The seven Dwarf Warriors beside him, however, seemed exceptionally happy.
Their rough, thick hands slapped the wooden planks beneath them, and they even hummed low, short tunes with a rocky rhythm.
“Haha! This is more like it!” A Dwarf with a full beard that almost obscured his mouth grinned, clearly feeling a kinship with this mode of transport.
He shouted at the two Farmers driving the cart ahead: “Hey! Folks! Your cart is a bit slower than the mine carts pulled by ponies in our Spirit Realm, but it looks sturdy!”
The Farmer driving the cart was a middle-aged man in his forties, wearing a faded coarse linen robe and a straw hat. He turned his head at the sound, revealing an honest smile: “Our Swadian Kingdom’s pack horses are good for pulling cargo and plowing fields; they have excellent stamina. Of course, the warhorses bred by our Swadian Kingdom are truly top-notch!”
“Swadian Kingdom?” Another Dwarf Warrior, wiping his short-handled warhammer, looked up at the mention, his brows furrowing into hills: “Which plane’s kingdom is that? Never heard of it.”
They had been away from the Dwarf Kingdom of their mountain tribe for too long, struggling to survive in the Seam between the Spirit Realm and Blue Star, and their knowledge of the outside world had long since blurred.
He thought that what the Farmer was talking about might be some unknown small human kingdom in one of the many sub-planes.
“Oh? What plane?” The Farmer who had spoken first was a little surprised, but remembering his superior’s earlier instructions to keep quiet about such topics and not speak carelessly, he then chuckled honestly: “We used to live in the Swadian Kingdom, farming and raising horses near Teiha City, but that’s all in the past now!”
His tone carried nostalgia, and a hint of almost imperceptible resentment: “Our King Harlaus is truly a terrible… Sigh, why am I telling you all this. It’s better now! Lord Shen Mu is wise and benevolent, and Deherim is a truly good place to live! There’s food to eat, work to do, and with the Lord’s protection, we don’t have to fear those ghosts outside!”
The Dwarves nodded, half-understanding. For them, whether a human kingdom’s king was good or bad was far less important than the immediate stability they had.
Just then, a Dwarf suddenly remembered something and slapped his thigh: “Wine! Do you have good beer and ale in Swadia? Black Truffle Mead! Amber Fire!”
At the mention of wine, the Farmer’s eyes instantly lit up.
“Oh! This Dwarf brother knows his stuff!” He became excited, “Beer is a staple in our area! Good for relieving fatigue in the summer. As for ale, some small workshops brew it, and it smells wonderful! But the most potent is distilled liquor! One sip and your throat feels like it’s on fire!”
“Distilled liquor?!” Several Dwarf Warriors exclaimed almost in unison, their eyes filled with eager light: “You also make high-proof alcohol?!”
“Yes! Of course!” The other Farmer driving the cart also joined the conversation: “Using wheat or potatoes, ferment it well, then distill it in a pot; the first part of the liquor is the strongest! It tastes best when mixed with a bit of the tail!”
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the cart became lively. The Dwarves eagerly described the rich, mellow malt aroma and rock-like aftertaste of their homeland’s Dwarf liquor, while the Farmers shared the traditional techniques and tasting stories from Swadian village breweries.
Different races, different backgrounds, and perhaps even individuals from different planes, found enthusiastic resonance in the common human pleasure and enjoyment of “wine.”
Details like temperature control for malt steeping, fermentation time, and distillation heat management became bridges. The two sides talked more and more congenially, and laughter echoed across the empty Desert.
Even the two Khergit Mounted Archers, who were riding slowly beside the cart as escorts, couldn’t help but curve their lips into slight smiles.
The tension that had built up over days seemed to relax a little amidst the lively discussion about wine emanating from the cart.
Dust flew, and the cart, following the road leading west, rolled over the remnants of the apocalypse, carrying new hope and expectations for the future, heading towards that city of refuge—Deherim—said to have farmland, pastures, and truly “regulated” food.
Chen Ping leaned against the cart board, listening to the Dwarves and Farmers debate brewing techniques, watching the slowly setting sun outside the cart window dye the Desert a golden-red, and the reinforced New Rivadin city in the distance appearing like a towering beast in the twilight.
The fatigue and fear from days of travel were gradually replaced by a numb dullness, which was then slowly dispelled by this bustling human warmth and the hope of heading west.
He closed his eyes and, for the first time, felt a sense of… travel safety?
And intense curiosity about the unknown Deherim.
The slight bumps of the cart no longer felt irritating; instead, they became the rhythm of steady progress.
The path ahead remained perilous and unpredictable, but the sound of the wheels rolling forward symbolized a firm escape from the vortex and a rush towards life.
…
Dust swirled in the golden sunset, outlining the majestic silhouette of Deherim’s new city walls.
The wheels crunched over the newly laid flagstones, making a rhythmic rumbling sound that seemed to crush away some of the journey’s fatigue.
Chen Ping and his group’s cart finally entered this legendary city of refuge.
However, the sight that greeted them was far more impactful than any description.
Deherim was like a giant, vibrant, and powerful beehive.
During the time they had left New Rivadin to perform their reconnaissance mission and returned, this city, founded by Lord Shen Mu, was expanding outwards at an unprecedented speed.
Tall, not yet fully completed but already visibly sturdy stone city walls, like a grey dragon, snaked and extended, enclosing large areas of previously barren land on the east and west sides into the city’s territory.
There, the construction sites of the bustling New East District and New West District were in full swing.
Clang, clang, clang! Thump, thump, thump!
Deafening hammering, cutting, and the shouts of craftsmen blended together, forming a symphony of labor full of vitality and hope.
Experienced construction worker teams from the Calradia continent were the protagonists of this grand construction.
Most of them wore sturdy, durable coarse cloth work clothes, their skin tanned dark, but their movements were exceptionally skilled and precise.
The commander was Manid, this former caravan leader seemed to have found a new stage.
He was no longer a cautious merchant calculating profits but had transformed into a decisive construction manager.
He rode a docile travel horse, constantly shuttling between the two massive construction sites, his tanned face dusted with lime powder, his voice hoarse from prolonged shouting yet still loud and strong, penetrating the noisy environment.
“Over there! Compact the foundation more! A shaky foundation makes for an unstable wall!”
“Stones! Third work team, speed up the transport! This section of the wall must be topped before sunset today!”
“Be careful! Wear your leather gloves! Don’t let stones smash your feet!”
“Planning diagrams! Everyone, look at the planning diagrams clearly! The location of every warehouse, every row of barracks, must not be wrong!”
Manid’s whip gestured in the air, pointing to the rapidly being built section of the city wall, where workers bustled up and down like ants. Huge dressed stones were lifted by simple cranes made of winches and wooden frames, then carefully stacked and corrected by masons.
He then pointed to the area in the distance where foundations were being laid. Rows of deep trenches had been dug, and transport teams composed of Swadian Farmers were filling them with crushed stone and mortar, forming the skeletal foundations of future houses.
The city’s grand framework was slowly taking shape under the labor of countless hands, and a firm sense of order operated methodically amidst the clamor.
Beyond the core team of busy construction workers, the far more numerous Blue Star Humans became an indispensable auxiliary force.
Regardless of gender, anyone still capable of labor had become part of the transport army.
Their attire was varied, ranging from tattered modern clothes to more practical local-style coarse cloth garments. Their faces bore the marks of long-term malnutrition, but their eyes held much more vitality and hope than the survivors Chen Ping had seen in the ruins.
They undertook the most arduous and basic physical labor.
In groups of two or three, they collectively lifted heavy dressed stones, gritting their teeth, sweating profusely as they moved back and forth across the construction site. Many more transported crushed stone, sand, and timber—basic building materials—using baskets, wheelbarrows, or even their shoulders.
Heavy burdens bent their backs, and sweat soaked their clothes, leaving winding trails in the dust.
Many had chafed hands, which they simply wrapped in coarse cloth and continued working.
Their movements might not have been as nimble as those of Calradia’s professional workers, and their wall-laying precision was lacking, but their attitude of diligent, uncomplaining hard work, and the resilience they unleashed to secure survival and safety, were deeply moving.
“Hey, make way! Timber coming!” A young man pushed a creaking wheelbarrow piled high with logs, shouting as he moved through the crowd.
“Old Zhang! We’re short on mortar here! Quickly bring two buckets over!” A Swadian mason in charge shouted to an elderly Blue Star man with white hair.
The old man quickly responded, trotting to fetch materials.
In this nascent city, strength knew no age, and effort yielded rewards—a portion of “regulated” food sufficient to sustain life, and a simple but safe shelter from wind and rain.
The air of Deherim was filled with the salty smell of sweat, the fresh scent of newly cut wood, the pungent odor of lime, and a mixed aroma of food.
The golden glow of the sunset coated everything with a warm brightness, and the figures of laborers stretched long, but the intensity of the construction site showed no signs of diminishing.
This was no longer the struggle for survival in the apocalypse; this was a scene of people from different worlds, with different pasts, rebuilding a home of hope, brick by brick, with their hands and sweat, for a common sanctuary.
This vibrant tableau was deeply imprinted in Chen Ping’s eyes upon his arrival, leaving him and the weary Dwarves momentarily stunned.
Meanwhile, on the tall city walls of Deherim’s relatively quiet “Old City,” where order was already well-established, Fatis stood erect like a spear.
He wore gleaming chain-mail boots and chain-plate armor with fur trim, symbolizing his commander status.
One hand habitually rested on his sword hilt, the other on a parapet, his deep eyes like a hawk’s, slowly surveying the two distinct yet equally busy worlds inside and outside the city walls.
On the city walls, the soldiers on duty, both seasoned Swadian Sergeants and newly recruited Swadian Light Infantry, straightened their backs and saluted when they saw him.
Fatis nodded slightly in response, his gaze primarily fixed on the expanding construction sites of the two new eastern and western districts.
The distant clamor from the construction site was faintly audible, and dust rose.
Manid’s figure within it was like a moving black dot.
Fatis watched as the newly built sections of the city wall gradually closed and rose, as rows of new house foundations extended straight, and as countless ant-like figures toiled and bustled within them.
This grand spectacle of construction brought a very faint but genuine sense of relief to his stern face.
This construction itself was a manifestation of order and strength.
Though the construction site was busy and somewhat like an ant’s nest, the chaos he had feared did not appear.
Manid seemed to have truly managed this massive scene; foremen and workers performed their duties, materials were transported in an orderly fashion, and there were no incidents of looting, brawls, or anything that would affect the order of the core area.
“Order… is the cornerstone of survival, and also the embodiment of Lord Shen Mu’s will,” Fatis murmured to himself, as if summarizing his inspection for the day.
He regarded Manid’s management ability with even higher esteem.
His gaze did not linger too long on the bustling construction site, quickly turning to the area below the inner side of the city wall.
There was a newly cleared open space near the base of the old city wall, which had been leveled and specifically designated as a new recruit training ground.
At this moment, shouts and battle cries echoed across the training ground.
Dozens of newly recruited soldiers—including strong but still clumsy young Swadians, wearing uniformly issued plain leather armor and holding red-painted training wooden spears or wooden swords—were lined up, practicing basic stabbing movements.
“Thrust! Stab! Recover! Steady your lower body! Don’t mess up your footwork!” A grizzled old Swadian Sergeant roared loudly, constantly correcting the recruits’ movements.
“You! Hold your spear higher! Do you want someone to stab you down in one go?”
“You! Your back is slumped! Put some strength into it!”
In the sunlight, sweat dripped down the young or not-so-young faces of the recruits. Some were panting, some gritted their teeth and persevered, some had standard movements, and some were full of flaws.
But without exception, everyone’s eyes held a longing for the future, and a hint of ferocity ignited by the high-pressure training.
They knew that only by passing here could they truly don armor and wield sharp blades, to fight for the protection of this city that gave them safety, and to serve Lord Shen Mu, who had pulled them back from the edge of the abyss.
Fatis’s gaze slowly moved over these new recruits, like a quality inspector examining newly forged weapon blanks.
He saw roughness, he saw awkwardness, but he also saw progress.
One new youth, who initially couldn’t even hold a wooden sword steadily, could now fluidly complete a set of basic blocking movements.
A tall Swadian Farmer’s son, whose footsteps were strong but lacked coordination, was also beginning to develop a sense of cooperation under the constant guidance of the veteran soldiers.
“Manpower… is still very insufficient. It’s even further from being able to counter the threat from the east.” Fatis mused, his eyes sharp: “But the seeds have been sown. With time, with loyalty, with continuous tempering…” He believed that with the nourishment of Lord Shen Mu’s regulated food and the guarantee of a relatively safe environment, these new recruits would grow much faster than usual.
His gaze finally passed over the training ground, looking towards the location of the Lord’s Hall.
That existence, stable as a bedrock for the city’s foundation, was the ultimate destination of all this prosperity and busyness, training and construction.
Fatis straightened his back, as if saluting an invisible lord, silently vowing: “Lord Shen Mu, what you ask for, I shall strive to complete. Deherim’s army will always be ready to crush all obstacles for your will.”
He turned, his iron boots making a crisp rhythm on the stone bricks, continuing his patrol of the city walls.
The setting sun cast his shadow long, projecting it onto the sturdy new city walls, merging with the city into the deepening twilight background.
Inside the city walls was the clamor and hope of new life.
Outside the city walls were endless threats lurking in the darkness.
And this high wall connecting the inside and outside was the symbol of protecting order. (End of Chapter)
