Kusaka Qianliu

At dawn, the sun had just risen. Faint sunlight streamed through the clouds and spilled into the valley, bringing a hint of daybreak to the area. However, the chill of night still lingered in the valley, making people shiver involuntarily.

Last night's battle had left obvious traces. The mud in front of the defensive line had been trampled hard, as though it had endured a violent stampede. The bamboo stakes in the trap zone had also suffered heavy damage, with most of them snapped. The originally tough rope fibers had turned white and brittle under the corrosion of the acid, crumbling into powder with the slightest squeeze.

I slowly walked along the mouth of the valley, carefully inspecting every detail. I retightened all the trigger lines, making sure they were in optimal condition. Without hesitation, I replaced the broken stakes with spares to ensure the defensive line remained intact.

Every time I worked, the scene from last night flashed repeatedly through my mind. Those attacks had not been blind or rash. They had followed an obvious rhythm and contained clear probing movements, as if they were feeling out the layout and weak points of our defensive line.

By the time the sun reached the mountainside, the mist had gradually receded and disappeared into the depths of the Forest Sea. However, the smell outside the valley mouth had not weakened. Instead, it had grown stronger. The wind blew over from the Forest Sea, carrying a mixed scent—blood, dampness, and a faint, difficult-to-detect sour stench.

The smell was deeply unpleasant, as if the air had been "pickled" by something. Even under the sunlight, it did not completely dissipate. It continued to linger all around us, impossible to ignore.

When I circled around to observe from the northern high ground, I saw many