Chapter 630: Painstaking investigations (I)
Translator: Translation Nation Editor: Translation Nation
Sheyan’s eyes contained not a single hint of regret as he eyed this badly damaged, and incomplete journal log. Instead, his lips curled into a confident slight smile as he muttered to himself.
"Do you really think you can mask the truth by doing that????"
"Truly.....naive!!!"
Sheyan continued studying the contents of the diary.
「 The legends....are real. 」
「 Momore actually crawled out from the grave after being shot by that damned aborigine!! 」
"...…"
"....."
Sheyan finally understood that he had chosen the wrong approach ever since he arrived. That was attempting to openly storm his way towards his objectives in this ‘A’ difficulty world.
All along, he felt as though his path was exceedingly straightforward and clear. Strictly speaking, if his party could continue advancing, they may still inevitably reach their goal. Sadly, just when the conceited Party Ace entered the inner reaches of the Kijuju Marshland, they suffered a colossal setback that compelled them to give up.
Yet it was because of this straightforward and clear path, it led to Sheyan neglect an astronomically crucial object. Something he couldn’t seem to put his grip around, because all his energy had been channelled towards trodding this straightforward path.
Thus, the present Sheyan, whose hands were finally freed to focus on this new crux of direction, naturally made an all-out effort; discovering loads of information from the journal. (you can refer back to the earlier chapter on Bernard Fokke’s journal)
Firstly, one can fathom from Momore’s existence, that Bernard Fokke’s method was exceptionally unique. He could even escort a horse into the deep inner core reaches of the Kijuju Marshland, where even this ordinary little horse, managed to feast on the ‘Stairway of the Sun’. This basically eliminates the theory of employing alchemy or dark magic, because the target usage of such abilities wouldn’t include such livestock, and probably wouldn’t be effective on them either.
Evidently, they had only been discovered while escaping the place. Prior to that, they even managed to safely arrive by the side of the Ndipaya tribe’s altar.
Sheyan also took note of a symbolic landmark that was mentioned – the large bonfire. He then swiftly committed this vital point to memory.
Apart from that, the journal log also detailed that Travice, should’ve degenerated into that similar Plaga infected host Sheyan encountered earlier; thereby obtaining eternity but yielding all humanity and losing himself.
Furthermore, the death of the two years old Momore, was probably due to being struck by an aborigine’s javelin....which coincidentally aligns with Sheyan’s earlier conjecture, that those Ndipaya barbarians had foes that possessed terrifying long-range capabilities. Hence, the reason they were adept at evading and dealing with far range assaults.
This discovery was exceedingly crucial. The enemy of an enemy may not necessarily be a friend, but Sheyan could confirm that at least, within the inner core reaches of the Kijuju Marshland, there existed a fierce conflict!
Moreover, this conflict had been long-established with such deep-rooted hatred, that mediation was inconceivable. This indicated that at least, Sheyan could toy with the idea of stirring up the muddy waters.
At present, Sheyan had thoroughly abandoned his plans of returning. To him who had discovered a golden glittering pathway amidst the hurdles of despair….such a sensation was truly a glimmer of hope at one’s darkest hour, the light at the end of a tunnel!
Even though Little Lord Fokke had wrecked the utmostly pivotal portion of ‘Bernard Fokke’s Journal Log’, but to Sheyan, it wasn’t an insurmountable chasm. It wasn’t a case without any leads.
Though the sequence of progression into the inner core reaches of the Ndipaya tribe was shrouded in a mysterious fog, Sheyan was still aware of Bernard Fokke’s travel beginning and conclusion
This was akin to a ball of tangled yarn, where its head and tail were still presented to him. Therefore, what Sheyan needed to do now, was to trace from the head of the yarn thread all the way to its tail; unravelling the tangledness through painstaking investigations.
Naturally, he had the utmost confidence in himself to uncover everything.
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Nightfall. Within the stifling humidity of the primitive jungle, a half-flayed monkey and python were presently being roasted above a fiery bonfire. An alluring fragrance pervaded the air.
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Mbenga cautiously surveyed the roasting monkey, while occasionally adding salt and spices with a focused countenance. Indeed, in this harsh primitive environment, the two major elements were undoubtedly food and propagation.
Seated beside the bonfire, Sheyan remained unmoving. His brows were tightly knitted as beads of perspiration rolled down his forehead; soaking wet his hair, leaving a dripping feeling of discomfort.
The rich odour of perspiration attracted multitudes of bugs, little nips, sandflies and fleas, where they congregated into a buzzing cloud above Sheyan’s head. Fortunately, the herbal repellant of the natives was impressively unyielding. Thus, though the hordes of insects were famished and rapacious, they could only spiral about helplessly; not daring to descend onto their prey.
"I got it!"
Sheyan abruptly straightened his posture as he clenched his fist and exclaimed. His brows instantly soothed as well. But because of this, his head instantly collided into the cloud of blood-sucking pests above his head. Within a split second, Sheyan plunged into a horrendously wretched predicament, as he repeatedly swiped his face flustering.
Witnessing this scene, Mbenga hastily fished a combusting wood branch as he waved it around the air incessantly. In a flash, those blood-suckers fell to the ground in successions, emitting cauterizing sizzles and an awful charred stench.
After escaping the large regiments of blood-sucking pests, Sheyan tossed a bottle of rum to Mbenga as he sat back down.
After sweeping aside dried twigs and leaves, he picked up a splintered twig and begun swiftly drawing on the flat ground.
"Firstly, contemplating this question by putting myself in his shoes. If I was dying from a terminal illness…..without any special powers, along with an assistant, swindlers, and pirates to sail across the sea to this godforsaken land, in search of a miraculous cure of the legends…...then, the first thing I will consider would be..."
"Right, a base camp!! A stable base camp that can provide reliable protection and a peace of mind to sleep. Even the most specified maps of explorers would detail a base camp before venturing out; where unnecessary loads can be removed, arms can be prepared, and prevent the situation of a food shortage during the return trip. Besides, this place is still several dozens of miles away from the nearest Port Qom. Perhaps to ordinary folk like them, it would take a few days to trek through the jungle..."
"Let me think. This base camp absolutely isn’t located too near the Kijuju Marshland, otherwise, the awful stench and pollution of pestilences would’ve crumbled his expedition team. Nonetheless, it wouldn’t be too far from Kijuju Marshland as well, for a team desiring to explore the treacherous marshland, they wouldn’t want to be wasting too much energy in this sultry jungle. Therefore, a 2-3 kilometres radius wouldn’t be a bad choice."
Sheyan continued drawing on the sandy surface, traversing centuries of time as he outlined clearly, what may have occurred during that epoch.
"Oh! Right, they voyaged nearly half the globe to reach here, they definitely couldn’t have prepared adequate fresh water. As for the Kijuju Marshland, one must have sufficient guts and vitality to sample their abundance of ‘freshwater’. Therefore, there should be a freshwater source near their base camp, one that can minimally support close to ten individuals and a horse. In consideration of the lack of a large river nearby this tropical rainforest region, the chances of a landslide, mudslide or massive flooding, which could change the topography of the place, would be rather minuscule. Hence, a freshwater source should be still around!"
"Thus, what am I waiting for? Every second of tarrying in this world, amounts to an exorbitant cost of wastage!" Sheyan made his resolve.
"Alright Mbenga, have you eaten your fill? Oh, not yet eh, I don’t mind you bringing along our roast meat as we journey. You ought to be aware of small streams near the Kijuju Marshland right? Of course, spring water counts as well."
"Oh, You know of three places? Don’t worry, let’s first head for the places you know."
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Four hours later, Mbenga was breathing heavily like an ox; exhausting himself greatly.
Regardless of who, trekking through this sultry primitive jungle that spanned hundreds of kilometres, during the night where the temperature climbed to over 35 degrees, nobody’s reaction would be better off than his. During this short duration, he had already accompanied Sheyan to visit three streams and two springs.
Presently, a lowland tapir was limping in escape ahead of them. Not only was this pitiful animal bleeding, its wound had even been rubbed with salt, and was currently dying of thirst.
Indeed, perhaps Mbenga wasn’t aware of all freshwater sources in the vicinity, but these animals were! Because if they didn’t, it would be impossible for them to live till now.
Relying on such cruel tactics, Sheyan was presently heading towards an unknown water source.
His current demeanor was brimming with patience, where the stifling hot weather failed to infuriate him.
On the contrary, he became additionally calmer, feeling as though he was relatively enjoying the process. A process without the need for brawns and bloodshed. A process that solely relied on one’s brain, to slowly peel off the dust and shade one at a time, and ultimately, laying bare the truths of history before his very eyes.
***************
A tiny river stream resided ahead.
That lowland tapir had utterly ignored its predators behind, as the thirst of its parched mouth drove it into a state of ignorant ludicrosity!