Chapter 162: The Muddy Road
In the year 1194 of the Twilight Calendar, the Month of Flowing Fire.
The demon tide surged out from Opal, and the land once hailed as a fairytale had turned into black scorched earth, with all life on the ground wiped out.
Creatures from the shadows occupied Opal as well as the eastern part of the Kingdom of Nidran and the western part of the Kingdom of Kunad. They expanded outward into surrounding regions. Low-level imps, several times more terrifying than ordinary demons, under the influence of the demon tide, could manifest in the material plane without any rituals or sacrifices.
The Milat River, once called the “Golden Road,” was severed by this disaster. Many civilians lost their homes and became homeless refugees.
Meanwhile, the war in the northern territories continued, but the allied forces from various nations were recalled en masse by their kings. Tania had no choice but to halt its counteroffensive.
Old York looked up; today was finally no longer a blazing sunny day. Thick black clouds had settled, covering the sky. The wind howled fiercely, as if rain was about to pour.
The gnomes and the people of Helburg, under the protection of church knights and knights of the Kingdom of Nidran, had already crossed the fields of Hewitt territory via the main road and entered the southwestern plains of the Kingdom of Nidran.
Here, the roads grew crowded and lively.
Refugees fleeing from the east and minor lords poured in continuously. Every small town along the way, even abandoned farms and fields by the roadside, was dotted with tents.
Especially near rivers and lakes, mercenaries and minor lords’ personal guards fought viciously over priority water rights.
Since the main stream of the Milat River was cut off by the demon tide, towns built along it lost their mother river. The once ceaselessly flowing Milat River had dried up, leaving only a riverbed cracked like a tortoise shell under the scorching sun.
Relying solely on wells and lakes could not support the people’s water needs. Wheat fields withered in vast patches. The “land flowing with milk and honey” was now suffering a rare drought.
Border minor lords, having witnessed the scorched earth and experienced demon attacks firsthand, abandoned their estates, taking all their belongings to flee their castles.
Except for their families and soldiers, almost all the lords abandoned their subjects.
Nobles who lost their territories and subjects became small wandering bands like mercenaries. Their abandoned subjects suffered even more tragically, becoming homeless refugees subjected to bullying and robbery. Whether mercenaries or nobles, if they lacked conscience, they would extort “tolls” from these defenseless refugees.
The ugliness of human nature was fully unleashed during this lawless time. The once peaceful Hewitt territory was now filled everywhere with desperate “mountain bandits” and “robbers.” Even demons were nearly wiped out by the fleeing crowds.
Everyone was pushing westward because they did not know when the second wave of the demon tide would come.
If it weren’t for the church knights and numerous kingdom knights guarding those fleeing from Helburg, Old York knew that on the road they would have suffered countless robberies.
Among all these various forces, the group that the gnomes belonged to was probably the strongest.
They fled with more than a dozen people. Refugees they met along the way were taken in under the orders of the Hundred Wing Knights.
Most in the group had been ravaged by the plague just half a month ago.
Fortunately, the plague had now been overcome by the gnomes’ potions. During the journey, surplus potions were distributed to small towns along the road. These potions were poured into the wells of those towns to combat the plague.
Tick-tock, large raindrops fell from the sky.
Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled within the black clouds.
At the end of the Month of Flowing Fire, the long-awaited rain finally fell.
The parched people looked up at the sky, opening their mouths to let the rain water moisten their cracked lips and hoarse throats.
The heraldic banners of different lords fluttered atop the stationed tents. Horns blew, people shouted, horses neighed, and cattle and sheep bleated in an overlapping chorus.
Refugees took out basins and water bags, greedily drinking the water.
On the road, carts and wagons loaded with the lords’ grain and wealth stretched like a long dragon.
After the rain, the soil turned muddy. The already crowded roads became even more congested. The heavily loaded carts and wagons got stuck in mud pits. Nobles shouted loudly, ordering their subordinates to pull from the front and push from behind. Broken axles and completely collapsed wagons could be seen overturned by the roadside every short distance.
The gnomes’ group could barely move an inch. They were completely trapped in the middle, unable to set off due to the carved, swollen roads.
Traffic in eastern Nidran heavily relied on waterways, but now the Milat River was completely dried up. The only remaining trade routes were chaotic and jammed by refugees and nobles alike.
According to mercenaries stationed by the roadside, some had been camped there for more than ten days.
It wasn’t that they didn’t want to leave; they simply couldn’t move forward.
Some powerful major lords and their strong personal guards ruthlessly seized priority passage on the roads. Small mercenary groups with only a dozen people or refugees armed with only pitchforks and clubs had no say and could only squeeze to the roadside to wait for others to pass first.
Or they tried to find softer targets to intimidate before cutting in line.
But it was said that the gates of Jian’ao Fortress and Oslo City ahead were closed, no longer accepting anyone.
No noble wanted to accept refugees; they were just extra mouths to feed and disturbed the order of their own territories.
Some lords even issued decrees permitting their soldiers to kill any approaching refugees. Homeless refugees had to settle in the wilderness, where they either died by demons and wild beasts or became the so-called “robbers” in others’ mouths.
Even more people died without the chance to become “robbers.”
The first wave of the demon tide continued to relentlessly affect everyone. This was total disaster.
The gnome sighed. He was a bit tired and found a place to sit down.
Before dusk, Percival, riding a gryphon, flew over from the western sky.
Last night, Percival talked with the gnome. He planned to set off before dawn toward Oslo City ahead, intending to persuade the lord of Oslo to open the gates, allow people to pass, and accept some refugees.
It seemed the name of the Hundred Wing Knights still carried some weight.
The gnome saw the group moving again. Many packed up their tents and hurried overnight.
He gathered his strength, rubbed his sore old legs, stood up, and began walking again.
The road was still muddy, and mud soaked his shoes, but at least he was still alive and had the chance to move forward.