Chapter 75: The Weathered Stone Pillar

Sitting before the campfire, Leo praised Old Pete’s stew with every spoonful he tasted.

There was no doubt that this old cook, who had traveled the world with adventurers, possessed culinary skills that bordered on the miraculous—truly the work of a master.

With nothing but simple rations and a handful of homemade spices, he transformed the stew into something rich and fragrant, making everyone’s appetite surge.

The villagers of Riverbend only knew how to fill their stomachs; the best the village women could do was boil everything together in one pot.

When it came to cooking, the most skilled was Leo himself—a lazy little savage with a fondness for good food.

Even in his past life, with all those industrial seasonings, he’d never tasted anything as fresh and flavorful as this!

Old Pete’s face bloomed with wrinkles as Leo showered him with compliments, and he ladled out another generous portion for him.

In contrast, the old hands of the adventuring party seemed rather ungrateful; they ate his food every day and never bothered to utter a word of praise!

Denise was much quicker on the uptake. Sensing the situation, she launched her own barrage of flattery, winning Old Pete back to her side with a torrent of praise that cost her nothing.

As a university student from the Imperial Academy, born to a family of scholars, her eloquence far surpassed Leo’s.

The other adventurers watched the two of them fawning over Old Pete with envy, but whether it was lack of wit or the pride of age, none could bring themselves to join in.

Leo and Denise, both not yet twenty, felt no such reservations.

After the meal, Leo’s expression grew solemn as he warned, “From here, heading north, I’m no longer familiar with the terrain. The journey ahead will be even more difficult and dangerous, so I urge everyone to stay alert.”

Not far ahead lay the Shattered Hills, home to the Boarman tribe; beyond that, a range of mountains, where the party’s destination awaited.

Even wildfolk rarely ventured into those parts. Leo had only ever observed the area from a nearby high point, sketching the terrain from afar—never exploring it himself.

Denise’s mentor had left notes describing several landmarks, and they matched those Leo had drawn on his map; that was why the adventurers had hired him as their guide.

During their idle chatter on the road, Denise revealed that their original plan had been to enter the Wolfdriven Wilds from the northern town of Varangell, and explore southward along the Grand Barrier.

Varangell was a well-known gathering place for adventurers, with a river cutting deep into the Wolfdriven Wilds and forward bases built by adventurers within.

From there, entering the Wilds would have been both easier and safer.

But now Varangell had become the front line in the war with the beastfolk. Extraordinary individuals like themselves would only be conscripted into the army, dragged into the confrontation with the beastmen.

That was why they changed their route, entering the Wolfdriven Wilds from the southern town of Isenport, stopping at Riverbend—where they met Leo.

“This was inevitable. You’ve done very well,” Harkins reassured him, pulling out Leo’s map to mark their progress. “We covered this distance in a day—much faster than expected.”

The other adventurers nodded instinctively.

Traveling the wilderness was fraught with uncertainty: some days they might cover ten kilometers, others twenty.

A single kilometer on the map could mean five or even ten kilometers of actual travel.

And that was just the journey itself; more vital was knowledge of the wilds—where hostile tribes, wildfolk, or magic beasts might appear—matters of life and death for any adventurer.

The next morning’s journey was as smooth as before, but by afternoon, the path grew dangerous and treacherous.

The party was forced to stop frequently, consulting the map, questioning Leo about the geography, and debating their next move.

Ranger Lynch and assassin Fisher began to break off frequently to scout ahead.

By dusk, they’d only covered half the anticipated distance and made camp by a stretch of riverbank.

Staring at the tall stone pillars in the distance, Denise lowered her head to arrange her tent and said to Leo, “It’s said there were once twenty-four towering elven watchtowers outside the Court, each armed with powerful elven magic cannons, their range covering hundreds of square kilometers. This whole region became a sanctuary for all peoples.”

Excitement colored her voice. “If those pillars ahead are the remains of one of those towers, perhaps we stand where countless peoples once lived.”

Leo eyed the stone pillars and replied dryly, “Those are clearly natural formations—weathered columns, eroded by water, you can see it plainly. They’ve nothing to do with elven watchtowers.”

The distant pillars resembled those in the Zhangjiajie of his previous life, though far fewer in number, scattered among the mountains.

Leo had marked these conspicuous landmarks on the map, which naturally drew the party’s attention.

Denise, though a historian, had some knowledge of geography. Hearing Leo’s terms, she felt as if she were chatting with her classmates at the Imperial Academy.

Conversations outside the academy always revolved around miracles—tedious to the ear.

To them, the Grand Barrier was a miracle, the World Tree Avenue a miracle, weathered stone pillars a miracle, a hundred-meter tree—a miracle.

They saw neither the artistry of nature nor the ingenuity of mortals; everything was a gift from the gods.

But this boy, even younger than she, exuded a rebellious, questioning spirit, and sometimes displayed a wisdom far beyond his years and station. That was why she enjoyed talking with him.

Denise couldn’t help but laugh. “Leo, you know quite a lot. Honestly, you should really study at the Imperial University instead of hiding away in this little mountain village.”

You nobles really do speak as though everyone can eat cake, Leo thought to himself, but he didn’t argue. He just grinned and said, “I think I’ll pass on being a student, but if they need a teacher, I’m available.”

As the two chatted idly, a sharp whistle suddenly pierced the air.

It was Lynch, who’d been standing watch nearby. He’d climbed to the crown of a giant tree and apparently spotted something alarming.

The group had barely reached for their weapons when the crowns of the pines ahead began to shake. A series of deepening growls echoed from the woods.

With a crash, as if a giant hand had torn the trees aside, splinters and pine needles burst into the air. A massive black shadow appeared before them.

It was a Dire Wolf—the very beast for which the Wolfdriven Wilds were named.

Its coat shone like black silk, its body massive yet neither clumsy nor fat—simply a wolf made colossal, larger and stronger than the warhorses of the North.

In strength and agility, it surpassed an ordinary wolf many times over.

It needed no movement; the stench of a bloodthirsty, magical beast already filled the air.