With nauseating squelches, Barbarossa's boots sank deep into the thick mud, which reeked of rotting organic matter. Pulling them free took considerable effort each time and made his already cumbersome boots a little heavier.
After walking for a while, he reached a spot with relatively little mud, probably the last remains of a dockside warehouse.
He found a relatively high section of collapsed wall, climbed onto it, and surveyed the deathly silent expanse of flooded land around him, shrouded in cold fog that smelled of rust.
This had once been Suvano, the bustling port that was the pride of the Minicia Kingdom. Now it was merely a name swallowed by a dark green mark on the map, a nightmare forgotten deep in the mire.
As the scout widely acknowledged to be the best among the players, Barbarossa had honed his senses through countless extreme environments until they were as precise as finely calibrated instruments.
Now those senses were screaming warnings at him, painting a picture far more chilling than any official report.
His gaze pierced the thin fog, barely making out the city's remains.
The once-soaring bell tower jutted crookedly from the muddy water like a bone gnawed by some enormous beast, with only the corroded bronze bell at its summit still exposed.
The outlines of the brick and stone buildings blurred beneath dark green algae and slick moss. Their windows had become hollow eye sockets staring over these cursed waters.
The water was not clear but a murky, inky green, shimmering with an eerie oily sheen. Beneath it lay the remains of civilization: warped carriage wheel hubs, shattered clay pots, and even the tiles of half-submerged roofs.
There were no birds, only huge venomous flies in disturbingly vivid colors buzzing in circles, or bloated leeches slowly writhing over rotten