Chapter 114: The Sanctuary of black thorns
A green meadow stretched across the land, wide and deceivingly calm. Trees stood sparse, dwarfed by the towering black thorns that dominated the horizon. From afar, someone might mistake them for a forest until they noticed how the thorns reached upward like twisted spears, blotting out the sky in some directions. They covered everything. No matter which way a person turns their head, the black growths stood waiting.
A narrow river curved along the far side, its stream breaking into a cliffside waterfall. It should have made the scene perfect for camping—peaceful even. But the stillness clung too tightly. No laughter, no crackling fire, not even the whisper of birds overhead. The sky held only a few winged shapes, distant and faint, they weren’t even at the top of the area, they avoided it as if they wanted nothing to do with this place.
Wind dragged dust across the meadow in small bursts. It didn’t howl. It just moved.
Ash stood with one hand on his leg, bent over, panting. His body trembled. His sweat soaked into the earth. Six days of running. Nonstop. For everyone else, it had passed in a blink, barely half an hour. For him, it was an endless grind through pain and silence. He never wanted to feel that again.
His eyes dropped to the band on his wrist. The screen glowed faintly.
[Destination Reached]
Ash barely had the strength to nod. He raised his head once, catching a glimpse of the endless black thorns again. Then his legs gave out beneath him. His soul pool was dry, emptied from the cursed skill that dragged him across days of torment. He collapsed into the meadow.
The ground caught him gently. Without a single beast to roam or creature to stir, nothing disturbed him. He drifted off in quiet exhaustion, the emptiness within him slowly filling again.
Hours passed. The sun dimmed until the gold in the sky turned pale. The shadows grew longer.
Ash opened his eyes. The ceiling of thorn-covered sky stared back.
He sat up in a rush.
His mind reeled, flickers of memory clawing their way back. The skill—Phantom’s Stride. The toll it took. The desperate run to this place called Thornrest.