Ch. 14
Chapter 14: [The Ecology of Adventurers]
The slanted, dim yellow sunlight shone upon the streets of Thornfall Outpost, and within that soft orange glow drifted specks of dust rising from the decayed soil.
Old Wooden Street, Barracks No. 3, third floor, double room.
Thaleia sat alone on the bed, silently dazing off.
The window was half-open.
The dusky sunlight, carrying the evening breeze, filtered through the gap, carving her deep, dark shadow heavily against the wall opposite.
She stretched out the claw-shaped black gauntlet toward the shadow on the wall, as if trying to grasp something—but before her was only emptiness. The shadow’s hand reached out as well, yet it could not touch anything.
She fell silent, slowly letting out a deep sigh.
Samael had insisted on following those two starry-eyed little fans to carry the fainted Rost to Barracks No. 5.
Thaleia had been quite displeased by that, returning to their shared room in Barracks No. 3 alone.
But it had already been two hours since the two had parted ways at the corner of Old Wooden Street.
Samael still hadn’t returned.
Why is it taking so long? Is he angry?
Thaleia thought, irritated and restless.
Ever since the two had met five days ago, they hadn’t been apart for even a moment.
She suddenly realized she had grown used to having that clanking iron can by her side—mouthy, annoying, yet dependable and steady when it mattered. It made her feel strangely at ease.
She stood up and leaned out of the window.
Below, she watched adventurers and traders of all kinds, carriages and handcarts coming and going in the bustling crowd—yet she could not find that familiar armored figure anywhere.
The last streaks of orange twilight slowly faded between the jagged redwood rooftops.
The bronze moon and pale-white moon were already half-hanging in the sky, carrying with them the lonely chill of the approaching night.
She stared blankly, thinking that such scenery was rare for her.
On the horizon of the Wasteland, there were no rooftops; while in the northern city of Londoran, built within the hollowed-out caverns gnawed by the Earth-Devouring Worms among the cold mountains, one could never see the sun nor the twin moons of copper and silver.
She had thought that after her parents’ deaths, she had already grown used to solitude in the past three years.
But why… did she suddenly feel uncomfortable again…?
She stood at the window, dazed.
Is he angry? Did he… leave on his own? Could it be that his identity as an undead Ghost Knight had been exposed and he was besieged by the adventurers?
Thaleia’s mind spiraled into wild thoughts. Hands clasped behind her back, she paced back and forth heavily in the room, one circle after another.
At last, she picked up her hammer-spear, put on her helmet, and strode across the room in two steps, ready to go find Samael.
At the very moment her hand touched the doorknob, faint metallic tapping sounds came from outside—the clinking of armored knuckles knocking gently against the door.
Thaleia swiftly yanked the door open and pulled the familiar cloaked suit of nether-copper armor inside, shutting the door behind her.
For some reason, she exhaled in relief.
“Hey… why so anxious?” Samael stumbled, caught off guard. “What’s wrong?”
The two stared at each other silently for a few seconds.
The room was utterly still.
“You…” Thaleia realized her voice was dry. She coughed to cover it, slowly tossed the hammer-spear back to the floor, removed her helmet, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed again.
“You’re… fine. That’s good,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong? Feeling down again?” Samael pulled back the gray hood of his cloak, his bronze helmet shamelessly leaning closer.
“…Nothing.” Thaleia’s voice was soft.
“Really? I don’t believe you.” The bronze helmet leaned even closer mischievously. “Good thing I guessed it in advance on the way back—look! Guess what this is!”
He raised the object in his hand proudly—it was a large wooden box with a handle.
Samael set the box on the table and lifted the lid.
The aroma of food drifted out.
It was a big meal box, divided into layers, filled with simple but generous portions of food.
Pancakes drenched in thick syrup, barley porridge with chunks of meat, smoked ham, sausages, and hard black bread, along with a stew of onions, salted pork, and unknown vegetables.
Adventuring was physically demanding work, and while the meals provided in Thornfall Outpost weren’t refined, they were hearty, oily, and salty—meant to fill the stomach.
“I knew it—you must be hungry again! How can you skip dinner?” Samael opened the box and laid the food out on the table. “I might not need to eat, but you still do. And since we should avoid showing our faces in public, I haggled with the tavern mistress, paid an extra eight silver coins, and got this boxed from the kitchen.”
“I met a harpooner uncle in the first-floor hall—a snake hunter with a dead python slung over his shoulder. His harpoon pole hit the doorframe, and he fell. I helped him up, and asked where in town the food was cheap and good. He recommended this tavern—said he’s been eating there for five or six years. It’s an old place, opened when Thornfall Outpost was first founded. Great price, hearty portions, and delicious.” Samael gestured animatedly.
“I don’t have taste or smell, so I can only ask around. The uncle was kind enough to take me there himself and even suggested the minced-meat barley porridge—said it’s a secret menu item. Come, try it!”
He wasn’t angry at all!
Thaleia covered her face—half laughing, half choked up.
“What’s wrong?” Samael asked. “Let’s eat first.”
Thaleia coughed softly.
“About… what happened this afternoon, I… I must…” she murmured, “I’m sorry, Samael.”
Samael looked at her quietly.
Thaleia sighed.
“Let’s talk for a bit, shall we?” she asked.
“Of course—we’ve been talking all along, haven’t we?” Samael blinked.
“The demonkind mostly take pleasure in torment and domination. Cruelty, indifference, and savagery are almost their nature. Because of that, humans, elves, and dwarves all view them as their greatest enemy—so much so that they would put aside their differences to unite against the demons.”
“You once said that you weren’t… some nobleman or prince before you died,” she continued. “But there’s something noble and compassionate in you—like a hero born from the courts of a wise human king.”
“Your love of poetry and art, your brave and optimistic spirit, your strategic mind, and that noble virtue—it all makes me wonder… maybe in life, you were a wise young foreign prince or a knight of a noble house, betrayed by deceit, dying unjustly, your soul turned into a star, then summoned here by some ancient spell.”
“Uh… no. I was just a college student who died from gaming too long,” Samael interjected. “Isn’t that a bit… too dramatic?”
“Though I’m only a half-demon, I still carry certain habits of demonkind. You may… find much of what I do unpleasant.” She continued.
“In short… if killing innocent humans makes you uncomfortable, I won’t do that again,” Thaleia said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Uh, well… it’s not that serious,” Samael hesitated. “Honestly—you wouldn’t believe it! That idiot Rost actually blamed me after I carried him back to his barrack! He got all mad, accusing me of using cheap potions just to embarrass him in front of his fanboys! I—I almost thought you were right. Maybe that jerk really deserved a bit of suffering.”
Thaleia couldn’t help but smile.
“Come, let’s eat. The food’s getting cold.” Samael pulled out a chair.
“Mm… by the way, where did you get the money?” Thaleia looked at the table full of food.
“The chubby swordsman and bespectacled mage in Rost’s team said I saved their captain, so they gave me half a Riftclaw Bird as thanks,” Samael said. “I took it to the market—Randall showed me the way before. There, a merchant offered to buy fresh Riftclaw Birds for seven gold coins apiece.”
“That’s quite a high price… why? Riftclaw Birds have low demonic essence and few valuable materials,” Thaleia frowned.
“Yeah, I thought so too. So I asked what they did with the corpses. The merchant said Riftclaw Birds are low in demonic essence and non-toxic—so they’re edible for humans. He sells them in bulk to taverns and restaurants in Thornfall Outpost. Those tough, chicken-like meats adventurers eat? That’s Riftclaw Bird.”
“Ah…” Thaleia scooped up a meat chunk from her porridge, squinting at it. “So that’s what it was…”
“So, adventurers like Rost—who only hunt Riftclaw Birds—might not afford expensive healing potions or higher missions, but it’s a safe trade. Their earnings are stable, and it’s enough to live on,” Samael mused.
“He might not be as clear-headed as Randall, but surviving this long in the Wasteland means he has his own survival strategy—even if it’s just blind habit.”
“That snake-hunter uncle I met is the same. He specializes in catching serpent-type monsters. Merchants pay well for snake oil and hides, while mages and alchemists buy gallbladders, fangs, and venom glands for catalysts or potion ingredients. He’s been in that trade for seven or eight years—a solid Level-5 adventurer making a decent living.”
“When I dazed off during training today, I was thinking about all this. You once said adventurers are livestock for demon lords, their corpses feeding the dungeons’ ecosystems. That means adventurers are part of the demonic ecological system the demon lords built.”
“If we view adventurer outposts as ecosystems, then each adventurer occupies a niche—some are apex predators, others hunt specific creatures to reduce competition, and some are like hyenas: half scavenger, half predator, pragmatic and ambitious—”
“All of this is fascinating, isn’t it?” Samael looked at Thaleia.
“You’re really good at this… all of it. Whether alive or dead, you’ve always been remarkable, Samael.” Thaleia scooped a spoonful of half-cooled porridge into her mouth. “It tastes good.”
“I was an engineering student when I was alive—building a great dungeon requires understanding every part of its system and how it works,” Samael said proudly. “Now eat first—we can talk after.”
Outside, darkness had fully fallen, yet the bright twin moons of copper and white hung above the eaves, their light illuminating the room clearly.
Thaleia sat by the window, dipping bread into the stew, chewing hard bread and ham, gazing at the twin moons on the eaves—then glanced back at Samael.
Samael sat on the bed, holding the torn cloth bag he’d found among the weeds near the Riftclaw Bird grounds, staring at it under the moonlight.
Inside was half a bag of barley grains.
The moonlight shone upon the faded, torn writing:
【Grain Shipment to Kanna… (ripped by claws) …City】.
“What are you thinking about?” Thaleia asked.
“The Wasteland can’t grow human crops or raise human livestock, right?” Samael asked.
“Yes,” Thaleia answered. “That’s why beasts like the Riftclaw Bird—those edible to humans—are relatively expensive.”
“So, that means the grains here in *Thornfall Outpost of the Kanna Plains* are all transported from human settlements,” Samael said, reading the words on the bag.
“Exactly.”
“Then why did this bag end up in the wilderness some distance from Thornfall Outpost? Was the grain convoy attacked by Riftclaw Birds?” Samael pondered.
“Impossible. Those chicken-things don’t have the courage or strength,” Thaleia denied. “Long-distance caravans usually have strong guards or small mercenary groups, and some even hire adventurers through escort commissions.”
“Then who attacked the convoy transporting grain to *Thornfall Outpost of the Kanna Plains*? What creature would be interested in human food?” Samael looked at her.
“Bandits!” they said at the same time.
“Maybe those bandit corpses hanging from the big tree near the gate were from that,” Thaleia said, scooping more porridge. “Even outlaws can’t live on demonic beasts alone—human grain is still a necessity.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Samael hesitated. “If they robbed the grain, why would they let the Riftclaw Birds snatch away a whole bag? Those things are weak! Even Rost can kill them. No way bandits couldn’t.”
He held the grain sack up, measuring its size with his arm.
“It’s a big bag. Full, it could feed ten people for a month.” Samael spread it open. “If the bandits meant to steal food, they wouldn’t leave such a large sack behind to feed birds.”
“That’s true…” Thaleia sipped her stew. “But maybe they had already stolen more than enough grain—so much that losing a bag or two didn’t matter.”
“But then—if they already had plenty, why risk angering the Guild guards by robbing another convoy?” Samael stared at the incomplete text:
【Grain Shipment to Kanna… (ripped by claws) …City】.
What were the missing words?
“‘Grain Shipment to Thornfall Outpost of the Kanna Plains’?”
Or something else?
Samael put the bag down and shook his head.
It doesn’t concern us for now.
We’ll think about it later, he thought.