A translucent panel quietly unfolded before Velin's eyes.
[Name: Walker]
[Level: No Level]
[Bloodline: Toxin-Tempered Forest Frog (Bronze Tier) 8%, Mixed Bloodline 92%]
[Abilities: None]
[Overall Evaluation: Severe chronic toxin accumulation. Diluted bloodline. No potential for development.]
'Chronic toxin accumulation?'
Velin's gaze moved from Old Walker's face, sweeping over the numb crowd behind him.
The young, the middle-aged, the children.
Without exception, their panels all displayed a "chronic toxin accumulation" status, varying only in severity.
In stark contrast were the fifteen settler families he had brought with him.
Their status bars showed only temporary debuffs like hunger, fatigue, fear, and low morale. Their bodies themselves were fundamentally healthy.
Clearly, Gray Mist Village's problems went beyond just barren land.
"Respected Sir, are you the new master of this land?"
The stooped Old Walker spoke. His voice was raspy, like two dry leaves rustling together.
He didn't use the honorific "Master," instead opting for the more distant and formal "Sir."
"My name is Velin Klein," Velin replied, his gaze still fixed on the old man's face. "From this day forward, I am the lord of this land."
A few scattered people knelt, the sounds ragged and few.
The investiture ceremony was over in a matter of sentences. The dilapidated village and the hasty ritual seemed a fitting pair.
"May your rule bring change to Gray Mist Village." Village Elder Walker gave a slight bow. It was a timeless, unchanging ritual.
He had seen several lords in his lifetime—minor nobles appointed by the Duchy, Knights rewarded for their valor in battle.
They came with hope or ambition, only to leave in disappointment or bankruptcy.
Only the gray swamp and its gray people remained, forever left behind to await the next, identical fate.
Velin paid the old man's dismissiveness no mind. He was focused on the matter of the poisoning.
An entire village was showing similar symptoms of poisoning, yet the outsiders were unaffected.
'It wasn't a poisonous mist, or the settlers would have been afflicted too. It wasn't a Magic curse; the system panel showed no such indication.'
'That meant the source had to be something all the villagers shared, but the settlers hadn't yet been exposed to.'
'Food or water.'
'Basic necessities no one could live without.'
He decided to start his investigation with the water supply.
"Where does the village water come from?" Velin asked suddenly.
Old Walker paused, then pointed a withered finger toward the center of the village.
"Only the well, Sir. We all call it 'Old Grandfather.'"
Velin's gaze followed his finger.
An old well, built from gray stone, its rim deeply grooved by ropes.
He leaped down from a packing crate and, to the bewildered stares of the crowd, walked straight toward the old well.
Barrett immediately followed, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he scanned the surroundings vigilantly.
As Velin drew closer, he caught the scent of rust.
That wasn't how a normal well should smell.
He stopped at the well's edge and leaned over to inspect it.
First, the moss. It was a dark, blue-black green, with scorched, withered edges.
Next, the insects—or lack thereof. The area around an ancient, perpetually damp well should have been a haven for mosquitoes, flying ants, water striders, and all manner of small arthropods.
But this place was deathly still.
Velin's gaze traveled further, to the ground and the corners of the houses.
Upon closer inspection, he saw a faint boundary in the village's plant life.
The closer the plants were to the well, the more stunted they were, their leaves tinged with yellow. In contrast, the plants farther away—a few salt-tolerant shrubs near the swamp's edge—while not thriving, at least retained a basic green color.
The conclusion was undeniable.
This was a poison well.
The source of the contamination could be a deep underground vein of heavy metals, or perhaps a microbial colony secreting chronic toxins.
Either way, the result was the same.
To continue drinking this water was to commit slow suicide.
Velin turned to face the nearly two hundred frightened people in the square.
"Captain Barrett."
"Present, my Lord!"
"Have your men secure this well immediately! From this moment on, no one is to approach it for water. You are authorized to use force on anyone who disobeys!" Velin's voice was cold and resolute.
The order immediately sent the crowd into an uproar.
"What?"
"He's not letting us drink water?!"
"Then what are we supposed to drink?!"
A woman who had just surrendered all her grain shrieked, clutching her child tightly. "No! My child needs water! You can't do this!"
The unrest that had just been suppressed by force flared up again. This time, even the eyes of the listless villagers burned with anger.
This was the only source of water in the area. To them, this well was life itself.
Were they supposed to drink putrid water from the swamp instead?
"My Lord, this…" Barrett hesitated. He understood controlling food supplies, but denying them water? That was pushing them to their deaths.
"The water from this well is poisonous."
Velin's voice wasn't loud, but it brought the clamor to an abrupt halt.
Poisonous?
The villagers stared, dumbfounded, looking at the well in disbelief.
'They'd been drinking this water their whole lives. How could it be poisonous?'
"Impossible!" Old Walker's voice trembled as he refuted the claim. "Sir, you must be mistaken! This is a gift from 'Old Grandfather'! Our ancestors have drunk from this well for generations! It is our Holy Water!"
"And that is why your ancestors never lived long lives," Velin cut him off coldly. "It's why your children fall ill for no reason, why your bodies grow weaker by the day, until you finally die like rotten wood in a swamp."
He plucked a hardy weed from the ground and dipped it into a bucket of freshly drawn well water.
Spiritual Power flowed from him like silken threads, infusing the weed's stem.
"Spring Messenger."
Velin's face visibly paled, and fine beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
The weed, catalyzed by his Spiritual Power, did not grow greener. Instead, it rapidly yellowed and curled, finally turning into a scorched, blackened husk.
Dead silence.
A deathly silence fell around the well.
Everyone, settler and villager alike, stared at the withered weed, the color drained completely from their faces.
The mother who had been screaming moments before looked at the sallow face of the child in her arms, her anger turning to sheer terror.
Old Walker trembled violently, his lips quivering, unable to utter another word.
The so-called Holy Water in the well, the so-called curse of the swamp… the truth was so simple, and so cruel.
"Now, carry out my order." Velin's gaze swept over the crowd, carrying an indisputable authority. "Seal the well. The fresh water we brought on the wagons will be rationed from now on. There is enough for everyone to drink, but waste is strictly forbidden! Barrett, have your men see to it."
"Yes, my Lord!"
This time, Barrett showed no hesitation. He immediately led the Mercenaries forward, using ropes and planks to crudely seal off the well.
The settlers and villagers alike watched blankly, their minds reeling.
Velin looked at them and spoke again. "I know what you're afraid of. You're afraid that you'll die of thirst here with no water to drink."
"Listen!" he called out, raising his voice to capture everyone's attention.
"I brought you here to live, not to find a new place to wait for death! Starting tomorrow, I will lead you to a new, cleaner water source! Until then, every one of you will obey my every command!"
His words were like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. The anger in people's eyes subsided, replaced by a flicker of hope.