chapter 6.2

Beneath the inner base of The Wall, the air hung heavy, pressing down on everyone gathered there. A small unit of eleven Outcasts—ten recruits and one veteran—stood in a tight circle. Their gazes held wary anticipation, laced with an underlying tension. Dry dust swirled around the cracked stones, remnants of countless battles long past, adding to the somber atmosphere.

At the center of the circle, Alcard stood tall, drawing attention without effort. His scarlet eyes burned faintly in the dimming light as he scanned each member of the team. Clad in a simple cloak that blended into the encroaching shadows, he seemed almost like an extension of the darkness that constantly loomed over The Wall.

Silence reigned, broken only by the heavy breaths of those preparing for a journey from which they might never return. Alcard finally spoke, his voice deep and commanding, unhurried but carrying undeniable authority.

"This mission seems simple," he began. "But don't let that deceive you."

His gaze lingered on the recruits, searching for any sign of doubt. A few swallowed hard, failing to mask their unease.

"Our objective is to gather Folwestian Bloom and Rotrofila Root—the key ingredients for Bloody Potion. But this time, we need ten times the usual amount," he continued. "That means venturing further south than any retrieval team has gone before."

He paused, allowing his words to settle before continuing.

"I am the only senior on this mission. That means there is no room for mistakes. If you want to survive, you will protect each other. The Wall does not teach us to rely on one person. If you can't watch each other's backs, then you don't belong here."

A thin, pale-faced recruit hesitantly raised a hand before speaking. "Why is there only one veteran? Isn't this too dangerous?"

Alcard cast a brief glance at him, his expression unchanging.

"Because Oldman decided so," he stated plainly. "And you should learn that living on The Wall means fighting with or without a senior watching over you. This is not a place for those who expect to be saved."

The words settled over them like a heavy weight. They weren't just a warning—they were reality.

Another recruit, slightly more confident, spoke up. "Why do we need so much Bloody Potion? Is this for some war?"

Alcard's gaze sharpened slightly before he responded.

"Only Oldman knows the real reason. We're not here to ask questions. We're here to survive. And this is part of it."

The tension in the air thickened. Some of them were only now realizing that this was no ordinary mission. This was a trek into the unknown, deeper into the darkness than they had ever imagined.

Seeing the hesitation in their faces, Alcard exhaled slowly. His tone remained cold, but there was an underlying resolve in it.

"Don't fear death," he said. "Fear dying for nothing. We may have been discarded, but we can still choose how we die."

His words lingered, heavy and unshaken. Slowly, one by one, understanding dawned in their eyes. Some gripped their weapons tighter. Others straightened their backs, steeling themselves for what lay ahead.

At last, Alcard raised his blade high—a signal that they were ready to move out.

In unison, the Outcasts followed suit, lifting their weapons—swords, spears, daggers, and bows—before chanting their oath:

"In a world that cast us aside, we stand between the darkness.

We have no land, no name, only this path.

We are the shadows behind this wall.

We are the forgotten sentinels.

We are the Outcast, and we will endure—or die on our path."

Some shouted the final line with fervor, while others whispered it under their breath. Yet in all their eyes, a newfound determination took root.

Alcard lowered his sword, his eyes sweeping over them one final time before turning away.

"We move out," he commanded, his words absolute.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, leading them toward the gate. His black steed followed closely behind, its hooves lightly thudding against the dirt. The rest of the Outcasts fell in line, carrying their provisions and weapons, their footsteps echoing against the stone of The Wall.

Their shadows stretched long against the ground, illuminated by the fading twilight that disappeared beyond the horizon.

The journey had begun, but for many, this might be their last.

And in The Wall, only those strong enough would return.