Picking Up a Shaman

Deep within the mountains, jagged peaks pierced the leaden sky like the spine of a colossal beast, while deep ravines gaped like the land's gruesome wounds. The primeval forest, with its ancient, colossal trees, wove an eternal canopy of perpetual twilight.

However, what deterred living beings most was the swamp, spreading like festering green pus through the heart of the forest.

In this cursed land, monsters ran rampant, accompanied by abnormal weather and chaotic magic power. The damp, cold air was filled with a year-round miasma of decaying poison and an unknown, sweetish stench.

To the demi-humans struggling to survive in the surrounding areas, this dangerous, decaying swamp was aptly named the "Land of Death."

Even the Lizardfolk tribes, who had danced with the harsh environment for generations, only dared to venture along the swamp's edge.

These cold-blooded descendants believed in an ancient ancestral spirit called the "Wanderer" and Puto, the Spirit of the Mire who governed the swamp. They believed the swamp was the domain where their ancestors slumbered, and the Spirit of the Mire was its guardian; excessive intrusion would invite utter destruction.

In early spring, when the thin sunlight barely penetrated the forest canopy, they would hold a grand "Ice-Breaking Festival." Presided over by the tribe's "Scale Claw Priest," they would pray to their ancestors for permission and blessings for the hunt.

Following this, elite hunting parties would cautiously venture into the outer reaches of the Swamp Forest to hunt the giant poisonous frogs and Hard-shelled Water Lizards, mutated by magic power.

Or they would gather rare anti-toxin mosses and luminous swamp fungi—these were the medicinal herbs, food, and precious trade goods their tribe relied on for survival and exchange with outsiders.

Also coveting the resources of the swamp were the Gnoll tribes roaming the decaying swamp and riverbanks. These predators, driven by demonic faith, were far more greedy and reckless than the Lizardfolk.

For them, early spring was the season of the "Fangs of Hunger." Winter had depleted their reserves, and the Gnoll War Chiefs would drive their famished warriors and trained hyenas to sweep the swamp's edges like a plague.

They did not revere ancestral spirits, only fearing strength. Their targets were usually large beasts driven out of the deep swamp by the poisonous miasma, or lone Lizardfolk warriors who dared to venture too far in.

The two demi-human tribes lived on the south bank of the river, yet due to competition, prey, and constant conflict... various contradictions fueled their mutual hatred, viewing each other as potential food stores for the winter.

However...

Several Winter Years ago, a belief known as Corrupted Faith altered the animosity between the two tribes.

Corrupted Faith, with its brutal nature, encroached upon and suppressed heresy. Under the influence of an unknown power, it gradually gained dominance.

The Gnoll tribes were completely lost, while among the Lizardfolk tribes, only a few who called themselves "Scale Shedders" remained, stubbornly resisting.

But under the encirclement and search by the two major tribes, today, the "Scale Shedders" also faced their final doom.

Within the mist-shrouded Swamp Forest, a small, slender Lizardfolk broke the deathly silence and plunged into its depths.

Seja stumbled and fled numbly inward, her amber pupils darting back intermittently, her slender tail flicking anxiously.

Her scaled claws were covered in bloody wounds, and her right shoulder was pierced by a wooden spear, revealing mangled flesh and muscle within.

With every step, she felt the wound tear at her nerves, causing excruciating pain and hysterical gasps, as if trying to drag her consciousness into the swamp, making her vision increasingly blurred.

She didn't know where she was running to, nor how to escape this perilous situation, driven only by the instinct to survive.

Only by shaking off the Corrupted Faith followers hunting her could she, who believed in the ancestral spirits and the Spirit of the Mire, find a sliver of hope in the swamp.

"Xisa! (Shed) Gala! (Prey)"

Noisy, chaotic shouts erupted from behind Seja. Two Gnolls, one Lizardfolk, and a pack of hyenas, a hunting party, emerged from the poisonous mist. They brandished primitive clubs and spears, their voices filled with hatred for the heretics.

Seja coughed violently, spitting out blood. A faint buzzing echoed in her mind, like a warning from her brain. Then, finding the twisted Oak Tree before her unusually tall, she tripped over its roots and fell headlong to the ground.

"Xisa! (Shed)"

The three demi-humans, eyes bloodshot, shouted in anger and quickly caught up to Seja.

"Shaman, useful!"

"Believe in Morgul!"

Seja struggled to support herself on the ground, sneering and cursing, "Filthy Corrupted believers!"

"May the ancestral spirits and the swamp curse you, so you may never set foot in the fertile marshlands."

"I, Seja, would rather return to the embrace of the swamp!"

Seeing her resolute attitude, a Gnoll covered in gray fur approached, swung its club, and struck her in the abdomen, sending her flying several meters away.

"Cough..."

Seja crashed to the ground, her wounds gushing blood. Her blood-stained eyes grew increasingly blurry and red, only able to see the startled Moss Monsters on the ground, feeling death closer than ever before.

At this moment, she recalled her father, the man who guided her to believe in Puto and watched her become a Shaman step by step.

Immediately, a sharp pain pierced her heart. Her memories were stained with blood and ash. That night, she had witnessed her aging father, in his resistance against Corrupted Faith, have his chest pierced by the sharp claws of a priest, blood spraying violently.

Just like she was now.

Sigh...

A heavy sigh escaped her.

Alas, she had ultimately failed to overthrow the corrupted priests, failed to avenge her father, and could only, like those beasts, have her bones sink into the bottomless mire.

But it was for the best.

To return to the embrace of Puto, the Spirit of the Mire, was her utmost honor, far better than falling into the hands of the filthy Corrupted believers.

She lay powerlessly on the ground, her eyes parallel to the earth, as if she could see many green bubbles rising from the swamp, like Puto's envoys—the Slimes welcoming her return...

"Xisa! (Shed)"

The noisy, irritating voices still echoed in Seja's ears. She heard the footsteps of death drawing nearer. Next, all it would take was for the club to descend, and her head would split open.

However, she no longer feared death, only felt acceptance and regret.

She gradually closed her eyes, willing herself to sink into the darkness. Yet, slowly, she suddenly felt her body, growing colder from blood loss, being embraced by warmth.

It was as if soft Slime gel had wrapped around her.

Was it Puto coming to pick her up?

But before Seja's faint doubt could linger, she heard a scream pierce the darkness, echoing in her ears.

The buzzing sound was intense. At first, she thought it was her mind, a result of blood loss, but gradually she felt something was wrong.

Wait...

This was the sound of Stinger Bees flapping their wings!

Realizing this, Seja's eyes snapped open. She struggled to lift her gaze and saw poisonous stingers raining down from the trees, driving away the Demi-humans who had invaded the area.

These Black Iron rank monsters usually appeared in swarms, and their poisonous stingers were lethally terrifying. Even Lizardfolk with their scales dared not provoke them lightly.

How could there be a Stinger Bee nest here, and how could it have attacked the hunting party?

Could it be that the Ancestral Spirits and Puto had heard her prayers?

Instantly, hope for survival ignited within her. Enduring the intense pain, she moved her body, slowly retreating into the swamp.