Chapter Three: The Adoptive Father’s Last Wish

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Seeing his sudden outburst of anger, without knowing what words had provoked him, an inexplicable fear seized me. I quickly bowed my head and said, “Father, I spoke out of turn.”

Orchid collected himself, his anger subsiding. “I was merely irritable for a moment; pay it no mind. But regarding marrying Daria, I will not relent, nor will I permit you to shirk this duty.”

The reason I had declined was because I no longer wished to remain here. My adoptive father had once told me the legend of the Skyscraper—a place far to the south, where tens of thousands of humans gathered together. There, people wanted for nothing; there, they were free from the harassment of demons; there, the glory and bearing of humanity’s past endured.

I wished to go there, to carve out my own destiny, to seize power within the Skyscraper, and to become a figure of renown across the world.

Yet now, looking at his aged face, at the hope in his eyes, my once steadfast resolve began to waver.

If I wed Daria, I would become ruler of Waterless Village; Orchid would surely impart to me all his martial skills. In some sense, I would have triumphed over Myrse.

But my dreams stretched beyond that. How should I choose?

Orchid stretched out his large hand, ruffling my hair with a smile. “Look at us, chatting idly and nearly forgetting our business. Quickly, survey the area.”

I relaxed, took out a vial of Odin’s Eye, and drank it. Instantly, every movement within thirty meters became clear to me. I sensed the underground tunnels twisting and winding like coiled dragons or serpents, but from the left passage came the sounds of animals.

This was my mutated constitution. With black fruit gathered from the wild, I brewed various potions, and these concoctions endowed me with unusual abilities. Odin’s Eye, for example, heightened my senses, allowing me to scout for enemies.

These potions were harmful to the other villagers—my own secret art. Even for me, they were not without poison, but their effects were far milder.

Orchid drew his sword, and we proceeded in that direction. The noises were bubbling and guttural, like a tubercular patient constantly clearing his throat, punctuated by low, canine growls.

The place had become damp; I saw sweet mushrooms sprouting from the ground, ejecting spores that formed a smoky haze in the air—fortunately, we wore oxygen masks. These sweet mushrooms closely resembled those in the cultivation chambers.

Turning a corner, I saw the source of the sounds: creatures sprawled on the ground, gnawing at the mushrooms. Not hounds, but humanoid dog-beasts with three heads each. For all my experience, I had never seen such monsters.

Suddenly, they lifted their heads, sniffing the air. Orchid charged forward, striking twice with his sword in the technique of the Stone Fir. The lethal currents of sword energy sliced through steel and jade alike—all six heads of two three-headed dog-men tumbled to the ground.

The Stone Fir was Orchid’s ultimate art—a form of “Thought Blade.” By sheer force of will, he sent razor-sharp cutting power from his sword, striking enemies at a distance, taking heads from five meters away—more powerful than any firearm.

I never dared imagine I could master such a technique.

The third dog-beast howled at the ceiling; Orchid’s blade flashed, ending its cry abruptly.

“More are coming!” I said.

“Get in there, Longi!” Orchid called. “Let me see what you can do!”

A thirst for battle surged within me. I drank Water of Amon, and my form grew faint. Orchid watched in surprise. “What? Where did you learn that trick?”

“Father, I recently discovered the wonders of this new potion,” I replied.

Orchid beamed. “Splendid! I knew I hadn’t misjudged you.”

Water of Amon was another potion, causing my body to excrete a magical sweat that rendered me utterly transparent. Yet among all my concoctions, its toxins were among the deadliest.

When another eight three-headed dog-men appeared, Orchid unleashed the Iron Lotus—another variety of Thought Blade. One man holding a pass, none could break through. I hid in a recess of the corridor, waiting for the monsters to pass before striking from behind. Together, we pincer-attacked and soon wiped them out.

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Orchid was breathing heavily, as if awakened from a nightmare and left frail. He had once been able to carry heavy loads, traverse fifty kilometers in a single breath, but now the merciless years had stolen much of his strength.

“Father, perhaps you should let Doctor Oray examine you,” I said. “Time spares no one.”

Orchid waved impatiently. “As long as you help me, nothing else matters. Newt and Meze are as old as I am and ready for retirement. We must assemble a new team—your team—as soon as possible.”

For the moment, the path was clear of monsters, but in one room we found several small doglings, as tall as six-year-old children. Orchid ordered me to kill them all. Knowing the necessity, I did as he said, stabbing each one. I took no pride in it, but I had seen such things too many times. I once watched swarms of young demons overwhelm and kill my companions. I saw man-eating beasts carry corpses to feed their young.

In this sorrowful age, it is either them or us.

In a vast chamber, I saw a red pool. Glass pipes extended into the water, both feeding and draining it—undoubtedly part of the cultivation chamber’s internal circulation system. These underground passages were broad and long; surely there were many such pools. A foul stench arose from the pool, so strong that even through my oxygen mask, it seemed the mask had failed.

By the pool, Orchid found a red statue—a tiny figure, curled up like an unborn child, yet with the features of an old man. The expression was one of utter despair and terror. Orchid stared at it for a long time, visibly agitated, then suddenly coughed up blood.

Startled, I rushed to support him. “Father! Is the statue poisonous?”

Orchid laughed. “No, it seems I truly am ill. Old age can’t take much more exertion.” He pointed to the pool. “The pool seems to have been infected by some creature; it smells like rotten mushrooms.”

Looking at the surrounding machinery, I said, “But we don’t know how to clean it. Should we try to drain the pool?”

“Let it be,” Orchid replied. “It likely only affects one field. Don’t tamper with it and risk spreading the problem elsewhere.”

As we left the room, I couldn’t help glancing back. I remembered how my adoptive father had gone directly to the far corner to pick up that statue, as if he had known it was there all along. Yet he had shown no familiarity with the place on the way—it was impossible he had been here before. Was I overthinking it?

We returned to Waterless Village. As we emerged from the secret passage, we heard commotion outside the door. Orchid ordered me to quickly block the hidden entrance so no trace remained. We headed for the exit and found Newt and Meze holding the main gate, keeping the villagers out.

“I told you!” Newt shouted. “By the knight’s order, no one is allowed inside!”

Meze added, “It’s late—why aren’t you all asleep?”

“They’re from the Mushroom Association,” I told my adoptive father.

His face darkened. “That meddlesome rabble again.”

The Mushroom Association was a local church, insisting we worship the Mushroom Spirit and thank it for our survival. Usually, Orchid allowed them to perform rituals in the cultivation chambers, since they worked diligently to “offer” to their “Mushroom God.” But why had they come so late at night?

The Bishop was a garrulous old man, who said, “I had a dream—the Mushroom God bade me come and serve. Step aside, let me see if you are desecrating the deity!”

Orchid stepped forward. “Utter lawlessness, Mr. Babble. Don’t go too far. Lest you forget, I am the leader here.”

Daunted by Orchid’s authority, Babble faltered but insisted, “Let me see the fields, I beg you!”

“Very well, make it quick. You have five minutes,” Orchid said.

The association surged in, inspecting each plot. At last they found the blighted patch and wailed in dismay, but there was nothing to be done. They poured their saved broth into the soil, prayed solemnly, and withdrew.

Babble’s eyes darted about. When he saw the now-restored hidden door, his face changed dramatically, but at Orchid’s order, they could only depart, sullen and defeated.

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I said to my adoptive father, “Father, allow me to take my leave. Please take care of yourself.”

Orchid replied, “Consider well what I said to you. No matter how you feel, the matter is settled.”

I knew Daria’s temperament—she was rebellious and bold. The more Orchid forced her to do what she disliked, the more she would resist. I dreaded things becoming so fraught, yet I truly did not know what to do.

On my way back, I met Aunt Oray, the village doctor, a woman of about forty-five, very close to my adoptive father. Everyone knew of their relationship, though they had never married.

I bowed to her in greeting. “Has Orchid told you his intentions?” she asked.

I gave a bitter smile. “He has, yet I do not know why he insists so. I lack the talent to win people’s respect.”

She lowered her voice. “Orchid is gravely ill. It seems—it seems terminal. It’s his… abdomen.”

A hammer seemed to strike my mind, leaving me dizzy and in pain. “Impossible!” I cried.

“It’s true,” Oray said sorrowfully, “but he forbade me to tell anyone. That’s why he’s so eager to promote you—he hasn’t much time left.”

“How long?” I asked.

She trembled. “I don’t know. Maybe two years, maybe a few months. I have no equipment—there’s no way to diagnose.”

No one loved this village more than my adoptive father, no one cared more for its future. He was the bravest warrior I had ever known. If he showed even a trace of weakness in the face of death, it was only because he could not bear to leave this place behind.

Suddenly, I understood why he had sent Myrse away—Myrse was sentimental and kind, like a brother to me. Even as a member of the Sword and Shield Order, he would think of the village and support my decisions. When he rose high in the Order, he would become a powerful ally for Waterless Village.

I also understood why Orchid had lost his temper: my refusal had disappointed his hopes. He wanted, while he still had time, to help me take the reins, establish authority, stabilize the situation, and, together with Myrse—one within, one without—ensure the village’s continued safety.

For my father’s sake, I could not simply abandon everything. I could not forget what I owed him. For my homeland, this small place where I grew up, I had to set aside my dreams, stay here, and guard my father’s legacy—no matter the cost.

Oray embraced me, and I felt the shattering of her heart. I told her my father would be all right, as invincible as the armor of the Sword and Shield Order. Though she wept, she still managed a smile. “Let him enjoy his twilight years.”

With heavy steps, I approached my door. I wanted to weep, but realized that perhaps, from this day forward, I would never be able to shed tears again.

I noticed Daria hiding in the far corner, watching me. As soon as I looked her way, she quickly ducked out of sight.

For her, I felt only pity, not love. I had once thought to use her as a means to rise; now I was ashamed of that thought.

Pity was enough. I would marry her, even if she hated me for it. I would protect her as her father had.

Entering my room, my eyes were drawn immediately to the fish tank.

The red fish—“Courage”—was dead, nothing left but its intact skeleton.