A faint sound came from outside the tent; it was Toka, on watch, moving around.
The young hunter's footsteps were light, yet there was an imperceptible tension to them.
It wasn't just him; ever since Obsidian's divine flame ignited in the distant clouds, an invisible, scorching echo had been seared deep into the souls of all his believers.
They could feel the "Lord's" presence become incredibly clear and powerful, like an unextinguishable sun hanging in the firmament of their consciousness, bringing not only strength and direction but also a heavy sense of responsibility, of being watched.
Skala took a deep breath and pushed aside the tent's animal hide flap.
The biting cold wind immediately rushed in, dispelling the last lingering shadows of his dream and fully waking him.
The campfire in the encampment was weak, but the faint morning light had already appeared on the horizon.
Gradually, the Trolls in the camp began to pack their belongings, silently and efficiently.
The group had grown, and faces from different shattered tribes all carried a similar tenacity and a hint of yearning for the new faith.
"Depart," Skala's voice wasn't particularly loud, but it was clear enough for every Troll present to hear. "Our destination is Italk."
He suppressed the vague unease in his heart that had been stirred by the dream.
Whatever "debt" was there, whatever mystery his father had left behind, now, he was back with new strength and faith.
Toka followed behind Skala, his expression calm; he didn't speak, but there was an uncharacteristic wariness in his eyes.
"Didn't sleep last night?" Skala asked.
Toka shook his head slightly, then nodded, as if uncertain of the answer.
Skala looked at him but didn't press the matter.
"Dreamed of something?" Gollon approached, checking his leather bracers as he murmured, "This is strange… Ever since converting, I haven't had a single dream."
When he said this, his tone wasn't casual but genuinely concerned.
Dreams, in ZulDrak, were not just illusions during rest. They were connected to the loa.
In the old era, believers could converse with deities in dreams, receive guidance, and even obtain omens.
However, those who were abandoned by the loa would fall into recurring nightmares, dreaming of past comrades, fallen totems, frozen grandmothers, and missing children.
It was an unhealable scar left behind when the "gods withdrew their gaze."
But when they converted to Obsidian, these dreams disappeared.
Regardless of their piety or understanding of divine will, at least they slept soundly.
"Me too," Siye approached, adjusting the cloak on her shoulder as she murmured, "These past few days, my mind has been like a stone; it's terrifyingly quiet at night."
"But last night was different," Gollon interjected. "I'm not saying I dreamed of something… I heard something."
The three Trolls exchanged glances.
Skala was silent for a few breaths, then finally spoke: "Me too."
As soon as he said this, the atmosphere subtly settled for a moment.
Toka looked at him, his eyes showing little fluctuation, but his hands unconsciously tightened their grip.
At this moment, another voice cut in: "You heard it too?"
It was a Witch Doctor apprentice from the third visiting tribe, named Azek, who was not very old. He carried a string of crude bone implements on his back and was currently squatting at the edge of the camp, polishing his divine emblem.
"I originally thought there was something wrong with me," Azek stood up, looking a bit uneasy. "But after hearing you all, I thought of a possibility."
"There's a saying that in the old era, if a loa completely departs, it severs its dream connection with believers; but if it only mostly leaves, and a little residue remains, the believers' dreams will turn into echoes."
"You're saying it was those loa causing it?" Gollon frowned.
"It feels like Matos," Azek's expression was strange. "It left, but not entirely. A part of it remained here, making our dreams chaotic."
Skala remained silent, weighing the credibility of this statement in his mind.
Azek's tone wasn't very certain; it sounded like a simple intuition—explaining things he didn't understand with terms he had heard before.
"These *Troll expletive* loa, they abandoned us, yet they still leave these things to torment us," Gollon spat on the ground and rubbed it in with his foot. "Truly despicable."
Siye stood to the side, not interjecting, just pulling her cloak tighter.
She could feel the divine emblem on her chest heating up, making this journey seem much easier.
It was as if their Lord was using this act to prove that He had not gone far, but was merely standing in a place they could not see, looking down upon them.
Skala likewise said nothing. He gripped his divine emblem, which was still warming him, and turned to give the order:
"Full team, prepare to depart."
He quietly added in the snowy wind:
"I just hope I don't dream anymore."
— — Dividing line — —
The hilly terrain finally ended in the afternoon.
After cresting the last high slope, the land gradually sloped downwards, and the rock layers beneath the snow began to become soft and wet.
White no longer covered the rolling hills, but an endless tundra, its deep yellow color several shades darker than anywhere else nearby, like the scabbed-over site of an old wound.
The wind also changed.
It wasn't colder, but "stickier"—like a breath clinging to the skin.
"We're here," Skala said softly, standing before a towering megalith.
In the distance, several collapsed stone pillars emerged halfway from the snow, their tops still faintly showing Italk's old totem carvings—a pair of parallel Mammoth tusks, long since having lost their original luster due to the years and wind and snow.
He remembered this place.
Back then, Italk was bustling, the marketplace crowded, warriors in animal hides gnawing on roasted meat, and under the totems, there were always people praying or crafting witch doctor tools.
But now, there were no footprints here, nor any traces of campfires.
There were no burnt banners, no obvious battle scars.
It wasn't breached, nor did it seem abandoned.
It was as if the entire city… had closed its own doors.
Toka and Gollon began scouting on both sides, while Siye led people around to the main road to check its passability.
Half an hour later, the three parties converged, with only one conclusion:
"No one is guarding it."
This was illogical.
Although Italk was not a military fortress, it was the junction of several branch roads in South Zuldazar. Theoretically, both the Frost Howl army from the north and the Resistance Alliance from the southwest should have sent people to control this area.
But the reality was—no Frost Howl, no Resistance Alliance banners, no mercenaries, no bandits, no wandering warriors, no scouts, not even a single approaching footprint.
It was as if all the political entities of ZulDrak had reached an unspoken consensus at the boundary between this snowy highland and the tundra:
Do not approach.
Skala squatted down and pushed aside the yellow snow.
The soil was black, and there were clumps of ice shards among the moss, looking like frozen, cracked blood.
He reached out and touched it with his finger, then quickly withdrew it.
"Something happened here," he said.
"And no one wants to investigate."