Plague Lord-Chapter 55: Camping

What was the best way to take out an opposing party?

According to the book Total Resistance by Hans von Dach, the first step revolved around gathering information about the enemy. An unknown opponent was ten times more dangerous than one that was known.

So even if their opponents were Lesser Fiends, they couldn’t simply rush in and start slaughtering without knowing their strengths and numbers.

Only when they had sufficient intelligence would they launch a decisive assault.

This was something both Nightingale and Flaming Rose already understood well enough. Which was why they lingered for a moment before pulling back — though the Caster cast one last glance toward the village, a faint purpose gleaming behind her pristine mask.

Silently, they moved ahead, stopping only when the forest thickened. There, among the gnarled trunks and twisting roots, they began their search for a vantage point, somewhere that would be high enough to observe the Gremlins without exposing themselves.

’Would that do?’

Nightingale’s eyes caught a crooked oak with a scarred trunk, its branches arching into a vaulted canopy of leaves. It wasn’t perfect, but high and dense enough to conceal two silhouettes.

Under normal circumstances, resting on a tree branch would never have crossed his mind. But considering that camping in the open wasn’t any better, he began to seriously consider the alternative.

What were the advantages of camping on a tree?

For one, height offered safety. Most nocturnal predators were ground dwellers. Up here, he could avoid unwanted surprises. Second, the vantage point provided a wide view of the area, allowing him to spot potential threats long before they drew near. And third — though it was perhaps the most important — it gave him a sense of control.

In a world this unpredictable, even the illusion of safety was precious.

He placed a hand on the rough bark and began to climb, testing each foothold with care before pulling Rose up behind him. From their new perch, they had a clear view of the Gremlin village below. The creatures were moving sluggishly, some carrying bones and scraps of meat, others tending to small fires that flickered weakly beneath the skies.

Looking down, Rose simply uttered:

"Pathetic."

Nightingale looked at her, then swung his head down as well.

"Maybe so. But it’s too early for us to do anything."

She said nothing, though her silence spoke volumes. Her hand, resting on her thigh, twitched once as if itching to summon flames. Instead, Rose released a regretful sigh.

"Unfortunately. Even so, the notion of hiding from filthy gremlins is disgusting."

"You hate the gremlins quite a lot."

"That’s an understatement. If I had my way, I would have annihilated every last one of them until their species was erased from this world. Honestly, their existence is a mistake to begin with."

’Aren’t you passionate? I wish I had that kind of passion for something. Perhaps I’m not hating enough?’

Disregarding that thought, Nightingale asked another question:

"Why?"

Rose sneered.

"Why you ask? Let me ask you this: what’s there to like about those lowly creatures? I could list everything I hate about them, which is pretty much everything, but if I did, I’d probably clear out every forest on the floor and it still wouldn’t be enough. To cut things short, they’re worse than goblins. Have you ever watched..."

Trembling, Nightingale opened his mouth hurriedly.

"Alright, alright! I get it! I understand! There’s no need to elaborate."

He knew exactly which anime the magician was about to mention. After all, he had watched it before, and needless to say, he was... traumatized.

Of course, there were far worse and more gruesome shows out there. A good example would be Corpse Party, which he regretted watching to this day.

Just remembering it sent a chill down his spine.

He glanced back at Rose, who seemed far too calm after that outburst. For a moment, he wondered if she actually enjoyed watching things like that.

"You’re scary sometimes, you know that?" he muttered quietly.

Rose tilted her head slightly, as if genuinely puzzled by his remark, then replied,

"I’ll take that as a compliment."

’I didn’t mean it as a compliment! What are you, a goofball?!’ Nightingale screamed inwardly but didn’t dare voice his thoughts aloud. Unsure of how to respond, he simply fell silent, and Flaming Rose did the same, signalling that the conversation had come to an end.

By then, the sun had already begun its descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the world below. The eastern sky had gradually grown dim, painted in the faint hues of twilight as night slowly crept in.

He shifted uncomfortably, lying flat along the broad oak branch.

Trying to steer his thoughts away from unpleasant topics, Nightingale glanced down toward the Gremlin settlement below. Night had begun its slow descent, and the creatures were retreating toward the village center.

Fires flared brighter while crude wooden effigies were arranged in uneven circles. Then, as if on cue, the Gremlins began to dance around the flames and their shadows danced along with them in unison, following a strange rhythm.

Confused, Nightingale frowned.

"What the heck are they doing down there?"

Rose followed his gaze, tilting her head slightly.

"From the looks of it, some kind of ritual I think."

He asked, intrigued:

"A ritual? For what exactly?"

She shrugged.

"How am I supposed to understand the whims of a damn creature? I’m just as confused as you are. Maybe you can go down there and ask them about it." Her tone turned teasing. "Ah... that’s right. I forgot you don’t have the means to even understand their language."

Nightingale smiled wryly.

"Got me there."

But after a brief pause, his expression turned curious.

"Still... I’ve been wondering. Why do you wear that mask? Is it a type of Mystery, or just an ordinary mask?"

Flaming Rose remained silent for a moment before finally deciding to answer his question.

"Hm. I suppose you could call it a protective Mystery. To put it bluntly, this pristine mask carries two innate enchantments. It conceals the wearer’s identity and automatically translates any form of language, even the gibberish known as monster language."

"Is that so? That’s honestly impressive. I’m a little jealous."

"Awesome, right? Plenty of others have said the same thing. Some even tried to take it from me by force, so, naturally, I beat them up and roasted their asses. Even if I had lost, they still wouldn’t have been able to claim it. Geez, I really don’t understand people sometimes."

She clicked her tongue at the memory of those troublesome encounters.

Mysteries were conceptual artifacts, bound to the very essence of their owners. They couldn’t be stolen, nor could they be destroyed, not even by a Saint. At best, their form would simply change.

It was common knowledge that most Awakened acquired their first Mystery only after clearing the Tenth Floor or higher. The odds of obtaining one during the early stages were abysmally low.

A Squire had to be extraordinarily lucky to receive even a decent Mystery.

Under such circumstances, it wasn’t surprising that many beginners grew greedy, their envy festering into foolish desperation.

But attempting to steal another Awakened’s Mystery was sheer stupidity. Even torture proved useless. If the victim died by mistake, all the Mysteries in their possession would vanish along with them, forever lost to the void.

’Still... I’m more interested in the face behind the mask.’

Why did she wear it? Was she ugly? A runaway convict? Or maybe just shy?

Many theories ran through his mind, but each was nothing more than useless speculation. Asking wasn’t even an option, since he already knew she would either change the subject or simply ignore the question.

Instead, he decided to ask something else.

"Ms. Rose, forgive me for intruding, but could you tell me how exactly you awakened?"