Mud Demon

First this, then this, and then this...

Chen Yu set down the talisman brush and picked up the scribbled talisman on the table, its cinnabar ink still wet.

Very good, he had obtained another failed talisman.

"Sure enough, drawing talismans isn't that easy."

He crumpled the failed talisman, which had cost ten Spirit Shards, into a ball and tossed it onto the floor. It rolled a few times before joining its predecessors—the yellow paper balls—in the same corner.

The failed products scattered across the floor alone were worth five or six Spirit Stones. Now, they were all trash.

No wonder that even though talisman drawing was the easiest to learn among the four arts of cultivation, so few cultivators still practiced it.

If he kept failing like this, how long would he have to draw for?

Whatever. I've got money.

Chen Yu held his breath and focused. He pulled out a sheet of yellow talisman paper and pinned it beneath the paperweight, ground the cinnabar talisman ink, dipped his brush, and began to write.

After several more consecutive failures, just as his supply of yellow talisman paper was about to run out, the talisman beneath his brush suddenly blossomed with spiritual light. The talisman ink strokes fully fused with the yellow paper, and a Stone Fortification Talisman was completed just like that.

[Talisman Drawing Technique Lv.1]

"Huh, I didn't expect I'd have such a talent for drawing talismans."

Chen Yu picked up the Stone Fortification Talisman and examined it again and again, thoroughly pleased.

Though the talisman he had drawn was of rather average quality, it was undoubtedly a fine beginning.

Chen Yu flipped through the Talisman Scroll.

There were not many talisman diagrams recorded in it—only the Stone Fortification and Stone Pile varieties. One could ward off attacks from blades, swords, staves, and spells; the other, simply put, threw rocks. Plain and unadorned.

The Talisman Drawing Technique concerned only the skill of drawing talismans. Drawing different talismans also required practice with their diagrams. At present, he only knew how to draw the Stone Fortification Talisman. As for the Stone Pile Talisman, he would need to practice before mastering it.

Now that he had acquired the Talisman Drawing Technique, Chen Yu could not wait to sink his consciousness back into the Swamp Forest.

In the central tree clearing, the Slime that had stood motionless for so long blinked, its body springing back into a three-dimensional shape.

He went around the Little Ones playing and tussling nearby and arrived at an open patch of ground.

Two Stinger Bees clutched a broad leaf and flew down from the tree, landing steadily before Chen Yu.

Earlier, he had considered what he could use in Zeyarila as substitutes for the essential materials required to draw talismans.

A talisman brush?

A Stinger Bee's stinger could barely serve as one, though the talismans it drew would not look very good, and the failure rate would be higher.

Talisman paper?

In theory, leaves could work too, but only if he treated them with Spiritual Power first. Only then could they barely be used as talisman paper.

As for talisman ink... he truly could not think of anything here that could replace it.

Talisman ink was not something one could make by casually picking out some ink. It had to be ground from heavenly treasures and earthly wonders.

Did Zeyarila have such treasures?

He did not know.

At any rate, he had never seen any.

With Spiritual Energy this thin, even cultivation was quite difficult, let alone Spirit Medicine growing from the ground.

If he had hands, Chen Yu really wanted to pat his troubled gelatinous head.

Sure enough, drawing talismans in Zeyarila was not as simple as he had imagined. He could not even gather all the materials.

Since he could not draw talismans, he could only set the matter aside for now.

Chen Yu bounced as he turned around, his round eyes gazing into the depths of the swamp.

The Demonic Beasts here had basically all been ravaged by him, but most of those with Magic Organs had chosen Toxin Resistance as their talent.

He had eaten his fill along the Swift Bee Forest Path, forcibly raising his Toxin Resistance to nearly Lv.3.

If he wanted to hunt Demonic Beasts with different talents, he would probably have to venture deeper into the swamp, explore it, and challenge the terrifying horrors lurking in the darkness.

The depths of the swamp were a realm no one had ever set foot in. He had no idea what lay within and could only take one step at a time.

But strength also meant more chew.

There should be plenty of delicious Demonic Beasts in there...

Chen Yu assembled an army of thirty Stinger Bees, intending to explore deeper into the swamp before nightfall.

Yet at that moment, a Stinger Bee flew back from beyond the territory. It landed on the ground, respectfully lowered its head, and pressed its limbs against the gel.

"...Forest path... humans... death..."

"Humans?"

"Humans have entered the swamp?"

Humans coming to the swamp was no small matter.

Huh?

Wait... Could it be that human who survived the previous Tribe conflict?

Why had he come here?

Chen Yu decided to follow the Stinger Bee outside and see what was going on.

Swamp Forest Path.

Arno Belmont practically rammed through the hanging vines ahead, clutching an oak tree with a death grip to steady his swaying body.

The Petrification Disease had flared up again!

The bone-piercing chill had long since seeped into his marrow, like countless tiny, icy stone needles burrowing through his veins and ruthlessly chiseling away at his flesh.

Every breath tugged at a sharp pain deep in his chest. The right side of his body had gone completely numb, leaving only a marrow-deep cold and a deadened stiffness.

"Damn it! Fucking damn it!"

Arno forced out a hoarse curse through clenched teeth. The target of that curse was both the petrification curse flowing through his bloodline and the Gray-scaled Lizardfolk who had driven him into this desperate corner.

Those Gray-scaled Lizardfolk had discovered him.

And then he had become prey.

His instinct to survive overwhelmed the sluggishness brought on by the Petrification Disease. He turned and ran, blindly choosing a path.

Like a hunted rabbit, he plunged headfirst into the depths of this even darker, more dangerous primeval forest.

Thorns tore at his clothes and skin, while the mud repeatedly tried to swallow him whole.

Just as he was nearly out of strength and ready to give up struggling, he staggered onto a strange forest path.

This forest path was unusually "clean."

There were no venomous insects lurking here, no beastly eyes watching from the dark; even the layer of rotting leaves beneath his feet seemed much thinner.

Some invisible, forbidden force kept the forest's dangerous inhabitants away from this place.

This eerie forest path had become the only way out in his desperate flight—at least for the moment, it had preserved his life and kept him from immediately becoming food for the Swamp's Demonic Beasts or the Lizardfolk.

Yet this brief respite could not withstand the curse ravaging his body.

"Urgh—!"

An unprecedented agony surged through him!

Arno could no longer hold himself up. His knees gave way, and he crashed heavily onto the cold, slick moss.

He hunched over like a boiled shrimp, his violent gasps turning into pained whimpers.

Darkness began to encroach from every direction. Excruciating pain tore at his nerves, and despair devoured his will.

As his consciousness was about to collapse, he saw a warm glow in the darkness through his haze.

It was the orange firelight of a warm hearth.

It danced across a dining table covered with a clean linen cloth, while the scent of baked bread and stewed meat filled the air.

It was as if he had returned to that cozy home.

Laura's long golden hair was pinned behind her head, revealing her gentle profile as she carefully cut a tender piece of stewed meat into small bits and fed it to their little daughter in her high chair.

Their son, meanwhile, excitedly waved a wooden sword, imitating the Knight tales his father had told him. He ran around the table and bumped into a chair, drawing a playfully reproachful laugh from Laura.

Back then, he wore simple yet neat loungewear and sat at the head of the table, holding a cup of warm mead. As he watched everything before him, his weary heart was filled by a heavy, overflowing warmth called "home."

Laura would occasionally look up at him, her blue eyes brimming with dependence and love...

How long ago had that been? That warmth, that peace, that feeling of being needed...

"Laura... children..."

He murmured unconsciously, and even his cold body seemed to feel a trace of illusory warmth.

But that warmth vanished in an instant, as though an invisible giant hand had violently snatched it away! Cold reality and searing agony dragged him back into the hellish Swamp.

The hearth fire went out. The scent of food turned into the stench of rotting leaves. His wife's laughter and his children's chatter were replaced by dead silence.

It was as though that warm illusion had abandoned him completely, leaving him to fall alone into a bottomless abyss of darkness.

At the very last moment before darkness swallowed him whole.

Through his blurred vision, the impenetrably thick mist ahead on the forest path seemed to writhe.

A shadow silently gathered and rose, its outline appearing exceptionally grotesque amid the twisting fog and mottled light.

It looked... like a distorted human figure, yet it was absolutely not human.

Its surface seemed to constantly squirm and flow, as if covered in a layer of bottomless black sludge—or as if countless tiny maggots were writhing madly beneath it.

Several sharp protrusions could vaguely be seen, like a demon's horns or claws, appearing and disappearing in the mist.

Most terrifying of all was where its "head" should have been: two points of dim green, utterly warmthless light, like eyes in the abyss spying on prey, locked firmly onto him!

A demon!

The remnants of Arno's reason were instantly swallowed by terror.

No! He couldn't die! Laura was still waiting for him! The children were still waiting for him!

He had promised to bring money home!

Even if he had to sell his soul to a demon... even if he had to fall into the deepest hell... as long as... as long as he could see them one more time!

Like a final flare before death, his will to survive erupted with its last shred of strength.

With every ounce of strength in his body, he reached toward the savage, terrifying figure in the mist, touched that pitch-black sludge, and rasped out a broken plea:

"Save... save me... no matter... who you are... demon... fine... my soul... take my soul! Save me!"

The faint green points of light flickered slightly, as though they were scrutinizing this humble, despairing stone sacrifice before them.

The viscous silhouette of darkness silently "flowed" one step forward.