I Have a Military Shop Tab in Fantasy World-Chapter 95: The Possible Reason

The MRAP rumbled steadily along the half-forgotten trade road, its reinforced tires crushing weeds and roots that had crept over the crumbling cobblestone. Outside, the terrain was beginning to shift—hills giving way to flattened wetlands, trees thinning into crooked willows, and the air growing wetter with each passing hour.

Inside the vehicle, the mood was tense, but thoughtful.

"Tell me again," Lyra said from the turret seat, tapping the side of the crystal lantern mounted beside her. "Why would anyone want to rebuild Hollowmere into a summoning ground?"

"It’s not about Hollowmere," Arienne replied, her voice steady from the middle bench. "It’s about isolation. No witnesses. No patrols. No one to interrupt."

Korrik grunted. "Still seems stupid. That place is cursed. Every legend says so."

Garen turned from his seat near the rear hatch. "Legends are usually built on truth. Wasn’t it wiped out during the arcane plague?"

Arienne nodded. "Forty years ago. The illness spread fast, but it wasn’t natural. Records from that time mention fluctuations in leylines—magic going wild. Rituals failing. Corpses rising. The kind of anomalies you’d expect when reality begins to tear."

"Sounds familiar," Inigo muttered from the driver’s seat.

They fell quiet for a moment, the hum of the engine filling the void.

"I don’t think Hollowmere was ever abandoned," Inigo added. "Not completely."

"What do you mean?" Lyra asked.

"I mean, what if someone stayed behind? What if they were waiting?"

"Like an advance party?" Korrik said, cocking his head.

"Or a sleeper cell," Garen offered. "Meant to build the infrastructure slowly, over decades."

"That’s insane," Lyra scoffed. "Who would wait that long?"

"A cult," Arienne said softly. "A long-view faith. One that believes time is irrelevant compared to their goal. Especially if they’re summoning something... immortal."

Inigo gripped the wheel tighter. "That’s the part that bothers me. Not just the magic. Not just the planning. It’s the patience. These people aren’t acting like insurgents—they’re acting like soldiers."

"Disciplined ones," Garen added. "With funding."

"Foreign?" Lyra asked.

Inigo shrugged. "Possibly. Maybe even off-continent."

Arienne leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "If the shard-core from the obelisk truly isn’t native, then someone is smuggling high-grade magical material across seas. That takes ships, ports, bribed inspectors. Infrastructure."

"So not a cult," Garen said grimly. "An operation."

"A shadow state," Inigo said. "With rituals instead of armies. Heck, I’m even thinking the Demon Army is behind all of this."

The MRAP jostled slightly as the road dipped into a shallow ravine, flanked by gnarled roots and the scent of stagnant water. Lyra winced, gripping her seat as the suspension absorbed the bump.

"It is possible that the Demon Army is behind all of this, as they were the only one who would benefit to have a rift in our realm."

"Now that you mentioned it, I think that is probably the case." Arienne shot back. "And they don’t coordinate across three sites in a perfect triangle."

Korrik scratched his beard. "You think they are using those sites as a staging point for another invasion?"

Arienne hesitated. "I think that’s the best theory that we have right now."

"An invasion by the Demon King itself. This is getting worse by the second." Lyra said with a troubling voice.

Arienne nodded. "We should be ready for it, and perhaps stop whatever is it their planning by going to Hollowmere.

Inigo agreed. "True."

They fell into another silence.

The land around them was changing again—green giving way to brown. Marshgrass rose waist-high in some places, and the trees now stood farther apart, their branches drooping with heavy moss. The air was thicker, humid, and faintly metallic. The kind of place that made skin crawl for no visible reason.

Three days later. About 500 kilometers west of Elandra.

"We’re approaching the boundary," Garen said, glancing at a map on his lap. "According to Guild records, the outskirts of Hollowmere begin three kilometers west of the next fork."

Inigo nodded. "We make camp before that. I want fresh eyes when we cross into the town limits."

Korrik yawned. "Fine by me. Been too long since we had a proper campfire."

They stopped shortly after noon. The MRAP pulled off what remained of the trail and parked under the protective shade of an old willow grove. Korrik and Lyra moved quickly—unpacking the collapsible tents, securing a perimeter with rune markers, and setting a small fire pit with dry bark.

Arienne walked the edges of the grove, whispering detection wards.

Inigo sat on the bumper of the MRAP, slowly cleaning his shotgun.

"You’re thinking again," Lyra said, tossing him a small ration bar.

He caught it. "Of course."

"What’s bothering you now?"

Inigo looked into the marsh ahead. "I keep thinking about the obelisk. That diary we found. It mentioned a ’Master Kael.’ We never found his body."

Lyra frowned. "You think he escaped?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he was never there."

She followed his gaze. "And you think he’s in Hollowmere."

"I think we’ll find more than just ruins."

Behind them, Arienne returned, her expression guarded.

"There’s ambient magic all around," she said. "Thin, but constant. Like static clinging to the skin. Hollowmere isn’t dead. It’s sleeping."

Garen joined them. "Then we wake it up."

Korrik threw more wood into the fire and let out a satisfied grunt. "Can’t wait."

Nightfall came quickly.

The team huddled around the fire, steam rising from their ration pots as darkness swallowed the horizon. Strange sounds echoed in the distance—unfamiliar birds, wet splashes, the groan of old wood settling.

No one spoke for a long time.

Then Inigo finally broke the silence.

"If this really is a coordinated effort to bring something through... we’re already behind."

Korrik poked the fire. "You think the triangle’s almost complete?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But the longer we wait, the more we risk the central point being activated."

Arienne looked up sharply. "The triangulation theory. If they activate all three sites..."

"They can stabilize a gate large enough to bring something through permanently," she finished grimly.

Garen looked at her. "What kind of being could survive that kind of entry?"

She hesitated. "It’s an obvious answer. The Demon Lords or the King himself."

He stood, brushing ash off his gloves. "Get some rest. We head into Hollowmere at first light."

The others nodded and turned toward their tents.

Inigo remained by the fire a moment longer, staring into the flame. His thoughts weren’t just about cults or demons anymore. There was a pattern to this chaos. A signature.

And he meant to find it.

Even if it burned him alive.

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