I Hate Systems

Chapter 555: Terrain of Fear

Glop! Glop! Glop!

Horses galloped as they pulled a long trail of carriages, with each of them spanning a size enough to seat ten people within. They also had sections at the bottom and top of the carriage, compartments where goods could be stored.

“Haiah!” The coachman at the front bellowed, lashing out his whip into the air, using the sound to urge the horses, controlling their movements.

Seated next to the coachman was a middle-aged man, sporting a well-trimmed beard, continuing to twirl the monocle that he wore, causing the map on his hands to be magnified under his sight.

The map was an intricately woken piece of artwork, so complex that it was hard to make sense of through the naked eye. And hence, this magic-imbued monocle acted as the lens, allowing him to make out the various intricacies.

He was a Cartographer, continuing to stare at the map as various lines skittled around, with one of them highlighting their carriage.

This was a map condensed using magic, one that worked like a GPS, used to keep a track of their surroundings, fully depicting their geography.

Suddenly, the Cartographer’s face paled as he said, “We’re approaching the Calore Plains.”

“The Calore Plains? Already?” The coachman was surprised before taking out a conch shell that he blew through, unleashing a loud sound.

Immediately after, all the carriages following them became alert as the people inside geared up for battle, donning various weapons and armour.

“How’s the layout of the ground ahead of us?” The coachman asked next, gulping in nervousness.

“It’s…bad.” The Cartographer said, “We need to assume a defensive stance to proceed forward.”

“The lord must be protected at all costs.” The coachman said before signalling the others of a change in stance.

Gradually, as the carriages sped forth, they closed in on each other, covering the entire width of the route.

Soon after, the stream of carriages exited the forest stretch as the light from the evening sky highlighted their caravan.

The people stationed within the carriages frowned in response, staring at the setting sun as the hold on their respective weapons tightened in nervousness.

There was tension in the air as their attention was stretched to the limit.

Clok! Clackety! Clok!

It was a vast stretch of plains, stretching for hundreds of kilometres, covered by grass that grew to a height of around half a metre. And scattered among the plains were massive boulders, ranging from a height of ten metres to some reaching as high as eighty metres.

As the caravan continued to travel, its sounds reverberated through the surroundings, at times reflected by the boulders.

A soldier within the caravan stared at a boulder that reached a height of thirty metres, noticing a cave entrance reaching as high as four metres. Curtains resembling human skin were draped over the entrance, preventing him from seeing inside.

The soldier gulped nervously as the hand that held his sword began to tremble subtly. He stared at his comrades, noticing that everyone was in a state similar to him, nervous, tensions high, their muscles stretched taut, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

Sweat gently cascaded from their sideburns, arching past their ear before reaching their jaw, dripping onto the floor. None moved or made a sound, not even wiping their sweat that began to drip profusely.

Even though the caravan consisted of more than two hundred carriages, with the troupe having more than a thousand people, the only sounds reverberating through the area were the rolling of the wheels, the hooves of the horses hitting the ground, and their constant neighs.

The Cartographer was nervous, revealing the palm of his hand as he constructed a magic circle, causing it to rotate as multiple runes came alive.

Gradually, it turned from a phantom to real, about to activate when the coachman held his hand, stopping him from activating the magic, whispering in response, “Don’t.”

“Even your detection magic is enough to alert them.”

The Cartographer stared at the coachman as the two men were able to see the apparent fear brimming within the eyes of the other party. Tensions sparked in the air as it was hard for either man to hold back.

But gradually, the Cartographer retracted his magic circle, clutching his hand to stop himself from trembling, continuing to look at the map as he said, “We’ll need to travel for eight hours through this territory.”

“Eight hours…?” The coachman shuddered in response, gulping in response as he took out a kettle, downing the water from it, partially spilling it over himself as his hands trembled.

The water cleared away his parch throat, allowing the cold water to calm him down a little. He then held the reins, controlling the horses as they passed nearby large boulders.

By now, the cave entrances became apparent, located within every large boulder.

Gulp!

Everyone became tenser, staring at a row of spears plunged into the ground along the sides of their path. And stabbed through the other end were heads originating from various species.

Humans, Demons, elves, dwarves, etc.

Blood dripped from some of them, depicting that they had only recently been hunted. Some of them had become skulls by now.

But, the skulls were the eeriest as ghost flames danced through their sockets from time to time, alarming everyone.

The coachman stared at a human skull, flinching when it seemed like the skull’s jaw opened, as if it was about to speak.

“Eh?” He blinked in confusion, noticing that the skull’s jaws were closed, frowning in response, wondering if he was losing his mind from fear.

“Stop!” Suddenly, the Cartographer grabbed his shoulder, stressing in response.

The coachman looked ahead only now, hurriedly pulling the reins of the horses in his control. For, silently approaching from a boulder was a giant creature that reached a height of four metres, sporting massive horns on its forehead and canine teeth resembling a sabretooth tiger.

It casually stopped at the centre of the path, looking elsewhere. But, the moment it appeared, the coachman lost all hopes, sighing in despair as he stopped his carriage.