Chapter 35: What Did This?
The dense canopy of the forest filtered the afternoon light into a mosaic of shifting shadows as the group of mercenary cultivators retraced their steps.
The group moved with silent, practiced precision, their heavy leather boots crushing the damp pine needles underfoot as they navigated back toward the exact location the lead guard of the Crimson Freight Agency had described.
It did not take them long to reach the coordinates.
As they broke through a thick wall of weeping willows and entered a wide clearing, the iron-rich scent of dried blood hit their nostrils instantly.
"Over here," the scarred leader called out, raising a hand to signal his men to halt.
Spread out across the blood-soaked clearing were the lifeless remains of the infamous local outlaws. The scene matched the exact description the transport convoy had provided. Without wasting a moment, the mercenaries fanned out across the dirt, kneeling beside the fallen figures to cross-reference their faces and tattoos with the official bounty manifests they carried in their satchels.
"Found one. This is Dorgan, rank four on the eastern sector list," a younger mercenary reported, pressing a red ink stamp onto the margin of his parchment scroll.
"Cross him off," the leader instructed, his eyes sweeping across the grim landscape.
As the inspection continued, the sheer brutality of the initial clash became increasingly apparent. Some of the bodies were not merely slain; they were violently mangled. Several corpses had been torn entirely in half, with torso parts hanging separately from severed limbs in grotesque displays of raw, overwhelming force.
"Whoever fought these men didn’t just defeat them," one of the older cultivators muttered, grimacing as he zipped up a leather collection pouch containing a target’s identity token. "They butchered them with absolute contempt."
After a thorough sweep, they officially confirmed that the group of corpses gathered in the clearing were indeed part of their high-priority wanted list.
However, just as the team was preparing to pack up and report back to their command post, one of the scouts who had wandered deeper into the surrounding forest fringe let out a sharp whistle.
"Hey! You guys need to see this!" the scout shouted, his voice laced with sudden unease.
The leader and the remaining mercenaries exchanged glances before jogging over toward the treeline where the scout stood.
Entering the denser brush, they immediately noticed clear, violent signs of a secondary battle. Trees had been splintered, the bark gouged out by violent surges of kinetic energy, and the soil was churned up into muddy craters. A thick, dark trail of dried blood smeared across the roots of an ancient oak tree.
The scout pointed a trembling finger ahead.
Following the blood trail just a few paces further, they found a severed head resting awkwardly against a mossy rock, its expression frozen in a permanent mask of agonizing shock.
The scarred leader stepped forward, carefully nudging the hair back to inspect the face. He immediately recognized the distinct facial structure and the high-grade leather armor fragments nearby.
"This... this is the leader of the scout division," the leader whispered, his voice dropping an octave in disbelief. "A peak-stage cultivator. How is this possible?"
Driven by a sudden surge of morbid curiosity and professional dread, the mercenaries decided to broaden their search perimeter. They fanned out deeper into the thicket, sweeping the surrounding miles of forest.
What they discovered next left them utterly speechless.
Scattered throughout the hidden depths of the woods were more bodies—dozens of them. By the time they finished counting, they realized they had found a total of forty corpses hidden across the terrain.
These bodies bore wounds and causes of death that were entirely different from the clean, blade-and-magic slashes found on the bandits in the main clearing. Many of these new corpses were completely shriveled, their skin tight and gray like mummified husks, their eyes wide open with a look of horror so profound it seemed to have drained the very life from their bones before death even claimed them.
The leader stared down at the dried, skeletal remains of the mercenary boss Lu Feng had neutralized, a cold sweat breaking out across the back of his neck.
"Look at this," one of the investigators said, holding up a shattered talisman fragment. "These aren’t local outlaws. These are professional fighters from the outer territories."
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the group as they stood among the dozens of withered corpses.
"Was this... was this the work of the transport convoy?" one of the younger cultivators asked aloud, his voice shaking slightly as he looked around the eerie, silent forest. "Did that merchant group do all of this?"
The scarred leader shook his head slowly, staring blankly at the ground. "No. The lead guard mentioned fighting a standard bandit pack. He didn’t say a single word about an army of elite fighters getting wiped out like cattle in the woods."
"Then who—or what—did this?"
No one had an answer. The forest offered only the cold rustle of the evening wind through the pine needles, keeping its dark secrets buried beneath the soil.
~~~~~
Miles away from the eerie forest clearing, the world inside the moving transport carriage was peaceful and warm.
The rhythmic creak of the wooden wheels rolling over the dirt road provided a steady, lulling hum that isolated the cabin from the rest of the world.
Han Lin was quietly reading a small, leather-bound booklet by the dim, fading light of the afternoon sun filtering through the window, while Ye Chenxue sat across from her in deep meditation, her breathing slow, even, and controlled.
In the corner of the bench, Lu Feng leaned his head back against the cushioned paneling and closed his eyes.
He wasn’t sleeping. Instead, his mind was wandering far ahead, drifting past the immediate dangers of the road and the endless complications of the cultivation world.
He envisioned a large yet simple manor situated on the quiet outskirts of a prosperous city—a place with high stone walls, a lush garden filled with blooming flowers, and wide, airy rooms where they wouldn’t have to worry about ambushes, bandits, or sudden life-or-death system quests. A secure, comfortable home for himself and the two ladies who now depended on him for their survival and future.
A faint, genuine smile touched the corners of his lips as he thought of the endless possibilities awaiting them from this moment on.
Whatever trials lay ahead in Crimson Vale City, he was ready to face them.