Translator: CinderTL
In the shadows some distance from the swamp, two figures held their breath, their gazes fixed on Roland's every move on the cliff face.
The witch Vanessa leaned against a gnarled tree. Her long, purple hair remained perfectly still in the damp breeze, while her deep eyes reflected the distant explosions that lit up the horizon. Her expression was detached, as if witnessing not a life-or-death struggle, but a fascinating experimental demonstration.
When Roland conjured the fireball at his fingertips, Vanessa's delicate eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Hmph..."
Her cool voice reached Mason's ear, carrying a hint of subtle mockery. "These chaotic creations from the outer planes possess remarkable resistance to flame. So..."
She tilted her head slightly, her violet eyes, capable of piercing through the thick mist, focused precisely on Roland's figure on the cliff. "What will you do now, Mr. Roland?"
Before her words faded, a fine iron arrow, etched with intricate runes, was already nocked on the bowstring.
The detachment in Vanessa's eyes vanished, replaced by genuine interest. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on the unfolding scene with rapt attention.
Hum!
The bowstring vibrated, and the first enchanted arrow transformed into a dim streak of light as it shot forth.
Immediately afterward—
Boom!
A deafening, muffled explosion far exceeding expectations tore through the air with tremendous force.
Vanessa's violet eyes, illuminated by the sudden burst of fire, visibly contracted for a moment. Her playful amusement instantly solidified, replaced by a sharp, scrutinizing gaze.
"Oh?"
This time, her voice rang out clearly, the rare hint of a slight upward inflection at the end betraying a mix of surprise and deeper intrigue.
"It seems... Mr. Roland possesses more than just basic enchantment techniques."
Her gaze swept across the violently churning arcane turbulence and scattered fine iron fragments left by the explosion, a rapid flicker of light flashing deep within her pupils.
"Crude materials... inefficient energy utilization... purely disposable..."
She murmured, as if conducting a rapid analysis.
"Yet to apply fundamental enchantment knowledge to such an extent—compressing unstable magic elements into an arrow and detonating them on impact..."
Her words paused for a barely perceptible moment as the witch's fingers unconsciously tightened around the strands of purple hair coiled around her fingertips.
"...A crude yet remarkably effective form of practical combat wisdom."
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Several more deafening explosions reverberated through the air, each blast's scale and power clearly reflected in her pupils.
Vanessa watched silently, her fingers still entwined in her purple hair.
But the initial nonchalance had completely vanished, replaced by a focused, contemplative calm as she reassessed the value of her prey.
"Uhm... Miss Vanessa, Roland... he'll be alright, won't he?"
Mason's face was pale, his trembling voice betraying his unease, yet his gaze toward Roland still held a hint of concern.
"Silence, Mason."
Vanessa didn't even turn to look at him, her violet eyes remaining fixed on Roland in the distance. He had lowered his hunting bow and was now observing the battlefield.
Her gaze, like the most precise detection array, meticulously scanned the residual energy traces from the explosions and Roland's condition.
After a moment, the witch gave a slight nod and began walking forward.
"Let's go."
Her voice had regained its usual icy composure.
Beneath that icy composure, a faint trace of lingering curiosity remained—a flicker of interest in the unexpected discovery that had yet to fully subside.
"It seems Mr. Roland has already cleared the way for us," the witch remarked.
Meanwhile, high above on the cliff face, Roland remained oblivious to the witch's covert observation.
Upon spotting the deep, dark cave entrance, he didn't immediately act. Instead, he patiently waited, biding his time.
Only after confirming that the swamp held no signs of life beyond the stench of decay and lingering traces of volatile magic elements did he descend from the cliff edge with the stealth of a panther melting into shadow.
His movements were fluid and precise, avoiding pools of acidic residue as he carefully climbed down until he landed steadily on a relatively firm patch of earth at the swamp's edge.
His sharp gaze swept the surroundings, confirming the area was secure before his attention was immediately drawn to several items scattered across the battlefield.
These weren't ordinary debris; they were spoils stripped from the Slaad Toads at the moment of their death by the Plunder trait, now lying quietly beside the corpses.
Most of the loot bore the swamp's putrid mark:
* Several murky, dark green acid crystals that seemed to contain flowing pus within.
A small piece of bizarre, diseased leather covered in a viscous green membrane, pulsing faintly.
Several dark, jagged bone fragments with serrated edges.
A small pouch containing peculiar moss spores emitting a faint sulfurous odor.
But as Roland's gaze swept past these items and landed on the remains of a smaller, ominous gray-skinned Slaad Toad, his pupils constricted sharply.
There, lying beside the corpse, was a gem unlike any other.
Roughly the size of a thumbnail, it appeared almost pure black, yet its interior seemed to contain a flowing galaxy.
Countless tiny silver specks flickered and pulsed within its dark depths.
The gem's surface was as smooth as a mirror, miraculously untouched by the filth and blood of its surroundings. It radiated a cold, restrained magical aura that stood in stark contrast to the chaos and death around it.
The gem was set in a pitch-black, unidentified metal base etched with impossibly fine, unnatural spiral patterns that followed some unknown geometric law.
Compared to the other foul-smelling, chaotic trophies, this obsidian-like gem seemed unnaturally pure, cold... and powerful.
Roland cautiously reached out, his fingertips pausing just before touching the gem.
After confirming no traps or curses were triggered, he picked it up.
Gazing at the swirling stardust within, he made a guess.
"Could this be the 'control gem' Vanessa mentioned?"
Without hesitation, he stowed the black gem along with other valuable spoils of war.
Only then did his gaze return to the deep, dark cave revealed by the explosion.
The cave mouth gaped open at an angle, like an ugly scar torn into the muddy bank, its interior fully visible.
Roland approached slowly.
First, he circled the entrance cautiously, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding earth, scattered rubble, and any shadows that might conceal traps or ambushers.
Then, he leaned in to listen, straining to catch any faint sounds from within the cave.
After confirming the area near the entrance was temporarily safe, Roland moved to the edge of the cave mouth like a silent ghost, crouching low, his body coiled like a drawn bowstring, ready to retreat or draw his sword at a moment's notice.
Then, his gaze pierced through the lingering dust and gunpowder smoke, penetrating deep into the cave's interior.
The underground cave was shallower and narrower than he had anticipated.
The violent explosion had collapsed part of the cave ceiling and one of the earthen walls, creating a gaping entrance.
A few meager rays of sunlight, having pierced the thick swamp mist, slanted into the cave like stingy searchlight beams, illuminating most of the interior with stark clarity.
The cave was small, roughly the size of an ordinary room.
The walls were damp, dark brown earth, interwoven with gnarled black tree roots that exuded a heavy, earthy stench and an indescribable aura of decay.
The entire space was empty, without any partitions or branching passages.
However, the sight at the center of the cave made Roland's brow furrow.
There stood a...
table.
Its material was neither ordinary wood nor stone, but rather a massive, pale, roughly hewn skeleton pieced together and polished. At the joints, thick bone spurs protruded sharply.
The tabletop was flat, cluttered with gruesome "offerings":
A humanoid skull, several pitch-black scales that shimmered with an eerie light, a crude earthenware bowl filled with congealed, blackened blood, charred finger bones from some small creature scattered across the surface, and a few raven's jet-black feathers.
The entire table exuded an aura of blasphemy and primal bloodshed, clearly serving as an altar for dark rituals.
Directly in front of this bone-crafted altar, facing the entrance, stood a crude wooden cross hastily nailed together from mold-stained and worm-eaten timber.
Bound to the cross was a human figure.
A strikingly vivid crimson figure.
The figure hung its head, its body tightly bound to the cross with rough vines and rusted iron chains, its posture twisted and unnatural.
Yet aside from traces of earth and moss clinging to its skin, there were no visible wounds or bloodstains, as if it had merely fallen into a deep slumber in this ominous place.
Roland held his breath, his gaze fixed on the crimson figure's lowered face.
But the expression that flickered across his face was neither fear nor horror, but rather...
A flicker of surprise, tinged with absurdity.
And when a series of uneven snores suddenly echoed through the narrow cavern, the absurd expression on Roland's face deepened.
(End of the Chapter)
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