Chapter 68: Stay Here!

Buck was not a good man, and he did not deny it. Most of what he did each day was considered wicked. The small town where he lived lay at the farthest edge of the Verati Empire, well beyond the reach of imperial authority—or, perhaps more accurately, the empire simply had no desire to concern itself with such a place.

The region surrounding the town was sparsely populated and resource-poor, yielding little in taxes each year. More importantly, directly opposite this area lay the Trolar Plains, home to a barbaric alien people. The imperial government was unwilling to waste its military might on such an insignificant frontier, and as luck would have it, those barbarians also knew their limits. They rarely caused trouble, and even when they did, it was never beyond a skirmish; most notably, these aliens never entered the empire’s borders except to trade with humans near the town. Thus, the town had become a dividing line between civilization and the wild, with governmental oversight growing ever laxer until, at last, the authorities abandoned it altogether.

Because of this, Buck’s town naturally devolved into chaos. People of every stripe gathered here—criminals, fugitives, thieves, notorious mercenary bands. It was no exaggeration to say that if one searched the entire continent for the most lawless place, this town would undoubtedly claim that distinction.

Yes, the town was wretched—so wretched it didn’t even have a name. When people spoke of it, they would simply gesture dramatically and say, “Look, that little town on the far west!”

Buck lived in such a place.

His parents were both fugitives; in professional terms, Buck had pure criminal blood running through his veins. He had not “disappointed” his heritage either—he was well-connected in the town, getting along with friends who spent their days drinking and boasting, and rivals with whom he traded insults and blows. This was his life: if nothing unexpected happened, Buck would spend his days here, find a decent woman, marry, have children, and drift through existence without ambition. Yet, even such a simple wish would become unattainable after today…

Buck glanced at the three men trailing behind him and sighed inwardly. There had been a dozen of them originally, but now, including himself, only four remained—the others had been slaughtered by a woman whose beauty bordered on the supernatural.

Who would be next?

Would he die as well?

The more Buck thought about it, the more fear gnawed at him. He swallowed nervously and shook his head, trying to force himself to stop thinking about these unsettling matters. At that moment, he sensed something odd.

Buck knew his own temperament; when irritated, even the slightest sound would provoke his wrath. Today, his mood was worse than ever, yet strangely, there was not a single harsh noise around him—the silence was chilling. Not even the cry of a bird.

Damn it! They were in the wild forest; how could there be no birdsong?

Buck was not like Veil or Prosis; he was a true townsman. To put it bluntly, a townsman’s life was divided into three parts: fighting and cursing, sleeping and mating, and only lastly, working. They entered the forest to hunt and earn money for their pleasures. Thus, Buck knew these woods intimately. Even though they were only at the forest’s edge, it was still the wild forest—not some ordinary woodland on the continent. Normally, they would have already encountered several packs of magical beasts.

But now, looking around, there was no sign of any magical beasts.

In that instant, Buck felt icy dread. He knew that deep in the forest lurked several powerful high-level magical beasts who rarely left their territory. Occasionally, one might come out to hunt, but even ordinary magical beasts were tough opponents for Buck and his companions; it often took a group of a dozen or more to bring one down, and not without casualties. As for those terrifying high-level beasts… even just one could slaughter nearly the entire town, leaving only a handful alive.

…

Veil had long guessed that Prosis would agree to his request. The secret he carried was too great a temptation for even Prosis to resist. Yet, what puzzled Veil was the woman’s final sigh of resignation—what did it mean?

Veil’s brows furrowed, and as he glanced ahead, he suddenly noticed that the man with the triangular eyes had stopped for some reason.

His expression… seemed strange.

Something was wrong.

Veil raised his eyebrows and walked over to him.

“What’s the matter?” Veil asked.

“Sir…” Buck spoke awkwardly. After all, it was odd to address a child half his age with such respect.

“Sir, we may be in trouble…”

As Buck said this, his triangular eyes twitched visibly. Veil was taken aback and quickly turned to see that Prosis was already standing behind him.

“What’s going on?” Prosis’s voice was calm, betraying no emotion, but it was enough to make Buck break out in cold sweat. He wiped his brow with his sleeve and stammered out his suspicions.

“Something’s wrong!” Veil declared. “Even if a high-level magical beast wanted to hunt, it would never do so at the forest’s edge—only low-level, small magical beasts live there, and large beasts won’t waste their time on such meager prey!”

“But… there could be exceptions!” Buck protested, skeptical.

He was answered with a cold snort. “When someone is hungry and goes hunting, faced with an ant and an antelope, which do you think they’ll choose? Obviously, the antelope. Ants are too insignificant—even if you ate ten, a hundred, a thousand, it wouldn’t fill you up. The same goes for magical beasts: their level usually matches their size. The higher the level, the larger the creature. Do you think a giant high-level magical beast would bother to travel all the way from the depths of the forest to hunt a few tiny, insignificant low-level beasts?”

“Maybe…” Buck started to argue, but then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Prosis slowly raise her hand and trace a killing gesture across her neck. Buck fell silent at once.

Buck had grown up here, but compared to Veil and Prosis, both mages, his knowledge of magical beasts was woefully lacking. As Veil said, high-level beasts appearing at the edge of the forest was impossible—yet everything around them was suggesting just that.

Almost instantly, Prosis’s mind leapt to the Spirit Hall. Her heart tightened. If all this was the work of the Spirit Hall, then their situation was dire.

She bit her lip hard and asked Buck for a rough direction through the forest, then brandished her pipe—which, incidentally, was actually a wand. A surge of crimson flame erupted, enveloping Prosis entirely.

“Boy, if you don’t want to die, stay right here!” she snapped.

With that, Prosis and the fire vanished in a blink.

A living person, gone in an instant, as if into thin air. Not only Buck, but even Veil stared in astonishment.

Buck and the others marveled at the magic, while Veil was astonished by the spell itself—he recognized it.

Blazing Teleportation!

This was a signature spell of a fire-type magister! But wasn’t Prosis merely a ninth-tier grand mage?