chapter 4.5

Dusk slowly gave way to night, enveloping the eastern outpost of The Wall in an ever-deepening chill. The once fiery orange sky darkened, while a thin mist began to rise from the ground, creeping over the ruins and hidden shadows beyond the gate. The remnants of battle had been cleared—the blood washed away, and the bodies of the fallen dragged beyond the border to be burned. And yet, tension lingered in the air, weighing down on the Outcasts within these walls.

It had been over ten days since Alcard had been stationed at this remote outpost, one of many under Central Command's authority. The Wall stretched so vast that Oldman had divided its defense into three major headquarters. The Central Headquarters, the heart of Outcast operations, managed the largest and most critical section of the wall, bearing the heaviest burden in protecting Middle Earth from the horrors of the South. The Eastern and Western Headquarters, though smaller, played equally vital roles, each led by a commander with the potential to become the next Oldman.

Due to the immense scale of The Wall, not every Outcast knew each other. Many only recognized names through joint missions or whispered rumors. Some could serve for years without ever meeting their counterparts from other strongholds.

Among the three headquarters, only the Central Headquarters had direct access to Folwestian Bloom and Rotrofila Root, the two essential ingredients for Bloody Potion—the only elixir that allowed Outcasts to fight monsters far beyond human limits. Its proximity to the southern forest paths granted an advantage in harvesting resources, but it also made it the most vulnerable to sudden attacks. Even with heavy escorts, every expedition to collect these materials almost always ended in casualties. More often than not, only half of those sent out returned alive.

Standing atop a partially crumbling watchtower, Alcard remained still, his sharp gaze fixed on the distant horizon. From his vantage point, he could see the night fog thickening, consuming the vast expanse beyond The Wall. The silence felt unnatural, but he knew better than to trust it. Hidden within the mist could be monsters, spies from rival factions, or even desperate bandits foolish enough to approach the border.

Below him, the Outcasts resumed their nightly routines. Some stood guard at the gates, while others huddled near flickering campfires, warding off the bone-chilling cold. Their movements were sluggish, weighed down by the events of the recent battle.

Soft footsteps approached from behind. A young Outcast ascended the watchtower, carrying a small waterskin. His expression remained tense, clearly unaccustomed to The Wall's atmosphere. Hesitation was evident in his body language, but after a moment, he gathered his courage and spoke.

"Sir Alcard," he murmured, his voice nearly swallowed by the cold night wind. "Is it true… that everyone out here is dangerous to us?"

Alcard remained silent for a few moments, his gaze never leaving the darkened horizon. It was as if he were searching for something hidden within the mist. Finally, his voice broke the quiet, calm yet carrying an undeniable weight.

"Trust is a luxury in this world. Especially at The Wall. If you're too quick to trust, it'll only get you killed faster."

The young Outcast lowered his head slightly, as though grappling with the harsh truth of those words. "But… they looked desperate. What if they truly wanted to join us?"

At last, Alcard turned to face him, his piercing gaze making the young Outcast feel even smaller.

"You're still young. You haven't seen how the Lords of Middle Earth play with human lives." He exhaled slowly, his voice dropping to an icy calm. "They see us as tools, not people. If they send someone here, it's never to help us. It's always for their own gain."

His chin lifted slightly, nodding toward the sealed gates below. "Those people you saw… If they got in, they'd only rot us from within. They could sell information about our weaknesses. Or worse—they could kill us in our sleep."

The young Outcast swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. He felt ashamed for asking, but Alcard wasn't finished. This time, his tone was a fraction softer, though still carrying the same unyielding authority.

"Living here means staying vigilant. The world outside despises us. Accept that if you want to survive."

For a moment, silence settled between them. The cold night wind howled through the wooden beams, causing the gate below to creak faintly. The campfire's glow wavered, the flames momentarily flaring before settling again.

Then, Alcard spoke once more.

"Do your duty carefully," he said, voice low but firm. "We can't afford mistakes. Not here."

The young Outcast nodded, his posture a little straighter than before. He turned and descended the tower, his footsteps more confident than when he arrived. Perhaps he didn't fully grasp the world he had entered, but at the very least, he was learning—at The Wall, trust was not given freely.

Alcard's gaze returned to the shadowed horizon, where only darkness awaited. He let out a slow breath, burdened by the thoughts circling his mind.

The Lords of Middle Earth, with their political games, were always finding ways to manipulate The Wall. They cared little for The Outcasts, yet at the same time, they couldn't afford to let The Wall collapse. It was why they balanced so precariously between neglect and exploitation.

Night grew darker.

In the distance, a faint howl echoed from the south, fading into the thickening mist.

The Wall still stood, its stones soaked in blood and grief.

Here, they were not heroes. They were not the celebrated protectors of Middle Earth.

They were simply shadows, guarding a world that had long since abandoned them.

And in the midst of it all, Alcard endured, as The Wall itself did—

Standing tall, even as the cracks deepened.