The city was built around a walled castle that stood on a hill, overlooking a vast stretch of farmlands now covered in snow. In the distance, barely visible on the horizon, stone markers indicated the southern border of Central.

  The castle, of ancient design with high towers and elaborate carvings, predated the Empire by centuries. The stone used in its construction was of an ominous greenish black that, under certain light conditions, appeared to have a metallic sheen, giving the castle and the city their name: Ironwall.

  Despite the cold, Blue and I were traveling in front of the carriage, something that had become the norm after the close call with the toppling cart. She was so excited about finally reaching the city. Her mood had been particularly good since the mess with her collar. Uther's promise to be fair to her had released a huge dose of anxiety she had been carrying.

  After it was properly cleaned and warmed, the collar locked around Blueberry’s neck without problems. Tests conducted by Professor Locan found nothing unusual. It was decided that Blue should report anything strange, but she would suffer no consequences, no matter what happened. The issue was dropped, at least for the moment, in the face of more pressing concerns.

  That made me think about the complicated relationship us slaves, but especially those born in the Capital’s Castle, have with slave collars.

  They are a symbol of ownership that marks them as the property of another, but at the same time, it is something deeply ingrained that gives a tangible sense of security and belonging—in this case, quite literally.

  It sets them apart as the servants of the royal family, descendants of the noble women chosen by the conqueror himself to serve him—which sounds much better than ‘noble women from subjugated territories coerced into servitude under threat of torture and death after spending weeks experiencing the tender care of the conqueror’s soldiers,’ as the records in the Royal Archive tell that actually happened.

  But I digress…

  Ironwall had once been the third-largest city in Central, the kingdom's breadbasket, and a bustling commerce hub with Cartographer’s Bane. But its grandeur began to wither the closer we drew to it.

  Abandoned farmlands stretched out, desolate and silent. Charred houses stood as haunting remnants, and unidentified bones lay scattered along the roadside, painting a foreboding picture.

  It wasn’t until we crossed through the unguarded city gates that the true magnitude of what had transpired revealed itself.

  Ironwall was a dead city.

  It bored the brunt of the Armored Sorcerer’s monster army, its unrelenting spearhead striking with devastating force. Every living creature within its walls had been slaughtered or taken as food.

  But what made it worse was not the emptiness.

  After the siege in the capital, the cleanup took 2 months of continuous effort. Here, with almost no spare manpower, the cleanup was done by nature itself.

  Bones were scattered everywhere.

  Some were unidentifiable remains, but others told grim stories of the deceased’s final moments: mothers shielding their children with their bodies, soldiers making their last stands, and piles of monsters that had faced fierce resistance and paid the price.

  The full scale of Ironwall’s fall was still visible, only softened by a thin blanket of snow.

  There was a lingering stench of decay permeating the cold air.

  The roads leading to the castle were the only ones that had been cleared, their unnatural tidiness adding to the unease of our journey. The faint screeches and rasps of the carriage wheels echoed louder than they truly were, amplifying the haunting silence around us.

  Blue’s excitement slowly faded and was completely gone by the time we entered the city. She looked at the scene with a mix of repulse and morbid curiosity.

  “Miss Gift, um… Was it… like this, near the library?” She asked with an almost apologetic voice.

  How did she know about that? Well, gossip was the lifeblood of the servant’s quarters, and my recovery after the siege was not exactly a secret.

  The servants were not allowed outside the castle for several months after the siege, so she luckily did not see what it was like.

  “Not exactly,” I replied matter-of-factly. “It was more like a battlefield there. Most of the dying were soldiers and conscripts. Here, it’s just senseless slaughter. They were probably overrun before they had a chance to mount any real defense.”

  I could tell something was brewing in her mind. She hesitated, opening her mouth a couple of times as if to speak, before finally gathering the courage to blurt out:

  “I… I think that what you did there was very brave.”

  Brave? She’s cute, but she clearly has no idea what she's talking about.

  “Thank you,” I said, though the sounds my vocal cords produced were hollow. My tone and body language made it abundantly clear: just drop this subject, I don’t want to talk about it.

  I didn’t want to be rude to her, she meant no harm. I just wasn’t in the mood to explain my complicated feelings about it.

  We remained silent, watching that grim spectacle, until we finally arrived at the gates of Ironwall Castle.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  ***

  Two soldiers stood guard at the gates, the first living beings we had encountered in the city. They wore the uniform and standard armor of the Capital Army, but small details betrayed their hardships: a mismatched pair of shoes, missing or damaged armor pieces, and stained, tattered clothing. It was clear they were not having an easy time.

  Uther dismounted his horse and approached the guards. Our arrival had been previously communicated through a message sent by the Guild, but given the current circumstances, one could never be too cautious.

  They talked, checked the papers, and let us in.

  At least the courtyard and the castle’s interior had been cleared of bodies, but the tidiness and the echoes from even the smallest sounds only reinforced how empty and devoid of life it felt.

  There is a slightly isolationist country northeast of Central called Nordvind, which holds a monopoly on the source of magical energy used in necromancy—the Green Flame. Due to their isolation, cultural differences, and the fact that they truly do raise the dead, most popular horror stories use Nordvind as their setting.

  As it stood, however, Ironwall could easily dethrone Nordvind in creepiness.

  Near the stables, we found three more living souls—haggard men wearing metal collars, slaves like myself. We left our horses and carriages in their care and entered the castle building.

  Inside, we finally encountered some inhabitants.

  Between soldiers, officers, guild representatives, adventurers, civilian survivors, and male slaves tasked with menial work, there were a little more than one hundred people. This was just enough to say that Ironwall had not been abandoned, but nothing more.

  Uther, Locan, Dahlia, and I were directed to the council room, which had become the office of Captain Lucas Trebelion, the acting commander of Ironwall.

  His face hadn’t been shaved in at least a week, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. These weren’t the result of a single restless night but rather the exhaustion of months spent holding the southern frontier, managing a dead city, and fending off hordes of monsters—all at the same time, with just a skeleton crew and barely any resources.

  “Uther, it’s good to see you here,” Lucas said, giving him a firm handshake and a hearty hug.

  “Lucas, you look terrible!” Uther teased in the jocular tone reserved for long-time friends. “Did you drink yourself half to death last night?”

  “If we still had any booze, I’m sure I would have,” Lucas replied.

  The were the necessary introductions of Locan and Dahlia, followed by a brief exchange of pleasantries between Lucas and me.

  Lucas Trebelion was an old colleague of Uther’s; the two had trained together under Sir Gideon’s "tough love" tutelage. I knew him and had even helped patch him up once when Sir Gideon got a little carried away, but we’d never really spoken beyond polite small talk.

  “How are things here?” Uther asked, his voice shifting to a contrasting serious tone.

  Lucan tightened his lips, and his neck tensed. You could almost see the small burst of energy he’d gained from seeing Uther draining away.

  “I could list all the problems we’re facing, but I imagine you still want to sleep tonight. So, I’ll keep it brief and give you a quick update on our situation.”

  He unrolled a map onto the table, and I nearly let slip a giggle at the irony. It depicted the region south of Central—an agglomeration of tiny kingdoms, monster domains, and city-states spanning an area three times the size of Central.

  It was not a particularly old map, but it was full of margin scribbles and corrections. Borders of small kingdoms, several no bigger than the Central Capital, were redrawn many times. Names of places were crisscrossed and corrected. New villages and monster camps were added by hand with black ink.

  There was an old anecdotal tale of a general exasperated by the political instability of that region who once said: “This accursed place would be any cartographer’s bane, because any map you drew of it would be outdated by the time the ink had finished drying on the paper.”

  And hence the name, Cartographer's Bane.

  “Morale is terrible,” Lucas began. “We managed to clear the remaining monsters from the city and surrounding areas, but it came at a great cost. Without reinforcements, there’s no way we can keep the monsters away for long...

  “We have enough food for now, but we’re short on everything else. We receive supplies from the capital, but many caravans don’t make it due to monsters, bandits, or desertion. All our efforts have been focused on jump-starting some food production so we can at least survive if we’re cut off. Every available hand is used to tend some fields near the city, while our remaining strength is reserved for protecting them against wandering monsters.

  “As for the frontier... the only defense we have is our prayers. We send adventurers to gather information, and we interview travelers insane enough to journey to the Capital, ensuring that we at least stay aware of the situation.”

  He pointed to a kingdom on the map, its borders scarred by several recent adjustments.

  “From Cartographer’s Bane, our main threat now is Karabak.”

  “The Armored Sorcerer?” Uther asked surprised.

  “Not him—at least he’s dead… I hope. His kingdom. Karabak’s Kingdom. We call it Karabak for short.

  “Initially, we assessed that it would likely collapse due to infighting, with the former members of his council turning on each other. But the opposite is happening: Karabak is thriving. It has expanded its territory fourfold in less than a year.”

  “Is their military really that strong?” Locan asked, studying the map intently.

  “This is the strangest part: it isn’t,” continued Lucas with a weary voice. “One realm they conquered by discovering an ancient secret passage that led straight to the heart of the city. Another they secured by forging an alliance, offering the recipe for a medicine that cured a rare affliction the prince suffered from. Yet another they subdued by luring the enemy army into a hydra’s lair and sealing their escape. And those are just the ones we’ve gathered some information about.

  “The Armored Sorcerer was a cunning but straightforward adversary. Among his council, Ortan was the cleverest, but his methods were far more vicious, relying on assassinations and terror tactics. Whatever this is, it’s something new. Karabak seems to have quieted down over the past couple of months—likely consolidating its gains and waiting out the winter, I’d imagine.”

  Lucas stared at the map for a few moments, sighed, shook his head, and then sat down before turning to Uther.

  “That’s the situation. And if the past year taught me anything, is that you’re not here to fix my problems, you’re here to bring me new ones. Am I correct?”

  “Sharp as ever, Lucas,” Uther praised, but that somehow failed to lift Luca’s spirit. “You’re aware of the Gate event the Guild is investigating, right?”

  Lucas nodded.

  “We didn’t want to cause panic, so we kept the nature of the creature a secret. However, there is a very real possibility that the monster that gated in is a Cataclysm.”

  Lucas’s expression remained unchanged for several long seconds. Then, he sank into his chair, pressing his hand against his forehead.

  “Of course it is...” he said, his voice hollow. “Before you even ask, I can’t offer help in any shape or form. We’re struggling to defend ourselves against wandering monsters as it is. If a creature like that reaches Ironwall, all we can do is perish.”

  “I understand. That’s why we came,” Uther replied. “We’ll try to identify the creature and neutralize the danger before the situation escalates further. Any intelligence you can provide would be appreciated.”

  “I’ll send the Guild representative to speak with you,” Lucas said, his voice weighed down with exhaustion.

  “Thanks. We didn’t bring much, but I’ll send a bottle of booze your way. Looks like you need it more than we do,” Uther offered, turning to leave.

  “Please, do,” Lucas replied, his gaze fixed on the map as we exited the room.