Chapter 19: The Gentle Woman in the Doll Graveyard

The Serpent Woods at dusk were eerie and desolate. Freya trailed closely behind Morwen, eagerly listening to their conversation. If she hadn’t been holding sunflower seeds, Morwen half suspected she might have started cracking them open right then and there.

Ignoring Freya, Morwen asked with curiosity, “Hank, how did things come to this state here?”

“In our land, the Duchy of Maine became quite renowned for its advancements and innovations in automaton technology,” Hank replied.

“But now, seeing it like this...” Hank, who was leading the way, sighed deeply. “Back then, we truly lived decent lives, but... sigh...”

“Lord Morwen, your question is rather complicated. I can’t quite explain it clearly. Perhaps it would be better for the Overseer to explain once we reach the sanctuary?”

The Overseer? Morwen nodded thoughtfully. From the very beginning, Hank had mentioned the “sanctuary” repeatedly. Clearly, among the survivors of Clark Town, the sanctuary held extraordinary significance and function.

As they chatted along the way for about half an hour, a faint glow appeared at the end of a nearby path. Pushing aside the overly thick weeds, Morwen and Freya found themselves facing a town shrouded in a light mist not far off.

The normally pale fog was tinted with a strange, dusky yellow from the flickering candlelight, making Clark Town look like a town forever caught in twilight.

“Clang, clang, clang—”

The clear sound of heavy metal striking echoed from afar, a sign that this was still an industrial town in operation.

Gray-white brick buildings, two to three stories tall, were clustered around a towering spire at the center. Shadows of figures could be seen moving faintly through the mist.

“Soldier automatons are increasing. We must hurry,” Hank said in a low voice, pulling Morwen’s attention back.

Morwen nodded and followed Hank. Instead of entering through the town gates, Hank led them around to a secluded, barren section of low city walls. He pushed aside weeds and flipped open a manhole cover, revealing a pitch-black underground passage.

“Follow me.”

Hank slipped down into the sewer entrance first. Morwen tugged at the corner of his mouth, surprised by how desperate the people here had become—hiding in underground tunnels to survive.

He glanced at Freya beside him. He had worried that the pampered young lady might disdain this, but instead, she met his gaze with eager eyes.

“Wait—you're fascinated by going into sewers too?” he thought with a silent chuckle before crouching down to enter.

Once Morwen and the overlooked Freya had descended, Hank climbed back up to close the entrance behind them, then lit a simple square lantern from his belt. The dim light pierced the darkness, guiding their way.

The years of decay and rot filled Morwen’s nostrils with a foul stench, making him frown as he endured. Fortunately, this was but a dream form, so he need not worry about the poisonous air damaging his health.

The underground passages twisted and turned. Not long after, Hank climbed up another shaft to the surface. Fresh air brought relief to Morwen.

Surveying the surroundings, he was momentarily stunned.

They stood on a broad plain strewn haphazardly with the broken bodies of automatons. Their eyes were closed, parts visibly aged and worn. In each chest cavity, the automaton’s heart was missing.

“What is this place?” Morwen asked in surprise.

“It’s the automaton graveyard,” Hank replied. “All discarded automatons are dumped here. It’s also one of the few places in Clark Town without any rogue automatons.”

“Follow me. The sanctuary lies deep within the graveyard. The Overseer has said that if we encounter fellow survivors outside, we should help each other and bring them back here.”

“There aren’t many humans left in this country... If we don’t cooperate, we might perish even faster.”

From Hank’s tone, Morwen could sense his deep reverence for the Overseer. This stirred Morwen’s curiosity about the Overseer—what kind of person could sustain such a sanctuary in these harsh conditions and earn the genuine love of its members?

They pressed onward until a dilapidated factory hidden behind a mountain of automaton corpses came into view.

“This used to be the automaton disposal plant, but it’s been abandoned for years,” Hank explained briefly before approaching the locked metal door. He rapped on it, then whispered, “Rand, it’s me, Hank. I’ve brought a fellow survivor.”

A faint noise came from behind the door, as if someone was peering out through a peephole. About ten seconds later, the door creaked open.

A figure wearing a raven-beaked mask stuck out their head. “Come in quickly. Night is falling.”

From the voice, it seemed to be a young man.

“I thought you’d be spending the night outside,” he said.

“Did you find the clean snakegrass?” Hank entered through the half-open door and patted a small cloth pouch at his waist. “Luckily, yes. We found quite a bit.”

Hearing this, Rand’s tone brightened noticeably. “That’s great. Little Wendy will be saved.”

“And who is this?” Rand asked, turning to look at Morwen.

“Lord Morwen, a formidable style swordsman,” Hank introduced.

“I saw it with my own eyes—Lord Morwen used a longsword to dismantle a soldier automaton single-handedly!”

Rand was momentarily stunned. “Style swordsman?”

“All right, stop daydreaming.” Hank patted Rand on the shoulder. “You take Lord Morwen to see the Overseer. I’ll go home to treat Little Wendy.”

“…Okay,” Rand snapped out of his daze and nodded vigorously, then bowed slightly to Morwen. “Mr. Morwen, please follow me.”

Watching Hank hurry off, Morwen smiled and nodded to Rand. “Thank you for your trouble.”

“You’re welcome,” Rand replied, then quietly led the way. They walked deeper into the factory until they reached a spacious room with a large furnace in the center.

Rand stopped and saluted a figure conversing beside the furnace.

“Overseer, Hank has brought back a fellow survivor.”

“Mr. Morwen, a powerful style swordsman,” Rand announced.

“I’ve told you several times already—just call me Sofia,” came a gentle female voice.

Morwen turned toward the voice.

Before him stood a woman with soft, delicate features radiating warmth. She appeared to be nearing thirty. Her loose yellow-white gown struggled to conceal her ample figure. Her pale golden hair was braided neatly, falling skillfully over her shoulders and chest.

“Hello, I am Sofia, the Overseer of this sanctuary.”

“Just call me Miss Sofia.”

“Welcome to the sanctuary. May the flame and starlight warm your weary soul.”