Chapter 219: Council of Fear

Jonathan stood in a vast chamber within Bastion’s fortress, a council room where Bartholomew had summoned many of the Safe Zone’s most influential figures. Merchants, innkeepers, landlords with apartment blocks scattered across the district, every one of them held economic sway in the region surrounding the fortress. It was the most prosperous area in the Safe Zone, and nothing there happened without Bartholomew’s hand on the reins. He wasn’t about to let trade run unchecked in his own backyard.

These merchants enjoyed privileges others could only dream of: military protection during invasions, permits to harvest resources from controlled zones, access to blacksmith forges and mining caves, even logging rights. All under the watch of Bastion’s soldiers.

An ordinary lumber company in the Safe Zone couldn’t simply cut from the easiest groves. They were forced to venture into the Wild Zone, and never at the borders, where felling the wrong trees might weaken the natural defenses that protected everyone during monster waves. That meant plunging deep into hostile territory, hiring not just laborers but guards to fend off bandits and beasts alike. But Bartholomew’s allies could work choice areas, even within the Safe Zone, under the army’s shield.

It was a well-oiled system. A skilled farmer blessed with the rare Plant Growth skill could replenish what was harvested, creating a constant cycle of production. Trees were felled, crops regrown, goods traded. The economy kept spinning.

And these favored merchants wielded more than coin, they held influence. They gathered whispers, spread whatever truths Bastion’s king wanted heard, and helped manage the restless souls eager to return to Earth. Jonathan had learned they were Bartholomew’s pieces on the board, though most of them had no idea. They fancied themselves a sort of noble class, bringing order and comfort to the Safe Zone. A thriving marketplace meant jobs, jobs meant full bellies, and full bellies meant less crime. Less crime meant fewer criminals and more people contributing to the collective push to clear the tutorial.

But it was all a lie. Bartholomew wasn’t building a society to move forward, he was crafting a utopia to keep people here, buying time so no one would leave.

“Is that true?” someone asked, their voice a strange blend of shock and excitement.

Even Jonathan felt the same jolt of surprise. The barrier gate to the next tutorial zone had been opened.

“It’s been some time since it happened,” Bartholomew said. “I didn’t tell anyone because I was waiting for the right moment.”

***

Bartholomew had gathered every major player in the Safe Zone into that room. The news he carried wasn’t good, at least not for them. The gate to the next stage of the tutorial had been open for some time now, and he had no idea how, or who was responsible.

He had stationed a camp at the entrance and sent teams to scout, but there was no containing it. His soldiers had started to grow restless, eager, even giddy. He needed to keep that excitement under control. That was why he had been quietly assembling a new network of criminals all this time, more trouble, more distractions for the Safe Zone. But the question still hammered in his head: who had opened that damn gate?

His first suspicion had been the people from the Haven. Weak, destitute, except for Allison Rhiannon and the other noble, Mason. But they had been under watch during the period when he still controlled the gate, and they had never once gone in that direction. In fact, their expeditions always led them the other way. Then they had vanished. His soldiers had made a few inquiries, but all they learned was that her group had made some kind of promise to Angelica and were training in the Wall Dungeon to get stronger.

He had considered posting someone to keep an eye on them, but that dungeon was a maze. They could be anywhere. And now his problems had stacked too high to waste resources. Whoever it was, it was not the Haven. Someone else, a powerful, growing faction, had slipped right under his nose. He needed to find them. That was why he had left a strong detachment at the gate, led by Ronan. No one would cross without him knowing. And so far, no one had.

Keeping Ronan out there had also freed Kruger to start building the new gang. Ronan was critical to Bastion’s operations, but in the end, he was just another fool obsessed with leaving the tutorial.

All of this left Bartholomew in a state of simmering chaos. And then there was the Death Painting. Every time he used it, that damned black panther appeared in the darkness, watching, waiting. Something out there wanted him dead. He had killed Marshall. He could walk anywhere in the Safe Zone without fear, no one else had the strength to challenge him. But the sight of that panther was enough to keep him locked inside his fortress.

“It’s been some time since it happened,” he said at last. “I didn’t tell anyone because I was waiting for the right moment.”

The merchants stared at him, wide-eyed and eager, hungry for answers.

“It wasn’t Bastion that opened that part of the tutorial,” Bartholomew told them.

His tone hardened, frustration sharpening every word. “Keep explaining, Ronan.”

“It’s been a month since we discovered the gate was open,” Ronan reported.

“That’s incredible, isn’t it?” asked Eddie, a timber merchant.

“Incredible? That doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel,” said Tom, who owned a clothing shop that used fabric from Wild Zone creatures. “If we told the people, they’d throw a festival in the Safe Zone.”

Ronan’s expression stayed dark. “The truth is, we don’t know who opened the gate. And the one responsible… might already be dead.”

Every face in the room turned toward him, their expressions shifting into something caught between confusion and dread.

“There’s a new area out there,” Ronan began, “bigger than the entire Wild Zone. But to reach it, you have to cross a forest.” His voice dipped. “None of the soldiers made it far.”

“What do you mean?” someone asked.

Bartholomew exhaled, letting Ronan take the lead. For once, the man actually had something worth sharing.

“They’re all dead,” Ronan said flatly. “We found pieces of them scattered across the woods, next to grinning statues. It took a while to realize those statues were the monsters. Destroy them during the day, and by night they would put themselves back together and start hunting again. No one got past them.”

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“S-s-stronger than a Midnight Warden?” Eddie asked, his voice shaking.

At least their fear was something Bartholomew could enjoy.

“In terms of brute strength?” Ronan shook his head. “No. I’ve killed a few myself and gotten stronger for it. Wardens have gear, while the statues are pure damage. The real danger is when they come in groups. They attack from a distance with bows.” He hesitated. “But that wasn’t the worst part.”

He swallowed hard, eyes dropping to the floor. “I sent a large team, men I personally selected. Their mission was to enter the forest, grind levels, and try to approach the other city. But…” His voice trailed off. “They ran into a giant snake.”

“A… giant snake?” Tom’s voice cracked.

“I just returned with the few who survived,” Ronan said. “One man is completely broken, can’t even speak. Watched his friend dissolve in front of him, burned away by acid. The only thing he managed to say to me was, ‘There’s no salvation left for us.’”

The room went pale. Even the soldiers standing silent in the corners looked uneasy.

“Any courage or will to explore that new area died with that story,” Ronan went on. “No one who’s heard it wants to go near the place. For them, defeating that thing is impossible, let alone reaching the castle.”

Bartholomew kept his face appropriately grim, but inside, the words were music. No one in their right mind would fight a monster like that. One less problem for him to deal with. Yes, the open gate still bothered him, he hated not knowing who had done it or how many were involved, but if nature itself was guarding the path, his enemies could break their necks on it for all he cared.