Mistakenly Rejoicing in Vain, Approaching Danger; Secretly Falling into the Abyss, All Things Empty

After receiving their orders, the two elite scouts did not hesitate in the slightest. They immediately split into two groups, slipping silently into the fog from either flank of the formation and feeling their way forward in the direction the Blood-Clad Army had pursued.

Their bodies were as agile as leopards, their footsteps as light as falling leaves. They deliberately softened their breathing, carefully avoiding loose stones and dead branches beneath their boots, terrified that even the faintest sound would expose their tracks.

They knew full well that this mission concerned the life-or-death decision of the entire force. There could not be the slightest mistake.

Along the way, they occasionally saw the bodies of their own soldiers lying by the roadside. Their faces were black-blue as ink, white foam continually congealing at the corners of their mouths. Their fingers were curled tight, nails sunk deep into the mud—clear signs of the agonized struggle after poisoning.

Every corpse they saw tightened their hearts another notch, and the sense of duty within them grew ever stronger.

They had to determine whether the enemy troops had also been trapped. This was the entire force's only chance at survival. Otherwise, sooner or later, they too would end up like these comrades—poisoned to death by the roadside, or dropping dead on the spot in a desperate final fight.

The sorcerous fog was thick, its brightness flickering between light and dark. The stealthy advance seemed to have no end. The scouts gradually drifted apart, like isolated islands scattered across a vast sea. They could no longer hear their companions, only blindly feeling their way toward the enemy.

The farther they went, the more cautious they became, wishing they could stop breathing altogether.

But how could they know that the instant they stepped into the Blood-Clad Army's