Chapter Seventy-Two: Deprivation (4)

The deeper they ventured into the forest, the more unfamiliar the vegetation became. Everywhere they looked, aside from the excessively dense trees, there were flowers and grasses that seemed utterly strange and unseen by any outsider. They appeared vibrant and full of life, dripping with beauty, but in this forest, the lovelier the plant, the more dangerous it tended to be. Among the more common specimens was something known as Shattergrass. Its blossoms were dazzlingly beautiful, and the fruit it bore looked luscious—red, alluring, tempting. Yet beneath each flower hid a small venom sac. If anyone were to pick one of those enticing fruits, the sac would explode, spraying corrosive liquid.

The environment grew increasingly harsh. In many places, patches of swamp appeared. Fortunately, with Buck leading the way and no magical beasts encountered, their journey remained calm.

After half a day’s trek, they finally passed through the marshlands. The mist around them gradually thinned, and sunlight, filtered through the thick canopy, began to reach the forest floor in sparse, scattered patches, transforming what had been a dim and gloomy woodland into something brighter.

“Boss, from here on, we need to be extra cautious,” Buck suddenly turned, speaking to Weir with a note of gravity on his face.

“Are we approaching something dangerous?” Weir asked.

“More or less...” The words seemed to burden Buck, and he looked uncomfortable. He said nothing more, and Weir, sensing his reluctance, simply followed quietly.

The ground remained tough to traverse; every step sank into mud, making it difficult to pull their feet free. Their progress was arduous, but at least the mist had vanished, sparing them further trouble.

Soon, they came across a corpse lying by the path.

It was the remains of some large magical beast, most of its flesh rotted away to reveal gleaming white bones, exuding a stench that made Weir hold his nose as he approached. After a closer look, he realized in astonishment that this was the body of a high-level magical beast!

What struck Weir even more was the nature of its wounds. The beast, likely over two meters tall, seemed to have been cleaved cleanly in two at the waist by a sharp blade. The severed part was so precise it was almost terrifying. Clearly, whoever had slain this beast was a master.

To cut a high-level magical beast in half with a single blow—one could only imagine the skill and power of such a person. Judging by the degree of decay, the beast had died perhaps a week ago.

“A week ago... Could it be...?” Suddenly, Weir recalled the words of the drunken old man back in town: seven days earlier, people from the Soul Temple had entered this forest.

“Boss!” Buck cried out, trembling slightly as he pointed ahead. Weir followed his gaze, and at once, he was rooted to the spot in shock.

Ten bodies? Fifty? Five hundred? Barely a hundred meters away, they found more than five hundred corpses! Even more astonishing, among them lay many human warriors and a few “non-human” bodies.

The ground was riddled with marks made by intense energy, some half a meter deep, others cracked and shattered in wide swaths. Trees in the “battle zone” had been smashed and cut down, obstacles obliterated. The hundreds of corpses alone spoke of the fierce combat that had taken place here.

“These should be orc bodies...” Buck pointed at the non-human corpses, his expression turning strange. “Orcs possess tremendous strength, and they can control magical beasts around them at will. That explains why we haven’t seen any beasts nearby. But... Boss, I think we’d best leave this place. I don’t know what happened here, but if we run into orcs in this forest now...”

Buck didn’t finish, but Weir understood his meaning. He had encountered orcs in the previous era, and in truth, their entire race could be summed up in one word: savage.

To gain possession of something, they would fight and kill each other; even in idle times, they would battle amongst themselves. They were belligerent, crude, fierce, and merciless. When hunger struck, orcs would not hesitate to prey on their own kin, for in their minds, eating their brethren was perfectly normal.

From the current scene, it was obvious that the Soul Temple had forced their way into the forest, only to be intercepted by orcs, leading to a brutal clash. Weir was unsure if any Soul Temple members still lurked nearby, but as Buck had said, staying here was perilous.

Both Prosis and the Soul Temple had come to this place, confirming that the artifact was indeed within this forest. Now that he was here, Weir couldn’t bring himself to retreat.

Gritting his teeth, Weir resolved to press deeper into the woods.

“Damn it! Where has Prosis gone?!”

………………………………

Prosis was in a foul mood. The Soul Temple’s people were close by, yet her magical power had suddenly diminished greatly. The bizarre mist that surrounded her blocked her vision completely, making it impossible to see her surroundings.

According to the map, she should have been near her destination, but just then, the mist began to rise around her. At first, Prosis paid it little mind, but soon she was shocked to discover her magic was fading, bit by bit.

Despite the loss of magic, Prosis was not helpless. Her first instinct was to leave the forest at once.

But at that moment, she unexpectedly encountered several Soul Temple members, who seemed to be suffering the same problem—their power was vanishing.

Prosis had tried casting a spell, but within the mist her abilities were reduced by half. She was now, at best, as powerful as a seventh- or eighth-tier mage. Worse still, her magic continued to drain away.

She had to escape this place!