The Vastness of Magical Destiny

Over the daunting Pyrenees Mountains, under the bewildered gazes of the soldiers stationed at the pass, Komer and his entourage set foot on the road leading into the Flanders Valley. The path descending north from the Pyrenees was steep, a gradient harsh for mortals but considered only slightly challenging by the barbarians. Accustomed to the undulating peaks of the Cordillera Wilderness, the insurmountable Pyrenees to mortals were but a formidable obstacle, with a degree of difficulty, to the barbarians. However, it seemed that the barbarians were not inclined to exhaust their living forces on overcoming such difficulties. Compared to the treacherous Pyrenees, the mouth of the Meyrin River Valley to the east was much easier to penetrate, and precisely situated at the border between the Kingdom of Shimaina and the Iberian Kingdom—a natural weak point, and an optimal target for the barbarians’ strikes.

Komer declined the persuasion of the Iberian guards at the pass with tactful words. After he presented the contract he obtained from Count Claymon that was sealed by the seal officer of the Iberian Kingdom Court, the guards acknowledged Carreila’s lordship over the Flanders Region. Yet, they honestly informed Komer and his party that since the Gdansk Fortress had been completely destroyed, the entire Flanders Valley had become a hunting ground for the barbarians. Although the barbarians had shifted their main focus eastward, small bands of armed barbarians were still active in the Flanders Valley; they warned Komer and his party not to risk such a needless venture.

Descending through the valleys at the foot of the northern Pyrenees, half a day later Komer and his company entered the Flanders Valley. As far as the eye could see, there were fields of flax and the occasional barley. Along their way, they didn’t encounter a single passerby, and the one or two villages they passed through were deserted—the empty houses bore witness to the thorough plundering by the barbarians. What remained could no longer pique the interest of the barbarians.

Antwerp was the central town of the Flanders Region, located right at the centre of the Flanders Valley. When the crisp sound of Komer’s party’s horse hooves echoed on the streets, they beheld a scene of desolate misery—the doors of nearly every shop were smashed in, the interiors ravaged, everything pilfered. Here and there, a few mortals with pallid faces were sorting through houses, presumably those who found themselves with nowhere else to go and had returned to their homes. Aside from their own provisions, Komer and his company couldn’t find a single place to rest and regroup. Like locusts had passed through, the barbarians had taken everything they could carry away.

Seeing the neat and tidy appearance of Komer and his group, those tidying up their houses looked on in surprise. They hadn’t expected to see anyone daring to move through the region on horseback, let alone someone who seemed to be of some status. Weren’t they afraid of the marauding barbarians?

"Is this Count Claymon’s residence in Antwerp?" Komer asked languidly, pointing with his horse whip to a pile of ruins and debris.

"Yes, this is the place. It looks like the barbarians have taken it apart already." The person who responded was the guide that Komer had hired for a large sum—a former vagabond of Flanders who, being homeless, hadn’t been much affected by the barbarians’ plundering of the region. Of course, fearing that the barbarians would take the local mortals as slaves, he had still fled Flanders along with the residents. The barbarians seemed more like bandits who took everything without discrimination, showing no particular interest in the mortals themselves—except to avoid rebellion, as they rarely committed direct violence upon them. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by NovᴇlFirᴇ(.)nᴇt

"A bunch only knows how to destroy, not to build, simple-minded; no wonder they can only stay in the Cordillera Wilderness." Shaking his head, Mihailovich shrugged regretfully, "Newman, this building must be at least three hundred years old, right? Hm, a standard Rococo style—smooth and delicate lines, an extravagant and magnificent style, but spoiled by these tasteless brutes."

"Yes, it should be an ancient building from the Tudor Dynasty about three hundred and fifty years ago. Look at these reliefs and the capitals of the columns, you can still feel the romantic and delicate aura of that era." Newman was already squatting beneath the ruins of a building, clearing away rubble to inspect, "What a pity. Who would have thought that such a complete Tudor-era building could be found here? However, if someone is willing to spend money on restoration, most of its original appearance could probably be recovered. These barbarians only care about stealing what seems valuable on the surface, not realizing that this building is a true treasure beyond price."