Chapter Ninety-Two: The Black Road

To defend against the raids of orcish bandits, the seven small fishing villages of Nether united to found a city. With the aid of the elves of Ilran and Illefaen, they later defeated the orcs. Of course, it was mainly the elves doing the fighting, while Netheril only provided support from the sidelines, cheering them on.

Protected by the elves, Nether survived its harshest early years. But then strife broke out among the elves themselves, and the three greatest elven powers that remained began to devour one another in a vicious struggle.

This was, of course, the work of that scheming old mastermind, Jergal. At that time he had not yet broken free of the shackles of his body, nor had he truly attained divinity. This falls within the opening period of the background to the Golden Scrolls.

In the end, the elves were battered and bloodied. After the final Crown War, their vitality was gravely wounded, their numbers plummeted, and the elven race withdrew to the High Forest to recover.

For Netheril, the inglorious withdrawal of its first great patron could only be met with sorrow. Yet the elves were no fools; following the faintest clues, they quickly discovered that Jergal was behind it all. But the fellow had hidden himself so completely that he could not be found at all. Thereafter, the elves used their influence in Nether to suppress Jergal’s church, thereby weakening his divine power. Interestingly enough, it was then that the powerful deity Amaunator took an interest in Netheril.

By this point Nether had already learned elven magic from the elves. Though only the barest trace of it, it was enough that with Amaunator’s protection even beings of demigod level would not dare bully Nether at will.

Relying on its half-mastered elven magic, Nether was barely able to protect itself. Then, after discovering the Nether Scrolls, Netheril at last began creating a magic of its own.

Though the Crown Wars that had engulfed the continent were over, war still raged in many local regions. In particular, other peoples once oppressed by the elves seized the lands the elves had left behind, and with resources plentiful, they multiplied with astonishing speed.

Reptilians, gnolls, goblins, and other humanoid races bred with ridiculous rapidity—litters of several or even a dozen at a time—and within ten years their populations had multiplied many times over.

With so many mouths, expansion was inevitable, and before long these humanoid races were fighting one another for territory.

What was interesting was that Nether had only just gained a foothold at this time, and these frequent incursions by the humanoids happened to give Netheril perfect practice.

Netheril was practically the child of destiny in this era; its luck was absurdly good.

Yet in just a few short years, the humanoid races suddenly exploded in number, placing enormous pressure on Nether’s military.

Training troops had to be done in blood. Especially in those years, the military death rate climbed relentlessly, and Nether sent in high-level warriors and spellcasters to fight in coordinated operations.

As the fighting grew more intense, Count Iolam, who should have been waiting in Saerhaven for fate’s summons, was dragged over by Hussein as emergency labor and brought straight into the barracks.

As one of the count’s few friends, he could hardly refuse Hussein’s request, and so he cheerfully agreed to come be a babysitter for a few days.

With the number of migrating humanoid creatures rising around them, a few small squads were no longer enough to handle the problem. Sometimes when they encountered large populations, they would also run into shamans or wizards. Though most of them were not especially strong, the sorcery they employed was bizarre and uncanny. At first, Nether’s side could still manage by sheer numbers.

But now, as more and more strange migrating races appeared, Nether’s military had no choice but to split its forces to clear them out. Once the numerical advantage vanished, casualties began to rise. With so many monsters about, some particularly powerful ones inevitably appeared, and the sweep teams suffered even heavier losses. Several high-level warriors had already died, paining Hussein so much that he hurriedly brought the count over to reinforce them.

Thanks to the count’s formidable mobility through teleportation, he could easily support the sweep teams around the barracks. His task was only to eliminate the spellcasters and the truly powerful monsters; the smaller fry would be handled by the sweep teams. This would not only reduce casualties, but also serve as valuable training.

Of course, the most important reason was that Hussein hoped the count could help him weather this “call of fate.” He had fought that woman himself—more accurately, more than a dozen people had surrounded her and still let her escape. Her strength was absolutely no less than Count Iolam’s. After learning that the count’s call of fate was connected to this corruption incident, Hussein quickly pulled him over, keeping seven or eight high-level warriors and spellcasters stationed at the barracks. If anything went wrong, he could coordinate support from the side.

It was not that Hussein did not trust Count Iolam’s strength. Precisely because he understood the count’s power so well, he was all the more cautious.

Perhaps in Nether only he knew the most about the “legendary call of fate.”

In the eyes of most people, a legend was simply a very powerful high-level professional, renowned far and wide for exceptional strength.

But only those who had truly met a legendary powerhouse, or witnessed one fight at full strength, knew that this was no longer the same species at all. Compared with high-level professionals, they were not even in the same dimension.

And yet Nether’s one confirmed legendary powerhouse, Director Kangchenio, had not taken the field again after advancing to legend. Ordinary people simply did not know how terrifying legendary power truly was.

Besides Kangchenio, Nether still had a few hidden legends, such as the high priest of Amaunator and Jergal’s great mummy priest, both of whom possessed legendary strength.

A call of fate is a mysterious guidance sensed only after advancing to high level, once one’s strength reaches a certain peak, and even then certain conditions must be met.

So far, there had been very few that were alike. One of his ancestors, for example, entered the Plane of Fire and challenged a fire elemental elder; another merely cleansed a withered forest to end a plague.

It was like completing a specific task, except the tasks could be wildly different.

And these challenge-type tasks were the most dangerous of all. The ancestor who challenged the fire elemental elder never returned.

The count teleported straight back into the barracks. When the luminous aura of magic appeared out of nowhere, the guards and patrols nearby did not even bat an eye at this rule-breaking. In this temporary fortress, there was no one else bold enough to do such a thing besides this heavyweight; after being subjected to the count’s antics a few times, anyone would grow numb to it.

After confirming that no other area needed reinforcements, the count headed to the command room of the barracks. Reports arrived one after another into Hussein’s hands. Seeing Hussein’s tightly furrowed brow, the count knew the situation was grim.

Though the count’s mobility had wiped out many of the strange creatures these past few days, casualties were still significant.

“Orc bandits?”

the count asked.

“No. If it were orcs, we could at least fight them head-on. This time it’s strange monsters,” Hussein said with a headache. “And not only magical beasts, but creatures from the Underdark as well.”

“Creatures from the Underdark? Could they have come out of the Black Road?”

The count’s expression turned serious.

The Black Road was the trade route between the Dwarves of Danzon and Nether.

Also known as the Underroad, it was, as the name suggests, a trade route constructed beneath the earth.

It traversed a heavily fortified path through the Underdark, and the entire route was under the dwarves’ strict protection to keep it free of illithids, drow elves, and the other evil inhabitants of the deep places.

Its two exits were located respectively at the dwarven port city of Askol in Danzon, and at Nether’s cities of Habrig and Ceznis.

Most of Nether’s metal weapons were transported along this route—genuine dwarven-forged arms.

It could be said to be Nether’s weapons supplier; if something went wrong with this route, the blow to Nether’s military strength would be enormous.

Nether also sold the Dwarves of Danzon various magical goods, scrolls, spell potions, and similar supplies.

In recent years, however, magical items, spell scrolls, and the like had frequently failed after passing through the Black Road, causing Nether to lose a great deal of wealth.

“Probably not. According to the reports from the Danzon dwarves stationed along the Black Road, the route has not been damaged,” Hussein said, shaking his head as he handed the intelligence to the count.

The count took it and scanned it quickly. It was written in the dwarven hand.

“Then there must be some other undiscovered underground exit, or an underground passage outside Nether’s territory.”

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