getting weaker. And we're getting fewer."

Thornek's jaw tightened. "You're right. We are too few. And the Lords of Middle Earth are too busy waging their petty wars to care."

Alcard scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Of course. They think we can hold the south without their help. They'd rather play politics while we bleed and die out here."

The two men fell into another silence.

Finally, Thornek pushed himself up, placing a firm hand on Alcard's shoulder.

"Get some rest while you can," he advised. "We don't know when the bells will ring again."

Alcard gave a small nod, but his gaze never left the gate.

Because deep down, he knew that no amount of preparation would be enough if the Black Dragon truly awakened.

If Ragonar was behind these mutations, then The Wall wasn't a stronghold—it was a mere delay before the inevitable destruction.

And the bright morning sky above them felt like a cruel irony, concealing the shadows of what was to come.