Chapter 296: Parting Approaches
The creature Henwell names the Grassland Earth Demon is now barely clinging to life.
It’s not just the wounds from Henwell’s War Spear or the fall after being pulled from the ground that have taken their toll.
After all, this reptile-like beast lacks a skeletal structure to support its massive head, which weighs around twenty tons.
Dropping from three to four meters is no small injury.
Moreover, the Grassland Earth Demon seems to despise sunlight, so much so that exposure actually harms it.
Within minutes, its skin begins to soften.
Some of the affected areas are likely fresh scars from its injuries, now showing signs of decay under the sun’s rays.
However, Henwell knows the greatest damage comes from the Blood Will he unleashed earlier.
Newwood once explained that Henwell’s Blood Will carries significant mental damage, now powerful enough to affect the soul itself.
When Henwell activated Blood Will, the effect traveled along those tentacles straight to the Grassland Earth Demon’s core.
This creature perceives the outside world solely through vibrations transmitted via the ground.
It lacks sight, smell, and hearing, strongly suggesting it’s a low-level organism.
The hierarchy of creatures usually depends on intelligence and spiritual strength, not merely size, power, or lethality.
So when Henwell’s mental assault struck, it inflicted severe damage on the Grassland Earth Demon.
Otherwise, a beast this massive wouldn’t be so easy to kill.
In Henwell’s view, this monster is tough to take down.
If it faced anyone else, even an Iron Knight would struggle.
Despite its huge size, its offensive capabilities are limited.
It only poses trouble when launching surprise attacks on the knights.
As for Battle Knights, unless overwhelmed by numbers, they face little real danger.
Grand Knights can seriously injure it, but dragging the creature from underground while it’s alert is a major challenge.
Henwell thinks certain specialists might be especially effective against such monsters.
Spellcasters, for example.
Including Warlocks, all spellcasters possess formidable mental power.
And most wield spells that attack the mind.
Against a low-intelligence behemoth like this, their magic would be devastating.
Before the group can continue their analysis, the massive creature finally succumbs and dies completely.
Henwell looks at Barnett, who’s just catching his breath after being knocked flying, and says, “You and the others sketch this creature.”
Barnett and the intelligence knights aren’t just expected to have sharp memories—they also need to be quick and skilled artists.
What’s the purpose?
Of course, to create maps and military charts!
While Barnett and his team start drawing, Henwell leads the others in dissecting the monster.
Wacker and the rest can’t help but feel a bit queasy, asking, “Henwell, why are you cutting up this corpse?”
Henwell replies matter-of-factly, “Curiosity, obviously! When you encounter an undocumented creature, gathering as much info as possible is the smart move.”
An hour later, most of the creature’s body has turned to rotten flesh, giving off a pungent stench.
Henwell only takes a specimen of the skull and the hard pincers, then leads the team onward.
Maybe it’s because today’s battle left the Grassland Earth Demon badly wounded.
Or perhaps Henwell killing this one scared off the others of its kind.
Either way, no more signs of Grassland Earth Demons appear on the road ahead.
By nightfall, the group reaches the last tribe on the western edge of the grasslands.
Just a few dozen kilometers beyond lies the end of the grassland, and with it, the legal border of the Ika Kingdom.
Wacker finally breathes a sigh of relief.
After witnessing Henwell’s ferocity, every knight agrees that fighting against him isn’t exactly a rational choice.
Strictly speaking, the last settlement on the grassland isn’t really a tribe, it’s a small village-town built by the Ika Kingdom.
The grasslands here are no longer pure; part of the village has been cleared for farmland.
But the climate isn’t exactly ideal for farming.
It’s not that the soil lacks fertility, but being so close to the grassland means grass seeds find their way into the fields by all sorts of means.
Weeding drains energy, and it’s a never-ending battle.
So most villagers still rely on herding.
Farming is more a habit, a holdover from agricultural civilization, and a way to store food.
Still, this place called Guard West Village is a blessing for Henwell and the others.
They no longer have to sleep in tents and can finally enjoy a proper bath.
The village’s sheriff, administrator, and mayor are all the same person.
Guard West Village has fewer than a thousand residents, but as a border settlement leading into Ika, it often sees merchant caravans passing through, so its economy is decent.
Next to the village stands a small garrison fortress.
It’s tiny, housing just over a hundred soldiers at most.
Right now, only a dozen or so elderly, sick, and disabled remain.
Wacker, who’s staying in the fortress, is quite annoyed by this.
But he says nothing; after all, this place is far from the kingdom, separated by a vast grassland.
The kingdom’s administrative reach here is extremely weak.
The sheriff’s overly polite arrangements are only because this group is fully armored and armed, they look like trouble.
In truth, the mayor respects their swords and strength, not the kingdom’s authority behind them.
That night, everyone rests well.
Finally, they can enjoy a hot bath and lie comfortably on beds.
The next morning, Henwell and his group continue repairing their vehicles, stocking up on supplies, and preparing drinking water.
Meanwhile, the knights get ready for their return journey.
Obian and his group don’t need to backtrack; instead, they head straight north along the border.
Without wagons or heavy gear, each carries just a few days’ worth of rations and water.
They push hard, and within a few days, they’ll leave the grassland behind and enter the kingdom’s territory.
Throughout the day, Obian tries to find a chance to speak with Henwell alone, but there’s always someone nearby.
Determined, he decides that no matter what, he’ll have a word with Henwell tonight.
But as night falls and the group finishes their meal inside the fortress, ready to rest, several figures watch the small stronghold from a distance.
They’re cloaked in black hooded robes.
One of them pulls out a leather pouch, opens it, and pours blood onto the ground.
Kneeling, this figure mutters incantations while making strange gestures, as if performing a ritual or prayer.
Another robed figure takes out a human skull engraved with runes.
After infusing it with magic, the skull begins to emit a faint glow.
As time passes, an hour later, the wind across the grassland suddenly picks up violently.
And the figures themselves start to slowly vanish, or rather, become invisible.