Chapter 43: The Threat from Upstream

Joan detected the hint of temptation in Sisi’s words. She lifted her gaze to meet the fairy girl’s lake-green eyes and asked calmly, “Tell me first—what is this treasure you speak of?”

“Two books,” Sisi answered truthfully. “I can’t understand the contents, but I know they’re related to magic.”

Joan’s expression remained unchanged, but inwardly, her heart was anything but calm. A spellbook was what she craved most at the moment, and if Sisi could offer such a resource, it was far more enticing than pearls.

Though tempted, Joan refused to let her desires lead her into a rash decision. She replied candidly, “I’m not sure whether I have enough strength to help you reclaim your home. Please give me more time to consider it. I’ll let you know my decision as soon as possible.”

“Very well, Mage,” Sisi replied with a graceful bow. She took her brother’s hand and withdrew into the river, vanishing into the shimmering depths.

“What’s your plan now, Joan?” Conti asked urgently.

“I’ll return to the workshop first. I need to write a letter,” Joan answered in a soft voice.

She did not elaborate further. Turning back to the smithy, Joan borrowed paper and pen from Tom and wrote down in detail the truth about the repeated sabotage of the waterwheel mechanism, as well as the plight and request of the nixie siblings. She concluded with her own thoughts.

“The lake upstream in Derlin Valley has been occupied by aquatic ghouls. As is well known, the stench they emit carries virulent disease. The longer these ghouls remain upstream, the more likely the river below—including the daily drinking water for the residents of Derlin Town—will be contaminated by the ghoul plague. Should such a virulent epidemic break out, it would pose a great threat to the lives of all townsfolk.”

After making clear the danger the water ghouls presented to the town, Joan wrote her conclusion:

“Even if only to safeguard our water supply, it is necessary to eliminate the ghouls entrenched in the upstream lake.”

Once finished, Joan handed the letter to Conti, signaling for her to review it and suggest any additions or changes.

Conti scanned the letter swiftly, then looked up and regarded Joan with a particularly complex expression. After a long moment, she spoke.

“It’s very well written—quite persuasive! But I don’t understand why you can’t express these clear and logical ideas aloud?”

Joan merely tugged at the corner of her mouth and said nothing.

Conti sighed and let the matter drop, then asked, “Who is this letter for?”

“For Mr. Flint Anvil, of course.”

Joan rose and called Tom over, instructing him to deliver the letter immediately to Flint Anvil and bring back his reply.

When Tom wasn’t drinking, he was reliable enough. He dashed out with the letter and, in less than an hour, returned sweating profusely.

“Mr. Vida, my uncle read your letter and asked me to give you his reply.”

“Take your time,” Joan said.

“Well, my uncle said he fully agrees with your analysis and your conclusions, and he’s decided to take action tomorrow.”

This did not surprise Joan. With Flint’s character, he would never allow Derlin Town to be threatened by upstream ghouls.

“Did Mr. Flint say anything else?”

“Oh, yes! He also said that to quickly locate the ghouls’ lair, he hopes you can persuade the nixies to guide him. If you yourself are willing to join tomorrow’s operation, you’d be welcome, and after the battle, he’ll give you a special reward—on top of the one hundred gold ducats promised in the public notice!” Tom gulped down a large glass of water to soothe his dry throat, then said excitedly, “You really ought to join us, Mr. Vida! My uncle won’t treat you unfairly. Besides, if you don’t come, neither of us speaks the fairy tongue—how will we communicate with the nixies?”

“Tom, you’ll be fighting the ghouls too?” Joan asked the young dwarven blacksmith.

“Of course! Don’t think I’m just a smith—none of the town militia, including the Tyndall brothers, can claim to be tougher than I am!” Tom puffed out his chest proudly.

“Is that so?” Joan eyed him skeptically. “When we met the nixies before, you didn’t seem so formidable.”

“Well… that’s a different matter,” Tom admitted. “To be honest, I’m a bit afraid of those who can use magic—like fairies, or, um…” The dwarf glanced at Joan and swallowed the word “wizard.” “But as for those stinking ghouls who know nothing of magic, I’m not afraid of them!”

Joan’s lips quirked up as she suppressed a laugh. “Sharpen your warhammer, Tom. Tomorrow, Conti and I will fight alongside you.”

“Fantastic! Let’s join forces and give those reeking ghouls a proper thrashing!” Tom punched the air enthusiastically, then yawned hugely. “Mr. Vida, you haven’t slept all night, have you? You’d best get some rest before dawn. Be back here by ten tomorrow morning—my uncle and I will be waiting for you and Miss Conti.”

“Then, until tomorrow.” After a long night, Joan was exhausted too. She took her leave and went home to rest. As a mage, only with a full night’s sleep would she recover her spell slots for tomorrow’s expedition against the ghouls.

Joan arrived home around two in the morning, washed up quickly, and fell into bed. When she woke the next day, the sun was already high. She hurried to prepare her spells while Conti made breakfast. Together with Jamie, they finished their meal quickly and managed to reach the smithy just in time.

Tom was waiting anxiously at the door. The moment he saw Joan and Conti, his round, chubby face broke into a broad grin.

“I thought you’d lost your nerve!”

“Who are you calling a coward, you crybaby?!” Conti shot back, none too kindly.

Tom blushed and dared not retort. Joan noticed that today, the young dwarf was a changed man. He wore chainmail, a horned helm, and a massive iron shield shaped like a tortoise shell on his back. He truly looked a doughty warrior—a far cry from his drunken state the night before.

But compared to Tom, the transformation in his uncle, Flint Anvil, was even more striking. The instructor of the Derlin Town militia, an eighth-level warrior, was now fully armored in a heavy suit of plate. His crimson cloak billowed behind him, and upon his head gleamed a horned steel helm. In his left hand he bore a shining kite shield of refined steel, emblazoned at its center with the noble crest of House Anvil—commanding, imposing, and worthy of deep respect.

Most eye-catching of all was the weapon in Mr. Flint’s hand: a massive warhammer. Its silver haft was wrapped in python hide, the head forged from adamantine and etched with mysterious runes. Joan could sense a powerful magical energy emanating from it.