Chapter 616 Crushing Dry Weeds and Rotting Wood

Kid Xia Nan:

If you are reading this letter, it means you have arrived in Salt Rock Port.

I regret that we could not meet at our agreed-upon location. If the opportunity arises, I will apologize to you in person.

This was not my intention.

The news from the north was far more urgent than expected. I am setting out at dawn tomorrow and cannot remain here any longer. The final destination of this journey is Bloodcast Keep, located on the northeastern border of the Servia Kingdom. You can ask the owner of the Salted Fish Tavern for more information. I paid him enough gold coins to cover half a year's rent to keep this letter safe and provide you with any necessary assistance.

The troubles beyond the border run much deeper than anticipated. I may stay at Bloodcast Keep for several months, right up until the end of autumn.

This means that if you read this letter within our agreed timeframe, there is no need to rush. Finish whatever you have on hand, pack everything you need to bring, and fully resupply in Salt Rock Port before setting off. You will have more than enough time.

My previous offer to guide you on the path of a Class Holder remains valid. If you need it, I will be waiting for you in Bloodcast Keep. — Forgan

P.S. The seaweed ale at the Salted Fish Tavern tastes mediocre. I don't recommend ordering it.

Xia Nan set down the letter.

He glanced up at the bar counter in front of him. The waiter had just set down a glass of ale; its liquid shimmered with a greenish hue under the lights, seaweed-like bits faintly visible bobbing up and down inside.

As if refusing to believe it, he grabbed the mug's handle, lowered his head, and took a sip.

He frowned.

He placed the mug back on the counter and pushed it away.

"Get me a glass of plain water instead," he called out to the tavern owner behind the bar.

The contents of the Barbarian Forgan's letter were very simple to sum up.

He had simply run into some sort of emergency and needed to leave Salt Rock Port early, making it impossible to wait at the tavern.

The letter also stated his final destination: a border stronghold named Bloodcast Keep.

Thoughts swirled in his mind as Xia Nan pondered. 'What could have forced Forgan to leave ahead of schedule instead of waiting for me at the tavern as agreed? Could he be on the run from some even more powerful entity?'

That was unlikely.

After all, if that were the case, Forgan wouldn't have planned to stay in one specific town for an extended period, nor would he have exposed his identity to the tavern owner without even a disguise.

Given Forgan's personality, if he had truly encountered such a crisis, there was no way he would involve Xia Nan, someone he assumed might not even have obtained a Class Level yet.

'So... did he discover some fleeting clue that forced him to leave immediately?'

His mind involuntarily recalled the massive explosion in Kalanfur Town, along with the mushrooms spreading and growing in the corners. 'Could it be that Swamp Druid?'

'Or perhaps it has something to do with the border conscription order I just heard about in the tavern?'

There were too many possibilities. With only the clues on hand, it was impossible to deduce exactly why the Barbarian Forgan had left early.

Taking the opportunity, Xia Nan asked the tavern owner behind the counter for more information.

"Why did he leave early?" Xia Nan asked.

Out of deep respect for these two veteran adventurers—a rare sight in Salt Rock Port—the tavern owner answered frankly. "I am truly sorry, Mr. Xia Nan. Lord Forgan only left this letter when he departed. He mentioned that an adventurer named 'Xia Nan' might visit in the coming days, and asked me to hand the letter over when you arrived."

"Aside from that, I know absolutely nothing about his destination or his reasons for leaving."

Nodding in understanding, Xia Nan thought for a moment before asking, "When did he leave the tavern?"

"The morning of five days ago, sir."

Then it was definitely too late.

If the gap had only been a day or two, he might have been able to grit his teeth and barely catch up by using [Fang Hunt].

But after five days, given the movement speed and stamina of a Transcendent Tier powerhouse, his chances of catching up were virtually zero, even if he went all out and completely disregarded his own stamina drain.

Fortunately, the letter clearly stated Forgan's destination—Bloodcast Keep on the border—and that he would stay there until the end of autumn. Xia Nan had plenty of time to rest and travel.

"How long does it take to get to Bloodcast Keep from Salt Rock Port?" he asked.

The tavern owner's answer was within his expectations.

The former was the port town closest to the kingdom's eastern border, while the latter was a major border stronghold in the northeast.

The distance between the two wasn't too great.

For an ordinary person walking or taking a mule cart, it would take about a month.

For a standard merchant caravan familiar with the route, twenty days would be more than enough.

But for a veteran adventurer like Xia Nan—someone with considerable strength who didn't care about encountering a few dangerous monsters along the way and could traverse almost any terrain—the travel time from Salt Rock Port to Bloodcast Keep could be shortened to just ten days.

He now had a rough idea of the journey ahead.

After thinking it over, Xia Nan was still somewhat concerned about the news of the border conscription he had just overheard from the other adventurers, so he pressed the tavern owner for a few more details.

In his experience, owners of establishments like this—especially those frequented by adventurers—tended to be quite well-informed. Surprisingly, after asking, he discovered that the owner didn't know much more than the adventurers he had just overheard.

"I am truly sorry, Mr. Xia Nan," the tavern owner said, spreading his hands with a bitter smile. "There definitely seems to be a situation over at the border, but we only started getting word of it in the last two days. Even the conscription order was only issued last night. As for what exactly happened out there... it might be a while before I hear anything."

They were said to be well-informed, but in essence, tavern owners like him merely compiled the rumors circulating among adventurers. If even the adventurers passing through the town were completely clueless about what was happening at the border, these so-called information brokers naturally couldn't predict the unknown.

He asked the owner for a bit more intelligence on Bloodcast Keep and booked the finest luxury guest room in the tavern while he was at it.

Xia Nan finished his rather unsatisfying meal, turned around, and left the tavern.

The bad news: Forgan had left Salt Rock Port five days ago. Even though he had reached their destination within the agreed timeframe, they still couldn't meet.

The good news: Forgan would be staying in Bloodcast Keep for a few months, and it would only take Xia Nan ten days or so to get there from Salt Rock Port.

This meant Xia Nan could do exactly as the Barbarian had suggested in his letter—rest in Salt Rock Port for a few days, fully replenish the supplies he had exhausted while surviving on the ocean, and set off once he had recovered his energy and stamina.

While eating, he had already asked the tavern owner about the locations of a few reliable general stores in town.

Xia Nan pondered his upcoming plans as he walked down the main street.

But after walking for just over ten minutes, a commotion from the other side of the street caught his attention. He instinctively looked over.

He saw five or six vicious-looking, burly men in tight shirts, their exposed skin covered in cheap tattoos. They were surrounding a familiar figure, crowding around and practically dragging the person into a nearby alleyway.

Not knowing the cause or context, he was never one to meddle in other people's business.

But they had just met earlier, and the other party had done him a small favor.

He had no reason to stand by and do nothing.

Shifting his stride, he approached the alley.

"Thud!"

In the dim, narrow alley, the muffled thud of flesh and bone suddenly rang out.

Accompanied by a deliberately suppressed groan of pain, a lean figure in patched linen clothes was violently shoved to the muddy, filthy ground. Winsor struggled to lean his back against the stone wall. A trace of scarlet blood marked the corner of his mouth, and his left eye socket was slightly swollen and bruised; he had clearly already taken a few hits. His coarse linen clothes had been torn during the scuffle, revealing lean but clearly defined muscles that bore the marks of training.

His right hand gripped a dagger that looked as though it hadn't been maintained in a long time, its surface dotted with rust. Judging from the way he gripped the hilt and the calluses in the corresponding spots on his palm, he must have undergone extensive combat training with it, at least in the past.

This was not surprising.

After all, despite being a fisherman, surviving on the vast, free, yet entirely lawless ocean—without being eaten alive by greedy peers who freely switched between being "pirates" and "fishermen"—naturally required learning a few simple, practical combat skills from one's elders. Yet at this moment, facing the five vicious figures blocking the alley's exit, the youth made no move to strike back.

Gritting his teeth, he tightened and loosened his grip on the dagger. Humiliation and anger flashed through his grey-blue eyes, but they were quickly replaced by a profound, apathetic numbness, his fighting spirit crumbling.

A burly thug with a buzz cut and a face full of aggressive flesh—who looked like a petty boss—mockingly counted on his stubby fingers. "Kid, count it up yourself. How many months has it been? Four whole months of protection fees, and I haven't seen a single copper coin."

"Do you think our boss is too forgiving, or do you think that rusty little dagger of yours is going to scare someone?"

After he spoke, the thugs behind him cooperated by letting out a burst of eerie laughter.

A tall, skinny one deliberately stepped forward. His narrow eyes glanced at the dagger in Winsor's hand as he mocked, "Look at this soft-sack, still holding a blade. Why haven't we ever seen you use it? I bet it hasn't even tasted blood."

The petty boss sneered. He stomped down hard, intentionally splashing filthy, foul-smelling puddle water onto Winsor. Leaning in close, he threatened, "Our boss, Yorkshaw... You must have heard the name, right?"

"He's a veteran adventurer registered with the Association over at Barracuda Bay. Who in town doesn't know his banner? Those who don't follow the rules only end up as fish food."

The thug boss paused, then flashed a wicked grin that revealed a mouthful of jagged yellow teeth. "But I'm a reasonable guy. You can't afford the coin? Fine. But you'll have to pay your debt with something else!"

"I remember you have a sister, don't you? She can't look too bad. How about it? Give her to me, and I'll wipe six months of your debt."

The moment those words fell, Winsor's head snapped up. The rage in his grey-blue eyes seemed to boil over in an instant. He gripped the dagger tightly, veins bulging on the back of his hand. But a second later, as if remembering something, his eyes suddenly darkened, and his fingers slowly released the hilt.

On the side, the tall, skinny thug who had been mocking him earlier tugged on the boss's sleeve, leaned in close, and whispered something in his ear. The flesh on the boss's face twitched as a look of sudden realization—followed closely by deep disgust—flashed in his eyes.

He hawked up a thick wad of phlegm and spat it right next to the youth's hand.

"Right, I remember now. You're the only one left in your miserable family, aren't you, you unlucky bastard?"

His desires thwarted, the greedy lust that had filled those vicious eyes gradually dissipated, replaced by a much darker, colder calculation.

To them, the solitary youth before them was like a stray dog on the side of the road. There was absolutely nothing to squeeze out of him; even extorting him was a waste of breath.

But if they just let him go, allowing this stray dog to dodge his protection fees without paying any price, what would the other fishermen on the docks and the other gangs in town think of them?

When Boss Yorkshaw returned from his voyage and heard about this, what would happen to them?

"What a fucking mutt." The petty boss glared viciously down at Winsor, too lazy to waste any more words on him. He simply waved a hand at his lackeys behind him. "Tie him up and take him back. When the western mines come looking for fresh meat in a couple days, we'll blind him, poison him mute, and sell him off as a wandering vagrant. It'll be enough to buy a few rounds of drinks, at least."

Those words thoroughly signed a death warrant for the petty boss and the thugs behind him.

With his sharp Perception, Xia Nan could tell that the man wasn't just spouting empty threats; he fully intended to do it. And judging by his tone, it clearly wasn't his first time.

Thus, the passing adventurer quietly hidden in the shadows at the alley's entrance had no reason to hold back.

He would gladly send a few pieces of disposable trash to hell.

With physical attributes that were exaggerated even among Class Holders of the same level, facing ordinary men who hadn't even acquired a Class Level was nothing short of a dimensional crushing.

He didn't use [Fang Hunt]. He didn't even need to unsheathe his weapons, not even [Honey Tangerine].

He relied purely on his raw physical Strength.

Taking a single step forward, he brought them all into his attack range.

The thug lingering at the back of the group had just heard the noise and tried to turn around. His head only made it halfway before the impact of the pitch-black Arm Shield obliterated it, turning it and half his neck into a slurry of shattered bone and meat pulp.

With a casual downward slap of his right hand, he drove another thug's skull straight down into his chest cavity.

He drove his left knee upward. The terrifying impact instantly exploded a thug's chest and abdomen, spilling shattered organs and meat across the ground and exposing pale vertebrae. The tall, skinny thug screamed and tried to run, but Xia Nan casually clamped five fingers over the back of his head and slammed him into the adjacent wall. All that remained was a headless corpse sliding to the dirt.

The burly petty boss roared and drew the cutlass from his waist. His downward chopping motion seemed fierce, but in Xia Nan's eyes, it was moving in slow motion. Xia Nan swatted his hand like he was shooing a fly, snapping the shoddy blade and sending it flying, horribly twisting and deforming the thug's right hand in the process.

Ignoring the man's tearful pleas as he fell to his knees, Xia Nan patiently interrogated him, learning that they were just a small gang. Aside from the five present, they had no other muscle, meaning no one would come seeking revenge after he left.

Xia Nan picked up the remains of the cutlass—now just a hilt and a tiny stub of a blade—and drove it backhanded straight down through the crown of the petty boss's head. Beneath a level of Strength far beyond that of a normal human, the sturdy skull was more fragile than tofu.

He pushed it until the entire stub was buried in the brain and only the hilt remained. He casually twisted it around to ensure the man was completely dead before letting go.

Taking a piece of gauze from his belt pouch, he wiped the blood from his hands.

Xia Nan stood in the middle of the alleyway, looking down at the youth slumped against the wall.

His gaze swept over the Short Dagger in the boy's hand.

His tone was exactly the same as when he had first leaped from the ocean onto the deck of the boy's fishing boat.

"Why didn't you fight back?"