Death Caravan

The seventh segment of the trade route was narrower than any segment before it.

The stone slabs looked as though they had been gnawed on by something; their edges were jagged and pitted, and the rotting leaves from both sides had almost spilled completely onto the path.

The six cargo chests slid along behind Milo. Compared to the fifteen chests from before, this was already a much lighter burden.

The only headache was that Damon was no longer with them.

Previously, whenever roots lunged at them, the first sound to ring out would be his iron shield slamming into the ground.

Now, there was only the rustling of rotting leaves, branches scraping against the stone slabs, and the heavily muffled breathing of the group.

Reece looked at Milo, who was exceptionally tense up ahead, and said in a low voice,

“Focus on the road. Don't look to either side.”

Milo nodded, forcing himself to look away.

But in the next instant, a large patch of rotting leaves on the left suddenly bulged, as if hiding countless hands. With a violent upheaval, over a dozen thin twigs burst out at once.

These branches were no longer just simple whips.

They bent and gathered, their tips intertwining to form skeletal ghost hands. They crawled up along the edge of the stone path, reaching for Milo's ankles and the bottoms of the cargo chests.

Milo's breath hitched in terror, and his footsteps nearly faltered.

“Don't move!”

Reece barked sharply.

By then, Kolo had already charged forward.

Her heavy axe swept out, severing the first ghost hand in two.

Yet the severed branches did not die immediately. Falling onto the stone slabs, they continued to crawl forward with their mangled knuckles, scratching against the stone with a dry, clicking sound.

Ryan fired an arrow, pinning a ghost hand that was about to grab Milo's ankle to the ground.

But even more ghost hands reached out from behind.

Severn's expression turned grim. The flame on his staff flared brightly, and the foremost ghost hands immediately retreated into the rotting leaves.

However, those retreated hands did not disappear.

Just as everyone thought they had suppressed the attack, the ghost hands actually circled around to the other side, emerging from a spot much closer to the cargo chests.

Reece's face darkened. “These are much more troublesome than the ones before.”

No sooner had he spoken than the stone cracks on the right burst open. Three ghost hands thrust out from below—one lunged at Milo, while the others grabbed directly for the very last cargo chest.

Milo instinctively leaned back, causing the six cargo chests to tilt with him, their corners nearly scraping the edge of the stone path.

Reece immediately stomped on the corner of the chest and slashed down with his broadsword, severing the ghost hand wrapped around the bottom.

But another ghost hand crawled up the blade, its five thin twigs clawing toward his wrist.

Reece's eyes flashed with ruthlessness, and he let go of his sword to retreat.

Kolo swung her axe with a backhand strike, her invisible force blasting the ghost hand and the broadsword away.

“Catch!”

She kicked the hilt back to him.

Reece caught the sword cleanly and hacked off the remaining roots. Several bloody scratches had already been carved into the back of his hand.

Rena stood near the front of the group, her short dagger already nicked in two places.

A ghost hand crawled along a crack in the stone, its five fingers splayed as it lunged for her calf.

She sidestepped to avoid it and slashed downward, but the blade unexpectedly wedged into the middle of the branch, failing to sever it immediately.

Instead, the ghost hand wound its way up the blade, its knuckle-like twigs clamping onto her wrist.

Isolde's eyes darkened slightly.

With a subtle twitch of her fingers, a Soul Thread slid out along the back of her dagger, wrapping around the joints of the ghost hand before pulling it sharply to the side.

The ghost hand was yanked off course, colliding directly with another branch whipping in from the side.

The two branches tangled together like hands gripping each other, winding tighter and tighter.

Kolo's heavy axe came down right after.

With a sharp crack,

the tangled mass of ghost hands was shattered to pieces.

Kolo's nose caught a faint trace of Malice. Frowning, she turned to look at Rena.

Rena was looking down, shaking the black sap off her dagger with a strained expression, looking as though she had only narrowly escaped by sheer luck.

Kolo said nothing, but her grip on her axe tightened.

The caravan continued forward, the fog growing thicker and thicker.

The flame on Severn's staff began to flicker unstably.

Every few steps, a ghost hand would reach out from the mist, tentatively clawing at their ankles, weapons, cargo chests, or even the wooden tablets at their waists.

Most troubling of all, they seemed to have learned to think, employing tactics and coordinated encirclements.

The six-person formation was gradually squeezed tighter and tighter.

Cold sweat drenched Milo's forehead. “I can't hold on much longer.”

Reece said in a deep voice, “Hold on a bit longer. There should be another road marker ahead.”

“Should?” Ryan twitched the corner of his mouth. “Even you are starting to sound unsure?”

Reece did not argue, for the fog was indeed too thick for him to see clearly either.

Holding his light high, Severn's expression grew increasingly grim.

“This won't work,” he suddenly spoke up. “The path ahead is completely choked by the fog. I can't see where we're going.”

Reece looked at him. “Then what do you suggest?”

Severn stared at the stone slabs ahead, a hint of anxiety rising in his eyes.

“I can use my 【Firelight Mark】 to scout all the viable routes around us.”

“As long as we mark the direction ahead of time, we can break through.”

Reece immediately frowned. “Don't go changing the route on your own.”

“I'm not changing the route,” Severn said, lowering his voice as he gripped his staff. “I'm just marking out the paths we can take beforehand.”

Reece's expression remained dark. He chopped through a ghost hand and said urgently,

“This trade route isn't normal. The path you mark out might not necessarily be the right one. Let the Pathfinder go with you.”

Severn used a spell to fend off an attack, speaking with displeasure:

“I am a scholar. Naturally, I know which path we should take.”

His gaze fell upon an old stone slab half-buried under the rotting leaves.

On the surface of that slab was a very faint wheel rut, looking as though a wagon had rolled over it a long time ago.

As his 【Firelight Mark】 swept over it, a wisp of faint gray mist emerged from the rut.

Severn said in pleasant surprise, “I've found a new path. We should be able to take it.”

Ryan frowned. “Are you sure?”

Severn's voice was very low, yet it carried an irrepressible certainty.

“A trade route doesn't leave wheel ruts for no reason. These tracks might be the very path past caravans took.”

Reece said coldly, “They could also have been left by a caravan that died here.”

Severn's fingers tightened. He knew Reece had a point, but he trusted his own judgment more.

“I will continue marking. If it's wrong, I'll return immediately.”

Reece wanted to stop him, but the fog ahead suddenly churned violently.

Over a dozen ghost hands reached out from both sides simultaneously.

Kolo barely dodged, her heavy axe sweeping in a wide arc.

Ryan fired three arrows in rapid succession, pinning the ghost hands, but he couldn't stop even more branches from crawling up behind them.

Reece hacked away the twigs wrapping around Milo and finally relented:

“Then make it quick.”

Severn did not hesitate any longer. He slammed the butt of his staff against the ground.

Fire flowed down from the bottom of the staff like a thin thread of flame, creeping forward along the cracks in the stone.

The stone slabs touched by the line of fire lit up with a faint golden glow.

Forced back by the golden light, the fog parted to reveal a narrow path ahead.

Milo's eyes lit up. “There's a path!”

Ryan also let out a sigh of relief. “We can finally see clearly.”

Yet Reece did not relax. He stared at the illuminated stone slabs, his brow furrowing tighter and tighter.

The wheel ruts on those slabs were incredibly blurry—so blurry they seemed to be shrouded in a layer of dark shadow.

Standing nearby, Rena's eyes darkened slightly.

She could sense the familiar aura permeating that path. It was the scent of death, long settled.

“Severn,” she suddenly spoke up. “Put out the light.”

Severn was startled. “Why?”

Rena stared at the wheel ruts growing darker ahead, her voice freezing.

“This isn't a path for the living. It's a path for the dead.”

Severn's expression shifted. Before he could react, the sound of rolling wheels suddenly echoed from deep within the fog along that path.

The sound drifted, now distant, now close.

At the same time, the surrounding ghost hands ceased their attacks, as if clearing the way for something.

Ryan abruptly raised his bow, aiming into the depths of the fog.

Along the dark path illuminated by the fire, a dilapidated wagon slowly emerged.

Its wheels were sunk into the stone slabs, their spokes tangled with black roots.

Behind the wagon followed a figure.

The figure wore rotting clothes, with an old wooden tablet hanging from their body.

The face had no eyes and no nose—only a layer of grayish-white flesh pierced and shredded by roots.

Right after, a second figure and then a third emerged from the fog.

They pushed the wagon, holding weapons.

An entire decayed caravan was slowly marching toward them along the path of death Severn had illuminated.

The color drained completely from Severn's face. “What is this... I only used my 【Firelight Mark】 to show the path.”

Reece grit his teeth. “The path you lit up was theirs!”

The death caravan stopped at the end of the line of fire.

In the next instant, they turned their heads in unison, all of them staring at Severn.

Severn froze. The shadow beneath his feet suddenly stretched.

Slithering across the stone slabs, it actually connected with the shadows of the death caravan.

He wanted to step back, but his feet wouldn't move.

The shadows on the ground had wrapped around his ankles like thin ropes.

“Severn!”

Ryan rushed forward, trying to pull him back.

Reece grabbed Ryan by the back of his collar, dragging him back with brute force.

“Don't touch him!”

Ryan roared in anger, “But we can still save him!”

Reece stared at the shadow beneath Severn's feet, his voice heavy with grim reluctance.

“He is already on that path of death.”

Severn looked down at his feet. The edges of his boots were starting to lose their color.

It was as if decades of time were washing over them in layers.

The leather cracked, and the hem of his robe yellowed.

Even the hand gripping his staff began to break out in grayish-white death spots.

Then, a ghost hand formed from tangled branches reached out from the wagon behind them, grabbing Severn by the arm.

Terrified at last, Severn violently raised his staff, trying to extinguish the 【Firelight Mark】.

But the fire on his staff suddenly turned into a blue-green ghost fire.

He opened his mouth, trying to chant a defensive spell.

A ghost hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, stifling the incantation in his throat.

More ghost hands reached out from behind the death caravan, dragging him bit by bit into the fog.

His body was dragged forward at an angle, his clothes and hair rapidly losing color, while dark decay lines wormed their way out from beneath his skin.

The staff in Severn's hand dropped to the ground, wedging upright in a crack in the stone, its fire burning dimmer and dimmer.

“Mmph! Mmph...”

His eyes bulged as he struggled violently, as if he had finally understood.

He had used his 【Firelight Mark】 to illuminate a path that did not belong to them.

And the dead wandering that path had mistaken him for their new Lantern Bearer.

With a violent yank, Severn's body was dragged onto that path of death.

His face rapidly hollowed out, his eye sockets darkening, his lips cracking, and withered branches sprouted from his body, turning him into a parasitic walking corpse.

In the next instant, another lamp appeared in the fog.

It hung at the very front of the death caravan.

Within the glass of the lantern, Severn's distorted, lifeless face was faintly reflected.

He stiffly held the lamp, giving it a gentle swing.

The dilapidated wagon began to roll once more.

Pushing the wagon, the death caravan slowly vanished into the dark mist, taking the new lamp with them.