chapter 10.5

A month had passed since the great battle that had shaken The Wall. Yet, once again, the massive gates of the central headquarter creaked open, their heavy groan echoing in the crisp morning air.

For the countless time, a convoy of prisoners from the Kingdom of Jovalian arrived. But this time, their numbers were far larger than before.

Five massive wooden wagons, each filled with chained captives, rolled slowly over the rocky path leading into the stronghold. Their faces were etched with exhaustion, their bodies filthy, some still stained with dried blood from wounds left untended. Surrounding them, ten Jovalian soldiers stood cold and indifferent, their vacant expressions betraying how little they cared about the lives they had just delivered. To them, this was merely another routine duty, not worth further thought.

At the front of the gates, Oldman stood firm, flanked by several senior outcasts, their gazes watchful, wary. Alcard stood just behind them, his eyes cold as he observed the all-too-familiar sight.

One of the Jovalian officers dismounted his horse leisurely, holding a stack of documents in his hand. Without so much as a word, he handed them over to Oldman, his movements careless, as if delivering thirty more lives to The Wall was nothing more than a trivial task.

A suffocating silence settled over the yard. But the tension snapped **when one of the senior outcasts—**a veteran who had served at The Wall for five years— stepped forward with heavy, deliberate steps. His face was tight with barely restrained fury, and when he finally let loose the anger that had been festering for years, his voice thundered through the stronghold.

"Enough!" His outcry reverberated across the fortress, turning every head toward him. "We can't take in any more of your prisoners! This isn't an orphanage, nor is it a dumping ground for your kingdom!"

More outcasts joined in, their shouts rising in defiance, voices fueled by frustration that had been left unspoken for too long.

The veteran continued, his words sharper, louder, cutting through the air with undeniable fury. "We're the ones who have to feed them! We're the ones who have to make sure they don't escape! And do you know what that means? It means we have to march back south, risk our lives against the monsters just to gather more bloody potion! How many more of us have to die carrying a burden that isn't ours?!"

Yet, the Jovalian soldiers remained unmoved. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a smug grin, merely shrugged, his tone dismissive.

"Not our problem," he said mockingly. "We're just following orders."

The air grew hotter with boiling resentment. Oldman raised his hand, attempting to calm the storm, but the outcasts had already reached their breaking point.

A young outcast stepped forward, his eyes burning with unrestrained fury.

"You have no idea what we endure here!" he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "You sit comfortably in your palaces, playing politics, while we face death every damn day! And now you dump more people here, treating this place like your personal hellhole?!"

The Jovalian soldier smirked, chuckling under his breath, his mockery only adding fuel to the fire.

"Isn't that what you're for?" he sneered. "You're just a bunch of exiles. Don't forget your place in this world."

And in that instant, the outcasts snapped.

Without hesitation, one of the senior outcasts drew his dagger, and in a swift, ruthless motion, plunged it into the soldier's throat.

The man's eyes widened, blood gurgled from his mouth, and within seconds, his body collapsed onto the cold stone ground, a sickening thud marking his end.

There was no pause—no time for thought, no time for restraint.

What followed was pure chaos.

The outcasts struck with the fury of men who had been caged too long. With no command given, they unleashed years of pent-up rage in a brutal, merciless slaughter.

Within mere minutes, nine Jovalian soldiers lay dead, their blood pooling into the dirt, mixing with dust and filth.

Only one remained, his body trembling, his face drained of color as he knelt before Oldman, his legs barely holding him upright.

Oldman's gaze was as cold as death, his voice low, but laced with a quiet, lethal promise.

"Tell your king… The Wall is not a place for your discarded enemies. If you keep sending weak prisoners here, we'll send them back—" his finger traced across his own throat, "—with interest."

The Jovalian soldier nodded frantically, his fear so palpable he couldn't even muster words.

And before he could gather his breath, he was shoved out through the gates, stripped of his horse, his weapons, and any means to survive.

He would deliver the message—or die trying.

As the tension in the air began to settle, Alcard stepped forward, approaching Oldman, who still stood near the lifeless bodies of the fallen soldiers.

His voice was low, almost a whisper, but laced with the weight of what had just transpired.

"You know this will start something bigger, don't you?"

Oldman turned to him, his gaze filled with unshakable resolve.

"This war has been brewing for a long time, Alcard." His voice was firm, unwavering. "They thought they could keep treating us like obedient dogs, always following orders. If they believe we'll keep submitting, they are gravely mistaken."

He paused, then added with deadly certainty, "This is not the place for their political games. This is The Wall."

Alcard didn't argue. He merely nodded slowly.

He knew Oldman was right.

But he also knew—this was far from over.

The kingdom would not stay silent.

And sooner or later, a greater storm would come for them.

As the outcasts moved to drag the bodies of the dead Jovalian soldiers to the pyres—their corpses thrown into the same flames as the monsters—Oldman turned away, walking back toward his chambers without another word.

Alcard remained at the gates, his eyes fixed on the silent, foreboding expanse of the southern forest.

The cold wind whispered, carrying with it an omen of what was to come.

The future of The Wall had changed that day.

And there was no turning back.

****