Garden Of The Abyss - Chapter 446

Sitting in the center on his purple cushion, Rohan was busy inscribing something on a horizontal parchment, using some sort of thin, black stick for ink.

“Warchief Rohan,” Momo called out lowly.

The small macaque looked up, his eyes widening a bit as he saw the young man standing beside the orangutan elder, “Ah, Ren! You’re finally awake!”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied with a bit of confusion, not knowing what it was that Rohan wanted from him.

Well, I do have some sort of idea. It probably has to do with the champion of the Stormfallen he mentioned before, he thought.

Taking a seat across from Rohan, they were the only two left in the chamber as Momo resumed his duties with distributing rations to the villagers.

“How’re you feeling, Ren?” Rohan asked, nibbling on a straw of wheat.

It was a good question; not one that he had exactly asked himself yet after waking up. As he briefly clenched his fists and flexed his body, he could feel a renewed vigor flowing through it.

Though most of this resurgence of strength could be attributed to finally having a proper meal, rest, and care, there was another factor he knew played well into it.

It’s weird, but…that dream really helped me bring it together. Even if it was just in my head, seeing her again with a smile reminded me of what I’m fighting for…three more days–that’s a piece of cake, he thought.

“As good as I’m going to be,” he answered with a smile.

“Hoh, I’m glad to hear that,” Rohan said, “Dr. Kuregura might be a bit on the eccentric side, but he is practically a mage with the miracles he performs.”

Again, he was offered a piece of monmon bread and some tea as he sat there in the revered room of the elders–which he gladly accepted.

“That’s right,” he said with a mouth full of the luscious bread, “that doctor is handling all of the wounded soldiers by himself, isn’t he? Must be rough.”

Rohan shook his head lightly, “That’s just the thing about Dr. Kuregura: he prefers things to be a bit “frantic” in his workplace. As abnormal as it may be, we should be thankful he is the way that he is.”

Though the chamber was mostly silent between their words, it felt as if a lot was being said by the eyes of the elder macaque as a hint of distress was born within them.

“Listen, Ren, I have yet to tell you why I wanted to speak,” Rohan suddenly said with a more dire tone.

“It’s about the Stormfallen champion, isn’t it?” He guessed, taking a sip from the cup of freshly-brewed tea.

Rohan nodded his head slowly, “…That’s right. Things aren’t going quite as well as expected.”

Contrary to the jovial attitude he just held, the warchief of the Velren seemed plagued by an overwhelming stress on his mind as he kept his head down.

It was a surprise to him, but at the same time not completely. The walls seemed to be holding up well against the attempting raid by the Stormfallen; that was undeniable.

There were a lot of injured soldiers—surprisingly, a lot. It’s weird that they’ve been able to inflict that much damage while being held back by those giant walls. If I had to guess…it means that the Stormfallen just outclass the Velren that much.

The walls are their only saving grace, he thought.

“Judging by your expression, you figured it out, didn’t you?” Rohan asked.

“I think I have some sort of idea,” he replied quietly.

A moment of silence persisted in the room before Rohan let out a drawn-out sigh, “What I’m about to say can’t leave this room. Well…we’re fighting a losing battle.”

It was as he figured, but hearing it from the usually jovial elder came out with a certain, immutable reality that couldn’t be denied.

Rohan’s wizened expression was contorted by stress as he gnawed on the string of straw between his lips.

“The Stormfallen are stronger than expected. Or rather, we are weaker than we had thought,” Rohan begrudgingly admitted, “it’s not even that their numbers are greater. In fact, they’re much lower…but, the strength of just a single one of their elites is enough to wipe out a whole squadron of our soldiers.”

“Yeah, I kind of have an idea how dangerous they are myself,” he scratched his head, “They acted in complete unison, using tactics—it’s completely unlike how goblins usually operate. Beyond that, when I killed one…it used its own life to help its comrades find my location. So yeah, I get it.”

As he spoke, he caressed the wound that was scarred onto his left arm. It wasn’t difficult to remember the injuries they left him with, as it led to miserable days.

“I believe what you encountered was just their reconnaissance squadron. In truth, their real strength is much, much more devastating. Most of their hobgoblins are strong enough to give even Makabar a challenge, and their mages can contest Yon’s magecraft. But, the worst is likely about to arrive…” Rohan spoke with a dire, gloomy tone as he huffed silently.

As he looked down at his cup of tea, the liquid trembled, rippling lightly; the constant battle ongoing at the walls caused the abode to constantly shake–a constant reminder of the times that fell on Umber Cloud.

“And what’s that? The champion?” He asked.

Rohan stayed still for a second before gentle shaking his head, “The “Abyppoes” are coming. When they arrive, the walls will crumble beneath their strength.”

He was understandably confused by what the elder was referring to, “An “Abyppo”? What’s that supported to be, some sort of special unit they have? They can definitely work on their names…”

The small elder placed his palm down against the beige rug that stretched across the ground, feeling out the subtle vibrations as he took a sip from his cup of warm tea.

It was the silence that persisted around Rohan in those sparse moments that cemented to him the trouble that was approaching the mud walls.

“They aren’t a unit persay; not of goblins, at least. Abyppoes are large, territorial creatures in the Stretch of Dread that are able to snap the trees of the jungle in half with just a snap of their jaws. Somehow, the Stormfallen managed to tame them into their steed…with the power of those fiendish creatures on their side, the walls won’t last another few hours.”

“Why the hell didn’t they use them right away then? It’s been two days, hasn’t it? They’ve lost some men because they neglected to use whatever these “Abyppoes” are, so what’s the deal?” He asked.

It was a question that didn’t seem to be held by the stressed warchief either as sweat could be seen exuding from his pores.

“…I have to correct you on one assumption, Ren.”

“Yeah?”

Rohan looked directly at him, “We haven’t managed to kill a single one of the Stormfallen, yet.”

His eye widened in surprise at this information before he suddenly clutched the eyepatch over his right eye, wincing a bit as he tried to restrain the stifling pain.

“Is something the matter?” Rohana asked worriedly, removing the straw from his mouth.

He put his hand up to reassure the elder, holding a wry smile, “I…I’m fine, it’s just…a condition I have.”

Luckily, it was a brief flash of pain that faded from his throbbing, veiled eye as he continued to caress it as a lasting sensation of burning persisted.

“I see…” Rohan mumbled as he relaxed.

He took in a gathering inhale before slowly breathing out, “So…I’m guessing all of this is your way of asking me to help out, right?”

It was all but confirmed by the silent expression worn on the elder’s sable, wizened face before he finally nodded his head with a released breath.

“Astute of you. We know that as a Purgatory challenger, you’re already one under enough stress, as it is. Nonetheless, we find ourselves with no other option…but, I am not asking you to fight solely out of the goodness of your heart.”

Standing up as he said this, Rohan waddled over to the veiled entrance stationed at the back of the room, gesturing for the young man to follow.

What’s he trying to show me? He wondered.

He followed the elder past the patterned, golden curtains, finding himself in a small room that contained only the statue of a mighty, pole-wielding primate with a large, metallic chest resting beneath it.

“What’s this?” He asked, looking at the tall, rock-made statue.

“The Shrine of The Monkey King,” Rohan answered as he made sure the curtains were properly closed behind them.

There was something peculiar about the statue of the man-faced ape that smiled with a brazen energy; it felt distinctly familiar as he looked at its form. Despite it being pure stone, the exuberant attitude of the one who bore the revered title could be felt as if he was standing there, alive, in that very room.

“Monkey King”…could it be who I think it is? It seems impossible, but King Arthur existed in this world, in some capacity, at least, he thought.

“Is he the one who founded this village?” He asked curiously.

Rohan shook his head with a brief, quiet laughter, “Oh, no. The Monkey King’s time far precedes the birth of Umber Cloud. However, he was the progenitor of the Velren. You see, we’re not exactly like the primates of Gaia you may be familiar with. Most are savage, unorganized, and unable to communicate, I’m aware. That’s because we’re all the descendants of the Monkey King, who was in fact one blessed by the knowledge of a great deity; what he gained was true sentience, which we’ve all inherited from his reverence.”

It was starting to fit the pieces into the puzzle, for him. The existence of the intelligent, organized primates was something he previously chalked up to the “weirdness of this world” but now he had his answer.

So they’re descendants of this Monkey King? I can’t really say for certain if it’s the one I’m thinking of, but I feel like if I ask…I’ll raise more questions than answers, he thought.

“I’m just a bit confused. What’s this have to do with what you were saying before?” He asked, placing his hands on his sides.

Rohan looked up at him with a small laugh, “Impatient, I see. That’s fine. I guess in my old age, I find myself rambling on at times.”

The small macaque moved over to the sealed chest that was many times larger than himself.

Acting as the lock for the chest, an abnormal mechanism sat without any sort of keyhole, instead exhibiting a spiral engraving.

“We, the Velren, are a prideful people, Ren,” Rohan said while running his hand over the lock, “as such, we don’t ask for favors with the reliance of one’s own goodwill being the groundwork.”