Deep within the mountain ranges, jagged peaks pierced the lead-gray sky like the spines of giant beasts, while deep ravines resembled the earth's ghastly wounds. The primeval forest wove an eternal dim canopy with its colossal ancient trees.
However, what truly made living creatures hesitate to approach was the swamp area spreading wildly through the forest's heart like festering green pus.
In this cursed land, magical creatures ran rampant, filled with abnormal weather and mana disturbances. The damp, cold air perpetually carried the scent of humus toxins and an unknown, cloying sweetness.
In the eyes of the demi-humans struggling to survive along its edges, this dangerous decaying marsh was truly worthy of being called the "Land of Death."
Even the lizardfolk tribes, who had danced with harsh environments for generations, dared only operate at the swamp's periphery.
These cold-blooded descendants worshipped an ancient ancestral spirit called the "Coiler" and Putu, the bog spirit who governed the swamp. They believed the swamp was the domain where their ancestors slept, with the bog spirit acting as its guardian. Excessive disturbance would bring utter disaster.
At the start of spring, when thin sunlight barely pierced the forest canopy, they would hold a grand "Ice-Breaking Festival," presided over by the tribe's "Scale-Claw Priest," to beseech the ancestral spirits for hunting permission and protection.
Only then would elite hunting parties cautiously venture into the swamp forest's outer reaches, hunting the magically-enhanced giant poison frogs and hard-shelled water lizards.
Or they would gather rare anti-venom mosses and glowing swamp fungi—these were the vital medicines, food, and precious trade goods the tribe relied on for survival.
For them, the start of spring was the season when the "Hunger's Fang" descended. The harsh winter had depleted their reserves, and the tribe's gnoll war-chief would drive his hungry warriors and trained hyenas to scour the marsh edges like a plague.
They held no reverence for ancestral spirits, fearing only strength. Their targets were usually the large beasts driven from the deep marshes by toxic miasmas, or lone lizardfolk warriors who had dared venture too far.
The two demi-human tribes coexisted on the river's southern bank, yet they harbored mutual hatred due to competition, prey, killings... all sorts of conflicts, viewing each other as potential stores of winter provisions.
However...
Several winters ago, a belief called the Corruption changed the opposition between the two tribes.
The Corruption faith aggressively suppressed heresies and, under the influence of unknown forces, gradually took the dominant position.
The gnoll tribe completely fell, leaving only some lizardfolk within the lizardfolk tribe, who called themselves the "Shed-Scales," still putting up a stubborn resistance.
But under the blockade and search efforts of both major tribes, today, even the "Shed-Scales" faced their final doom.
Within the swamp forest permeated by toxic mist, a small, slender lizardfolk tore through the deathly silence and plunged deeper inside.
Sekashi stumbled forward with numb steps, her amber vertical pupils occasionally glancing backward, her slender tail lashing anxiously.
Her scaled claws were covered in bloody wounds, and her right shoulder was pierced clean through by a wooden spear, revealing the mangled tissue and muscle within.
With every step, she felt the wound tearing at her nerves, causing excruciating pain and hysterical gasps, as if trying to sink her consciousness into the swamp, making her vision increasingly blurry.
She didn't know where she was fleeing to, nor how she could escape the danger. She was driven solely by the instinct to survive.
Only by shaking off the Corrupted believers hunting her could she, a believer in the ancestral spirits and the bog spirit, possibly find a sliver of hope for survival within the swamp.
"Shesha! (Shed-Scale) Gara! (Prey)"
Chaotic, disorderly shouts erupted from behind Sekashi. A hunting party composed of two gnolls, one lizardfolk, and hyenas emerged from the toxic mist. They brandished primitive clubs and spears, their voices filled with hatred for the heretic.
Sekashi coughed violently, spraying blood. She only heard a faint buzzing resonate in her mind, like a warning from her brain. Then, she merely noticed how tall the Twisted Oak before her was before she tripped over its roots and fell headlong to the ground.
"Shesha! (Shed-Scale)"
The three demi-humans, eyes crimson with rage, shouted furiously and quickly closed in on Sekashi.
"Shaman, useful!"
"Worship Morgul!"
Sekashi struggled to push herself up from the ground, sneering as she cursed, "Filthy Corrupted believers!"
"May the ancestral spirits and the swamp curse you, forever barring you from the bountiful marshes."
"I, Sekashi, would rather return to the swamp's embrace!"
Seeing her resolute attitude, a gray-furred gnoll stepped forward, swung its club, struck her abdomen, and sent her flying several meters away.
"Cough..."
Sekashi crashed to the ground, her wounds gushing blood. Her blood-stained eyesight grew increasingly blurry and tinged with red. She could only see the panicked Moss Monsters on the ground and feel death closer to her than ever before.
In that moment, she remembered her father, the man who had guided her to worship Putu and watched her become a shaman step by step.
Then, a sudden sharp pain pierced her heart. Her memories were stained red with blood and ashes. That night, she had witnessed her aged father, resisting the Corrupted faith, have his chest pierced by the priest's sharp claws, blood spraying violently.
Just like her now.
Alas...
A heavy sigh echoed within her heart.
It was a pity she ultimately failed to overthrow the Corrupted priest, failed to avenge her father. She could only end up like those beasts, her bones sinking into the bottomless bog.
But perhaps this was for the best.
Being able to return to the embrace of Putu, the bog spirit, was her supreme honor, better than falling into the hands of the filthy Corrupted believers.
She lay powerless on the ground, her eyes parallel to the earth, seemingly able to see many green bubbles emerging from the swamp, as if Putu's messengers—those Slimes—were welcoming her return...
"Shesha! (Shed-Scale)"
The noisy, annoying sounds still echoed in Sekashi's ears. She heard the footsteps of death approaching step by step. Next, just a blow from a club would completely shatter her skull.
But she no longer held any fear of death, only acceptance and regret.
She gradually closed her eyes, willing to sink into the darkness. Yet, gradually, she suddenly felt her body, grown colder from excessive blood loss, seemingly enveloped by warmth.
It was as if soft Slime gel was wrapping around her.
Was Putu coming for her?
But the faint doubt rising in Sekashi's heart hadn't lasted long before she heard a scream pierce the darkness, echoing in her ears.
The buzzing sounded intensely. At first, she thought it was her mind playing tricks due to blood loss, but gradually she sensed something was wrong.
Wait...
This was the sound of Poison-stinger Wasps vibrating their wings!
Realizing this, Sekashi's eyes snapped open. With great effort, she lifted her gaze and saw venomous stingers raining down from the trees like rain, driving away the demi-humans who had invaded this place.
These Black Iron-tier magical creatures usually appeared in swarms. Their launched stingers were deadly and terrifying; even scaled lizardfolk dared not provoke them lightly.
How could there just happen to be a Poison-stinger Wasp nest here, and why did it specifically attack the hunting party?
Could it be that the ancestral spirits and Putu had heard her prayers?
Instantly, hope for survival ignited within her. Enduring the severe pain, she shifted her body, slowly moving to hide within the swamp.