Deep in the mountains, jagged peaks pierced the lead-gray sky like the spines of colossal beasts. Bottomless ravines resembled the earth's savage wounds, while primordial forests wove an eternal canopy of gloom with their towering ancient trees.
Yet what made living creatures recoil most was the swamp that spread wantonly through the heart of the forest like festering green pus.
In this cursed land, Demonic Beasts ran rampant. Aberrant weather and Mana disturbances were everywhere, while the cold, damp air was steeped year-round in poisonous humus mists and an unknown fishy sweetness.
To the Demihumans struggling to survive around its borders, this dangerous Corrupt Mire was a deathly land in every sense of the word.
Even the Lizardfolk tribes, who had danced with harsh environments for generations, only dared to move about along the swamp's edge.
These Cold Blood descendants worshiped an ancient Ancestral Spirit called Coiler, as well as Putu, the Spirit of the Mire who governed the swamp. They believed the swamp was the realm where their Ancestral Spirits slept, and that the Spirit of the Mire was its keeper. Excessive disturbance would bring disaster crashing down upon them.
When spring arrived and thin sunlight barely pierced the forest canopy, they held a grand Icebreaking Rite, presided over by the tribe's Scale Claw Priest, to pray to their Ancestral Spirits for permission and protection to hunt.
Only afterward would the elite Hunting Squad cautiously venture into the outskirts of the Swamp Forest to hunt giant venomous frogs and Hard-shelled Water Lizards catalyzed by Mana.
Or gather rare antidote moss and glowing swamp fungi—medicinal herbs, food, and precious trade goods upon which the tribe depended for survival.
Also coveting the mire's resources were the Gnoll tribes roaming the Corrupt Mire and its riverbanks. Driven by demonic faith, these predators were far greedier and more reckless than the Lizardfolk.
To them, spring was the season when the Fangs of Hunger descended. The harsh winter had drained their stores, and the Gnoll War Chiefs drove their starving warriors and tamed hyenas to sweep across the mire's borders like a plague.
They revered no Ancestral Spirits and feared only strength. Their targets were usually large beasts driven out from the deep mire by poisonous miasma, or lone Lizardfolk warriors who had dared to venture too far within.
The two Demihuman tribes lived along the river's southern bank, yet competition, prey, slaughter... countless conflicts made them hate each other, each regarding the other as food to be stored for winter.
However...
Several Winter Years ago, something called Corrupted Faith changed the hostility between the two tribes.
Corrupted Faith forcefully invaded and suppressed heretics, gradually seizing the dominant position under the influence of an unknown power.
The Gnoll tribe fell completely. Only a portion of the Lizardfolk tribe remained, Lizardfolk who called themselves the Scale Shedders and still fought with their backs against the wall.
But under the encirclement and search of both tribes, today, the Scale Shedders too met their final doom.
Within the Swamp Forest shrouded in poisonous mist, a small, slender Lizardfolk tore through the deathly silence and rushed into its depths.
Seja staggered deeper in numb flight. Her amber slit pupils swept behind her from time to time, while her thin tail lashed anxiously.
Her scaled claws were covered in bloody wounds. Her right shoulder had even been pierced through by a wooden spear, exposing a mangled mess of flesh and muscle within.
Every step tugged at her nerves through the wound, bringing agonizing pain and hysterical gasps. It felt as though her consciousness would sink into the swamp, making her vision increasingly blurred.
She did not know where she was running, nor how she could escape danger. She was simply driven onward by her instinct to survive.
Only by shaking off the Corrupted Faith hunters behind her could she, a believer in the Ancestral Spirits and the Spirit of the Mire, possibly find a sliver of life in the swamp.
"Sisa! (Scale Shedder) Gala! (Prey)"
Noisy, chaotic shouts rose behind Seja. A Hunting Squad made up of two Gnolls, one Lizardfolk, and hyenas emerged from the poisonous mist in pursuit, waving primitive clubs and spears in their hands, their voices thick with hatred for heretics.
Seja coughed violently and spat blood. A faint buzzing echoed in her head, like a warning issued by her own brain. Then she merely saw that the Twisted Oak before her was towering, before its roots tripped her and sent her headlong to the ground.
"Sisa! (Scale Shedder)"
The eyes of the three Demihumans were bloodshot as they shouted furiously, quickly catching up to Seja.
"Shaman, useful!"
"Worship Morgul!"
Seja struggled to prop herself up from the ground. With a cold sneer, she cursed, "Filthy Corrupted Believers!"
"May the Ancestral Spirits and the swamp curse you, so that you may never set foot in the fertile swamp."
"I, Seja, would rather return to the swamp's embrace!"
Seeing her resolute attitude, a gray-furred Gnoll strode over, swung its club, and smashed it into her lower abdomen, sending her flying several yards away.
"Cough..."
Seja crashed to the ground, blood gushing from her wounds. Her blood-smeared vision grew increasingly blurred and red. She could only see the frightened Moss Monsters on the ground and feel death closer than it had ever been.
At that moment, she remembered her father—the man who had guided her into worshiping Putu and watched her become a shaman step by step.
Then an inexplicable pain stabbed through her heart. Her memories were dyed red with blood and ashes. On that night, she had watched with her own eyes as her aging father, resisting Corrupted Faith, had his chest pierced by a priest's sharp claws, blood spraying everywhere.
Just like she was now.
Alas...
A heavy sigh rang through her heart.
In the end, she had failed to overthrow the corrupted priest, failed to avenge her father. Like those beasts, she could only let her bones sink into the bottomless mire.
But perhaps this was for the best.
To return to the embrace of Putu, the Spirit of the Mire, was her highest honor—far better than falling into the hands of filthy Corrupted Believers.
She lay helplessly upon the ground, her eyes level with the earth. It seemed she could see countless green bubbles rising from the swamp, as though Putu's messengers—the Slimes—were welcoming her return...
"Sisa! (Scale Shedder)"
The noisy, irritating voices still rang by Seja's ears. She heard death's footsteps drawing closer and closer. All it would take was for the club to fall, and her head would burst like a flower.
Yet she no longer feared death. All she felt was acceptance and regret.
She slowly closed her eyes, willing to sink into darkness. But gradually, she suddenly felt her body, chilled ever more by blood loss, seeming to be surrounded by warmth.
As though soft Slime gel had wrapped itself around her.
Had Putu come to receive her?
But before the faint doubt rising in Seja's heart could linger for long, she heard a scream tear through the darkness and echo by her ears.
The buzzing grew thunderous. At first, she thought it was caused by blood loss affecting her mind, but gradually, she realized something was wrong.
Wait...
That was the sound of Stinger Bees beating their wings!
Realizing this, Seja abruptly opened her eyes and barely managed to look up, only to see venomous stingers raining down from the trees, driving away the Demihumans who had invaded this place.
These Black Iron Demonic Beasts usually appeared in swarms. Their sprayed stingers were lethally terrifying; even Lizardfolk protected by scales did not dare provoke them lightly.
How was there a Stinger Bee Hive here by chance, and why had it happened to attack the Hunting Squad?
Could it be that the Ancestral Spirits and Putu had heard her prayer?
In an instant, hope for survival flared within her heart. Enduring the searing pain, she shifted her body and slowly crawled toward the swamp to hide.
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