When the rainstorm finally ended, a rainbow stretched across the sky, and the sun emerged once again.
"Thank goodness, a sunny day feels amazing," Old Bart said, no longer humming his tune. He seemed to have shaken off the melancholy brought by the rain.
"I disagree. A warm environment accelerates the spread of bacteria and viruses. Once these corpses start decomposing, it could lead to an epidemic," Anmora replied calmly. "Though honestly, the weather doesn't matter much anymore. Under the effects of the death radiation, any weather is terrible."
Old Bart frowned at her response. "The sunlight gives us more than just the warmth that helps bacteria spread. It also brings a good mood—a sense of optimism in the face of disaster."
"…Oh, I see," Anmora nodded thoughtfully, as if she had learned something new.
"Of course. Rainy days are just too depressing," Old Bart said firmly. "Even my good boy here is running faster now that the sun's out."
Anmora wanted to point out that moving in heavy rain was naturally more difficult, but hearing the cheerful tone in Old Bart's voice, she decided to let it go. Instead, she smiled and said, "I think it's going at about forty-five kilometers per hour."
"It can't keep that pace for long," Old Bart calculated aloud. "We'll probably need to stop for a break every three to five hours."
Old Bart had lived most of his life in the remote town of Kampel and rarely visited big cities like the Imperial Capital. Though he had a general sense of direction, he wasn't familiar with the specifics of the roads leading there. The widespread destruction from the disaster had likely severed many routes, meaning they would need to take detours. The longer detours could potentially lead them into danger, including encounters with wild animals or even mutated creatures, whose survival abilities often surpassed humans in such catastrophic conditions.
"Pass me the map," Anmora said, extending a hand from the carriage. Old Bart pulled a wrinkled, worn map from his jacket and handed it over. Anmora unfolded it on the carriage floor, only to find it dirtier than she had anticipated.
"Such a treasure…" she muttered, marveling at the precise detailing of the map while frowning at its grimy state. "And you've let it get so filthy."
The map was not an ordinary terrain or road map but a border map. It was meticulously crafted to resolve territorial disputes, accurately marking boundaries down to the second of longitude and latitude.
"How accurate?"
Even minor differences in longitude and latitude could cause time discrepancies. For instance, while Kampel might show six o'clock, the Imperial Capital could be at eight o'clock, a full two-hour difference. This border map, however, marked boundary points with precision down to the second, allowing the exact time differences between markers to be calculated.
Such a precise and detailed map, compressed onto a sheet of paper the size of a tablecloth, now dirtied beyond recognition, made Anmora feel like her eyes were straining after just two glances.
Old Bart casually replied, "This thing is decades old. Our country and the neighboring borderlines change every fortnight; it's completely outdated."
"But the rivers and roads are clearly marked, and that's all that matters," Anmora agreed. Minor border disputes often revolved around the placement of one or two boundary markers, so frequent adjustments within short periods weren't unusual.
"So tell me, where can we stop in about three hours?" Old Bart asked a practical question.
Anmora widened her eyes to focus on the densely packed lines. She regretted not salvaging the broken monitoring crystal back at the old house; at least its microscopic section could have been repurposed. She opened the carriage door, letting sunlight pour in to make the map slightly easier to read.
"Well?" Old Bart urged again, his impatience evident.
Anmora slowly traced the road lines with her fingernail. "We're in the eastern outskirts of Kampel. From here to the Imperial Capital, following a straight route, we'd have to pass through at least four counties…"
"I already know that," Old Bart interrupted. He had far more practical knowledge than Anmora.
"Let me finish." Anmora spoke haltingly, her thoughts piecing together slowly. "The death radiation can't possibly cover all these counties. This type of magical construct has a maximum range of 100,000 square kilometers, and the broader affected area won't exceed 300,000 square kilometers. Assuming Kampel is the radiation's epicenter, the radius of its eastern and western spread would theoretically be around 3,000 kilometers…"
"Three thousand?!" Old Bart's vision darkened, and he almost toppled over. "That'll take us until next year!"
"No, that's only theoretical!" Anmora quickly corrected, jabbing her fingernail into the map for emphasis. "In the concealed form of a Sky Fortress, the death radiation's radius is reduced to about one-tenth of its full capacity—roughly 300 kilometers. The critical point is that this 300 kilometers is theoretical. In practice, the radiation diminishes to safe levels for humans beyond 200 kilometers. I just calculated that the range posing direct danger to life is between zero and 130 kilometers, while the mutation zone extends—"
"Cut to the conclusion, please." Old Bart's vision blurred again. The most complex math he had encountered in his life was summing up final exam scores. Anmora's calculations were leagues beyond him.
"In short, we'll find survivors beyond 130 kilometers. At the old horse's speed… uh, it should take us about a day to get there," Anmora concluded optimistically, only to realize she had drifted away from the original question. "Oh, sorry, I didn't factor in rest stops."
Speaking of rest stops, Anmora immediately remembered that she had grabbed the map to locate suitable places to rest.
"Yes, I noticed," Old Bart said mercilessly. "Not only did you fail to account for the horse's rest, but you also didn't calculate our sleep time or the fact that the carriage can't maintain a constant speed on complex terrain. Most importantly… we're not traveling in a straight line! You've been calculating straight-line distances!"
"Oh… that does seem to be the case…" Anmora leaned closer to the map again. Without pen or paper, she could only trace lines with her fingers. "Actually, the path doesn't seem to have major obstacles. At most, it should take us four or five days to get out of here. I'll let you know when we reach a good place to stop and rest."
"No, there is a major obstacle," Old Bart promptly shot down her conclusion. "This map is decades old. Recently, they built a canal around here."
"A… canal?" Anmora stared at the grimy map, feeling like her earlier efforts were all for naught.
"Between Flynn County and Grand County, flowing north to south," Old Bart explained, his tone tinged with resignation. "Even the narrowest section is over 100 meters wide. Miss, do you know how to build a boat?"
Anmora awkwardly replied, "Let's hope the bridge is still intact."
Kampel City was at the westernmost edge of Grand County, and Grand County's eastern border connected to Flynn County. Recently, the empire had constructed a large canal at the boundary between the two. If Anmora wanted to avoid the canal, which was "at least 100 meters wide at its narrowest point," she would have to take a massive detour, significantly reducing her chances of survival. Now, in addition to figuring out how to rest safely, she had to prepare for crossing the canal.
"That was a project overseen by the Duke of Nightmares. I doubt the bridge—or even the riverbanks—are intact," Old Bart added with a hint of sarcasm, though Anmora could detect genuine concern beneath his tone.
She had no idea who the Duke of Nightmares was, but she did know one of the six elite magical corps was named Nightmare.
"He's infamous for his greed. To this day, I still don't understand how Flynn County hasn't revolted," Old Bart muttered, unconcerned about the consequences of badmouthing nobility in such a dire situation. "A few years back, he talked the Emperor into constructing this utterly useless canal. Who knows how much he pocketed from the treasury."
Anmora, clueless about the empire's political landscape, couldn't judge whether the canal was useless, but based on Old Bart's remarks, it seemed the canal had been built purely as a means for the Duke of Nightmares to siphon money.
"Alright, that's not the main issue," Anmora said, dismissing the duke's involvement. "I'll think of a way to cross the canal. Let's stop and rest once night falls."
For the next two to three hours, the carriage continued its monotonous, jarring journey.
Anmora felt fortunate that they hadn't encountered any mutated creatures along the way. With urban expansion having spread so far, powerful animals were now rare outside of untouched forests or exclusive auctions. Domesticated animals, which had long lived alongside humans, had lost their natural ability to adapt to disasters. Like humans, they were fragile and found it hard to survive in the fallout of the death radiation.
By evening, Anmora began scanning the roadside for a suitable place to stop.
"Here should do," she said. This was another small city in Grand County, and its architecture had once been much more beautiful than Kampel's—though now it was all in ruins.
Old Bart got off the carriage, set up the ladder for Anmora, and surveyed the surroundings.
This appeared to be the central square of the city. There were no sinkholes or large debris fields nearby, and the area was generally flat. The square's central monument had toppled, but a few statues still stood. They were now stained and distorted by the rain, their features blurred and grotesque. The ground where the monument had stood was slightly elevated compared to the rest of the square, making it free from standing water and relatively clean.
Anmora climbed down from the carriage and pointed to the monument. "We can sleep there tonight."
The fallen monument created a small space that could shield them from the wind and rain. Old Bart, however, thought it was a terrible idea. "What if it collapses completely? It'll crush us."
"It probably won't. The load-bearing structure—" Anmora began estimating from a distance and was about to explain her analysis to Old Bart. But before she could finish, she looked up to see him already leading the horse toward the spot.
Without turning back, Old Bart muttered, "I've had enough. Every second I spend with you only makes me feel more painfully aware of my ignorance."
"No, no, I wasn't trying to show off! What I meant is that this stone column, if it broke about a third of the way from the ground, then the forces acting on the broken part likely originate from these—"
"Enough!" Old Bart snapped, spinning around to glare at her. "I get it! Just shut up already!"