Translator: CinderTL
"The Mistland? Impossible..."
Roland gripped his oar tightly as he stared at the scene before him.
He recognized the coastline.
Months ago, to fulfill the requirements for becoming an Apprentice Knight, he had teamed up with Theresa and others to venture to this small fishing village on the edge of the River Domain Nations. There, they had slain demonic beasts that were plaguing the area.
Back then, the sun had shone brightly, and the sea breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean mixed with the smoky scent of cooking fires. The fabled Mistland was still more than ten days' journey away.
But now, the place was utterly desolate, devoid of any signs of human life. The once-open coastal waters were now studded with jagged, black reefs that jutted up like monstrous fangs from the seabed, a stark contrast to the scene he remembered.
"I have to steer clear!"
Roland's heart pounded. He had long heard of the Mistland's fearsome reputation. Without hesitation, he swung the bow of his boat around and began rowing with all his might, desperate to find waters untouched by the mist.
Yet no matter where he looked—north or south—the gray-white curtain stretched endlessly, merging seamlessly with the horizon, showing no sign of an end.
"If I follow the coastline north, I should eventually leave the River Domain Nations and reach other countries. But..."
Roland swallowed hard, the thick saliva sticking in his throat, and shook his head slightly.
The ale and dried meat he had scavenged from the pirate ship were long gone.
His ability to navigate the small boat this far across the sea relied entirely on his Fisherman class trait, Hydrological Intuition.
This skill allowed him to occasionally catch fish, barely enough to stave off starvation.
While hunger could be managed, finding fresh water remained an insurmountable challenge.
Though his current strength had reached the extraordinary realm, he was still bound by his mortal flesh.
Without fresh water in this boundless ocean, death was only a matter of time.
Roland couldn't guarantee he would find safe land before succumbing to thirst.
As he pondered, Tracy flickered uneasily on his shoulder, whispering, "Mr. Roland, the magic element in this dense fog... it feels much more concentrated than when I left."
Enhanced by Material Empathy, Roland's dispersed mental power could keenly sense the dense magic element within the fog.
Yet unlike the relatively active magic element in other areas, the magic element in the mist, though highly concentrated, lay dormant like a dead thing, utterly silent, devoid of any "whispers."
"I understand," he murmured to the pixie, his gaze fixed on the eerie mist that had swallowed the fishing village.
There was no way around it, no way to avoid it.
Ahead lay the notorious Mistland, a place of death and despair, while behind him yawned the parched abyss.
He licked his nearly cracked lips and took a deep breath of the cold, salty, mist-laden air, a flicker of resolve in his eyes.
The oars plunged into the water again, no longer attempting to change course, but driving the small boat straight toward the coastline shrouded in gray-white mist.
Moments later, jagged reefs loomed before him.
Realizing the boat couldn't reach the shore, Roland quickly secured it to a sturdy reef with a hemp rope.
He stared at the sandy beach, now swallowed by the dense fog a few hundred paces away, and took a deep breath.
Concentrating his spirit, he activated Wave-Treading.
The churning seawater beneath his feet instantly solidified into a brief but solid path, while the howling sea wind became an invisible support, allowing Roland to stand firmly on the surface of the ocean.
Yet this felt entirely different from when he had tested the ability on the open sea.
Violent currents surged between the reefs, constantly tearing at the strength beneath his feet. With each impact, his spirit grew heavier.
Even more unsettling was the dense, deathly still magic element that permeated the surroundings, clinging to the sea like viscous oil. Each step felt sluggish and labored, far less fluid than during his earlier tests.
Roland exhaled softly, searching for footholds among the jagged black reefs.
Without hesitation, he immediately began to move.
Sometimes he used the waves to propel himself forward, other times leaping onto slippery rock peaks, nimbly navigating between the menacing "fangs" of the reefs.
The icy mist and seawater relentlessly battered him, and the stifling magic element made each step a monumental effort.
Fortunately, Tracy, perched on his shoulder, emitted a soft, emerald glow that significantly eased the drain on his mental power.
Even so, the short journey of a few hundred steps proved excruciatingly difficult.
When Roland finally leaped from the last massive rock and his feet landed firmly on the cold, seaweed-covered beach, the power of Wave-Treading vanished instantly.
A fog even denser, colder, and reeking of decay than the sea mist engulfed him completely.
Clang!
With a soft hiss, the Mithril Longsword slid from its sheath.
Roland gripped the hilt tightly, cautiously advancing step by step.
The fishing village was small, originally home to no more than a few dozen villagers.
Before long, Roland had thoroughly surveyed the surrounding environment.
Confirming there were no immediate threats, he led Tracy into the houses, searching the corners until they found several broken clay jars filled with clear water.
The cool liquid slid down his throat, instantly relieving the dizziness caused by dehydration and invigorating his spirit.
"Ah..."
After gulping down another jar of water, Roland swallowed audibly, wiped the water from his lips, and exhaled deeply, his gaze lingering on the remaining containers.
"We need to conserve this. It should last us a few days, enough for me to sail north along the coastline and continue exploring..."
With that thought, he turned to the dazed pixie beside him.
"Tracy, what are your plans now?"
Over the past ten days of drifting at sea, Roland and the petite pixie had grown much closer. Tracy had gradually regained her usual liveliness, adding much-needed cheer to their monotonous journey.
"Me?"
"Yes." Roland nodded gently, carefully pouring the remaining water into the pouch at his waist.
"Are you planning to venture deeper into the Mistland to return home, or will you leave this hellhole with me?"
"I... I'll go with you, Mr. Roland," Tracy said, her voice tinged with resignation. The butterfly wings on her back drooped, their trembling growing faint.
"I can no longer sense my companions' presence... Perhaps they've already abandoned this homeland and moved elsewhere."
"In that case..." Roland nodded slightly, confirming the last drop of water had flowed into his pouch. He stood up briskly and declared, "We should leave this fog-shrouded region as soon as possible. It's no place to linger."
"Mm," Tracy murmured, fluttering her wings to keep pace with Roland.
Perhaps her despondency over losing contact with her companions had clouded her mind. She only realized the strangeness of their surroundings when Roland suddenly stopped beside her.
In her unique fairy vision, the once-thick, deathly still gray-white fog now seeped with tendrils of deeper, more ominous shadows.
These were no physical entities, but rather like condensed cold, twisting slowly upward from the ground, rotting wood, and even the fog itself.
The icy sensation wasn't from the air; it was the silent screams of countless souls brimming with pain and malice.
In her perception, they manifested as a bone-chilling wind that pierced directly into her soul.
(End of the Chapter)
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