chapter 7.1

As they ventured deeper, the southern forest seemed to swallow them into its pitch-black darkness. The thick canopy above blocked almost all sunlight, casting long, shifting shadows that moved with the wind. The rustling of leaves echoed from every direction, sometimes followed by the distant snap of a broken branch, making it feel as if they were being watched by unseen eyes.

Alcard remained at the forefront, his sharp gaze scanning the damp ground covered in wet leaves. Every faint footprint in the soil was an important clue, ensuring they did not stray off course or, worse, wander into a territory inhabited by dangerous creatures. His horse stepped carefully, almost soundlessly, mirroring its master's cautious movements. The rest of the Outcasts followed in a tight formation, adjusting their pace to avoid making unnecessary noise that might attract the wild beasts lurking nearby.

"Stay away from those moss-covered trees," Alcard's voice was low but filled with warning. He pointed toward a cluster of large trees with roots coiled like serpents. "Small creatures nest there. They can spit venom."

The Outcasts immediately adjusted their path, avoiding the trees without question. They had learned that when Alcard issued a warning, it was never mere speculation—it was a matter of life and death.

Suddenly, the rustling from the bushes ahead grew louder, accompanied by heavy footsteps that made the ground tremble. The sudden movement caused every member of the group to instinctively tighten their grip on their weapons, their muscles tensing with heightened alertness.

"Stop," Alcard raised his hand, signaling for complete silence. Their breaths halted, bodies frozen as they awaited whatever was emerging from the dense woods.

From the darkness, a massive silhouette slowly emerged, moving stealthily through the quivering underbrush. A Mutated Direwolf prowled into view, its body far larger than a normal direwolf. But the most terrifying feature was its two heads, each sniffing the air with broad nostrils and baring sharp, jagged fangs. A dim red glow flickered in its eyes as it scanned the area, as if searching for something.

The Outcasts held their breath. Even without moving, they could feel the immense pressure of the beast's presence.

"We can't fight it now," Alcard whispered, his voice barely audible yet clear enough for his group. "To the right, we'll take a detour."

They followed his command carefully, retreating with steps so silent they barely disturbed the undergrowth. No one dared to breathe too deeply or make any careless movements. A single mistake could draw the monster's attention and turn this journey into a fight for survival.

Their progress slowed as they maneuvered around the unexpected threat, but Alcard knew it was the right decision. If they engaged the Mutated Direwolf now, they could lose members before even reaching their main objective.

"We only have enough food and water for three days," one of the Outcasts whispered anxiously once they had put some distance between themselves and the beast.

"We'll reach the base of Mount Orcal before supplies run out," Alcard replied firmly, showing no trace of doubt. "Stay focused, and save your strength for enemies we cannot avoid."

They continued their journey in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. But when they reached the edge of a small ravine, something unexpected caught their attention.

In the distance, within the ravine faintly illuminated by moonlight seeping through the tree gaps, a group of large creatures moved among the rocks and small trees. They appeared to be hunting something, their movements coordinated and swift.

"That… can't be," one of the Outcasts whispered, eyes wide in disbelief. "Orcs were supposed to have gone extinct tens of thousands of years ago."

Yet, Alcard remained calm, his eyes narrowing as he studied the creatures more closely. "That's what outsiders believe. But those of us at The Wall know the truth."

The orcs before them were unlike those depicted in ancient tales. Their bodies were much larger and more muscular, with thick, peeling skin revealing layers of raw flesh beneath. The most horrifying feature was the faintly glowing black marks on their chests—signs of mutation that had twisted their forms, making them wilder and more uncontrollable.

"We cannot let them detect us," Alcard's voice was even more serious this time. "Mutated orcs aren't just strong; they are smarter and far more dangerous."

The Outcasts quickly adjusted their course, following Alcard as he led them through a more concealed path. With extreme caution, they erased their tracks, ensuring that nothing could follow them. In this forest, even the smallest mistake could mean death, and Alcard wasn't willing to take that risk.

As they distanced themselves from the ravine, a young Outcast finally gathered the courage to ask in a hushed voice, "Captain, why have the Lords or Kings of the north never known about this?"

Alcard kept his gaze forward, his voice cold as he responded, "Because they don't care. They are too consumed with their power struggles and political wars. We, the Outcasts, are the only ones who know this truth—and the only ones fighting against it."

No one spoke after that. Alcard's words were too undeniable.

As their journey continued, they finally began to see the looming shadow of Mount Orcal in the distance. A thick fog clung to its slopes, adding an ominous presence to the mountain already steeped in horror stories and legends. But they knew—this was no mere myth. In that place, true danger awaited.

The Outcasts had no luxury to hesitate. They had come this far, and there was no choice but to move forward. Whatever awaited them at Mount Orcal, they had to be ready to face it.

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