Chapter 117: The Druid

The surroundings remained as dim as ever. There was no warm sunlight, nor any soft moonlight; the entire world seemed perpetually submerged in a hazy, gray gloom. Winds, laden with thick dust and sand, howled incessantly, as if mourning the desolation and deathly silence of this place. Beyond the grotesque undead creatures, not even the most tenacious form of life could survive here.

Will kept his head bowed as low as possible, shielding his eyes with his hand against the whistling grit. Yet, despite his efforts, the violent sandstorm forced him to swallow a fair amount of dust. His tattered clothes were coated in a thick layer of gray, and his once water-blue hair had lost all its luster, becoming dull under the erosion of the howling wind and yellow sand.

Although this storm was far smaller than the terrifying tempest he had faced before, it still caused Will considerable trouble. Walking directly into the gale was a grueling task; each step was a struggle, leaving a trail of shallow footprints behind him.

Every short distance he covered, Will would lift his head to scan his surroundings. He probed the terrain and environment with meticulous perception, refusing to overlook even the slightest discrepancy, as if he were intent on imprinting every detail of this place into his mind. His purpose was not merely to avoid losing his way in this wasteland; more importantly, he held a firm conviction in his heart: he would return.

"Karen!"

Will clenched his hand into a fist and gritted his teeth. Whenever he recalled that incredibly overbearing woman, his blood would instinctively boil, and the magic power within his sea of consciousness would erupt like a raging inferno. He drew a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the inner turmoil. Though he could still feel his blood pulsing, his mind remained unnervingly calm. Reason told him he must overcome this instinct. He drew strands of ice-attributed magic from his ice crystal and circulated them through his body. Under the stimulation of that biting chill, the raging fire within him finally began to subside. Seizing the opportunity, Will projected his senses outward to explore the path ahead. After an unknown amount of time, he finally detected a faint ripple of energy.

Though the fluctuation was incredibly subtle, Will was certain: it was the energy signature of the Gate to the Demon Realm!

She had not lied after all; following this path would indeed lead him out of this place.

As this thought crossed his mind, a faint scent of blood drifted through the air. Will frowned slightly. He knew this smell did not belong to the undead. The only possibility was that it came from Nasa and Scianoli, who had entered this realm with him.

"It’s them?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Will’s eyes. He had considered his own survival after that horrific storm to be pure luck, but it seemed the goddess of fortune had favored them as well. He turned his head toward the direction behind him. Despite the chaotic howling of the wind, he could discern the faint, rhythmic sounds of combat if he listened closely.

"It seems they’ve run into trouble."

Though he said this, he felt little desire to assist them. However, after carefully weighing the potential gains, Will ultimately decided to investigate. From this moment on, he vowed to himself that he would never let any opportunity to increase his strength slip through his fingers.

...

With a harsh, piercing sound, another undead creature was cleaved in two by the greatsword in Nasa’s hand. Eerie green blood sprayed everywhere, some even splattering onto Nasa’s face, yet he took no notice—or perhaps he could no longer feel it at all.

His body was soaked in gore, and the intense pain had rendered his mind completely numb. He could no longer count how many undead he had slain. His movements had become mechanical, repetitive, and every heavy blow brought an unprecedented wave of exhaustion. The accumulation of this fatigue was enough to make him collapse on the spot, but Nasa gritted his teeth, his eyes red as fresh blood and filled with a predatory madness. His body, originally two and a half meters tall, had surged to nearly three meters.

Berserk!

"Nasa! Stop! You cannot go Berserk again!"

Seeing the transformation, Scianoli shrieked. To escape their predicament, Nasa had already used the Berserk state twice. This was the third time. Even with the bloodline of the Behemoth royalty, and no matter how powerful his constitution was, using it three times in succession would cause irreparable damage to his body.

Scianoli screamed at the top of his lungs, but Nasa seemed completely deaf to him. In his Berserk state, all reason had vanished, replaced by an all-consuming desire to destroy.

"Dammit!"

Scianoli cursed. His small, thin frame dodged through the ranks of the undead like a phantom. Occasionally, he would flick his arm, and a blood-curdling scream would follow—an undead creature would be torn clean in half by an invisible, powerful force.

"Nasa! Change back!"

Scianoli shouted again, but after taking down a few more undead, he felt a wave of dizziness. Although his power had not been suppressed within the Demon Realm, he had exhausted eighty percent of his strength just to withstand the previous storm. Dealing with the endless tide of undead with his remaining power was already difficult enough, and now he had to spare the energy to restrain the thrice-Berserk Nasa.

"There is no other way!"

Scianoli sighed inwardly. He bit down hard on his own arm until blood gushed out like a fountain. Ignoring the pain, he thrust his arms upward, performed a strange gesture, and hummed a series of harsh, gutteral notes. Instantly, a subtle change began to take hold of his body. His wrinkled, withered skin suddenly plumped up, and his bones emitted a series of cracks like snapping wood. With a deafening roar, a brilliant light erupted from Scianoli. Amidst that blinding, sun-like radiance, his small figure vanished entirely, replaced by a terrifying giant beast nearly ten meters tall.