Uncharted

Chapter 27

The initial awe of the strange lightning quickly curdled into stark terror. They hadn't expected such a beautiful, almost ethereal display to be so unsettling. The shock came when they realized the light didn't pierce down from the heavens, as lightning was wont to do, but instead erupted from the very earth beneath their feet. Jagged veins of brilliant white pulsed upwards, illuminating the dusty ground and casting grotesque, dancing shadows. Then, the smell hit them – acrid, metallic, and undeniably the sickening scent of burnt flesh. It clawed its way into the caravan, a chilling reminder that whatever was happening outside was not natural, not benevolent. The family huddled closer, their initial curiosity replaced with a primal fear. Confined within the thin, wooden walls of their caravan, they were left with no choice but to wait, their fear a tangible entity in the cramped space. The father, his face grim, held his sword with a white-knuckled grip, the cold steel a small comfort in the face of an unknown horror, a desperate vow to protect his family against whatever might be lurking beyond their temporary haven.

The night was cold and long the random flash and static electrity made them jump at every shadow and creak of the caravan. They listened intently for any sign of movement outside, the darkness pressing in on them like a suffocating blanket. The father's resolve wavered as the hours dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity in the eerie stillness of the night, until they fell asleep from exhaustion,

As the sun finally shone above the cursed forest, the burnt smell of flesh was really strong, and the wind that was coming down the elevated area of the forest opening wasn't helping the condition. The family woke up feeling restless as they weren't able to get a proper rest as the lightning burst continued to flash on top of the hill that was just a few meters away from where their caravan wagon was stationed; even the horse that pulled the wagon was scared and whinnying in fear. They all woke up and just hoped for the best; this wasn't their first encounter, and they barely managed to survive; luck was still on their side.

Still tired, but they needed to prepare to leave, but their horse was still weak, and they were out of food; hunting was their only option. The father took his bow and gave the short sword to his daughter as she accompanied him on the hunt, while his wife and youngest remained near the caravan and prepared their departure , hopefully after eating.

They could only hunt outside the cursed forest; many smaller mammals are known to roam the area as these creatures are also wary of the toxic plant life in the inner part of the forest. Some plants release poisonous and paralyzing spores inside; the only reason these spores never went out is that the seclusion was the wind from the north encircling the area because the geographical landscape created a natural barrier encircling the vast uncharted forest.

Sadly, the father and daughter had to walk up the hill where the young men went dragging the dead kobold. The chances that he was still up the hill were big, but they had no choice because it's the only accessible place, as the elevation of the right side was much higher and consisted of chunks of solid granite rocks. It wasn't much of a hill, as if it was placed there and acting like a fence. That is the reason they parked their caravan near the rock hill to protect their rear from sudden attacks, and the smaller hill on the right side was accessible by foot. And provided a better vantage point for scouting the surrounding area.

Two days had passed since they'd stumbled into this secluded hollow, their breath still catching at the memory of the caravan raid. The father, grim-faced and weary, had urged them onward, driven by a desperate hope. This place, nestled between a sudden dip in the land and the looming edge of dense woods, was his only refuge. Bandits, he knew, gave a wide berth to this spot. Whispers amongst their kind spoke of a curse, a place where treachery had turned on itself, leaving a lingering taint of death.

The bandits they had fled, outcasts from the Solnara Cererindur empire, were burrowing creatures of the flatlands, masters of camouflage and ambush. While the open plains stretched far and wide, these same flatlands were deceiving. Hidden patches of dense canopy and thick undergrowth created jarring labyrinths, swallowing those who strayed from known paths. Even the inhabitants of the towering structures that dotted the skyline designated the area as "flat lands," acknowledging that beneath its seemingly uniform façade lay a treacherous landscape where the ground could abruptly fall away, turning a gentle stroll into a perilous descent.

As the father and daughter reach the top portion of the wide hill, they are shocked to see dead burnt remains of more kobolds. The stacks of corpses were estimated to be more than two dozen, and all the precious material was left alone, and it was lying on the ground. The mana crystals were taken out of the kobolds bodies. The two were hoping to see the young man that saved them, but Dane was no longer at his hanging tent. The mana crystal he got from the monster was used to increase his two attack spells.

Dane's frustration was palpable as he questioned Miko, his ever-present AI companion, about his stalled progress. "Why can't I level up?" he demanded, the lack of numerical advancement feeling like a frustrating roadblock. Miko's synthesized voice responded calmly, explaining that the tower's central system had temporarily locked his level due to an unidentified anomaly detected within his player status. While this was an inconvenience, Dane quickly shifted his focus, realizing that his overall strategy remained intact.

The level lock didn't hinder his ability to augment his core stats, and he knew that boosting his mana reserve was key to his current plan. he looked at the two magic scrolls he had previously acquired, both of which were obstinately fixed at level 2. He received the lowest scroll from the winning wager of the White Devil Guild. It's hardly enough to cause significant injury, yet it's sufficient to start a fire or shock someone with electricity. But by using the early Kobold encounters as training material, Dane had already taken advantage of their potential.

He had repeatedly cast his spells, honing them and pushing them past their limitations. With his astronomical 2000 mana capacity, he could effortlessly fuel his attacks, a single lightning strike costing him a mere 30 mana, and his flame torch requiring a negligible 20. He knew that with this kind of fuel at his disposal, his initially weak spells were now capable of becoming lethal force.

The father's brow furrowed, his rough hands turning over the pile of burnt kobold remains. Typically, a hunter would strip every last scrap, the crude hides and sharp claws convertible into a few precious gold coins. But this hunter, whoever he was, had done something perplexing. He'd left behind the usable parts, fixating instead on the mana crystal plucked from each mangled body. It was a puzzling choice, bordering on foolishness. Leaving behind potentially profitable materials was unheard of, a missed opportunity in his eyes. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Was there an intrinsic value to the mana crystals that escaped his understanding? Or was the hunter simply operating under a different set of priorities, a logic he couldn't quite grasp?

He knew, of course, that mana crystals weren't just pretty rocks. Here, near the tower, they were prized by mages and forgers. These crystals acted as catalysts, boosting the power of magical items and enhancing the potency of potions. It was common knowledge that the quality and size of a crystal could determine a spell's effectiveness or the grade of a crafted item. But even considering their utility, leaving behind perfectly good hides and claws seemed like a waste. It made him wonder if the hunter understood the intricate value chain of mana crystals in their current proximity to the tower, or if he merely saw them as something more valuable than what they were. The entire situation was a puzzle with a missing piece, and his curiosity was piqued.

"Father, it would be a waste to leave those materials here in the open; if other people see this, many will surely flock to this place."

" Our clan voted to come here because we are looking for a place where the empire has no influence. i am prying that the rest of of clan survive the bandits when we escape the attack we were able to get her after enduring the rough route we took,"

"Daughter, you are right; we can't pass this opportunity. Establishing a small village here might be hard, but it's the most logical idea."

"But seeing that these creatures can come out of the forest now to hunt, we better reconsider the clan's choice that is why we can no longer stay here as it is."

"These creatures never came out before when I was still a soldier. What made them change their ways?"

"Kobolds are very territorial creatures by nature, but something must have driven them out of their usual habitat. We need to find out what that is before making any decisions."

"Perhaps there is a larger threat in the forest that is pushing them out. We should explore the forest and investigate further before making any decisions about settling here."

"Our safety should be our top priority, and understanding the situation fully will help us make an informed choice about our next steps."

The two gathered all the valuable and sellable items and told his daughter to go back as he still need to hunt , after a few minute the father came back and heard familiar voices , this was a god sign as he knew this were the people they were waiting for to arrive, the surviving clans came when he was still hunting at the forest clearing, everybody who he thought died were still alive, many were injured but they were able to survive as the bandits that attacked them scattered when a Female player came out of no were and started hacking the bandits to death, the sudden attack was too violent and wild as soon the bandit scattered and ran away, the female player just stop and walk toward were she was facing, coincidentally she was facing the gate, and just like the player walk toward back the direction she first came from.

As their caravan chief explained, it was a peculiar event; the woman's actions and movements were in a trance-like state, as if she were being controlled by some unseen force. It was a mystery that left everyone in awe and wonder. The chief added she might have been infected by a bewildering worm known to be used as a temporary enslavement mixture by certain nomadic tribes in the area. Ingesting the eggs is commonly used to hide the perpetrator's action from its target, as it takes time to mature; it might be temporary, as the worm will die, and its decaying body can still produce those chemicals that will lead to the host being in a trace-like state, a brief puppet on strings.

The clan survivors were grateful for what happened.Adam Roughbrook, 56 years old, was an imposing figure in his own right. Standing at five-foot-three, his stout and bulky physique gave him a sense of quiet strength. Though not the tallest of men, his broad shoulders and firm build commanded respect wherever he went. His appearance was further complemented by a thick, scraggly beard that framed his weathered face. The beard, streaked with flecks of silver and dark brown, gave him a rugged, almost timeless look, as if he had lived a life filled with stories that etched themselves onto his features. His piercing eyes, half-hidden beneath bushy eyebrows, carried a mix of warmth and sternness, revealing someone who had faced life's challenges head-on and come out stronger on the other side.

Adam's beard was more than just a feature of his appearance; it was practically an extension of his character. It gave him an air of wisdom and mystery, as well as the impression of a man who was both approachable and fiercely independent. Locals often joked that his beard told more stories than he did. It seemed to suit his personality: practical, no-nonsense, and grounded. He wasn't one to mince words or dress extravagantly; his worn boots and simple flannel shirts were evidence of that. People respected him for his authenticity; Adam Roughbrook was a man of the earth, steady and steadfast like a deep-rooted tree. Every wrinkle in his face told of a life rich with experience, and his sturdy frame suggested that he still had many more chapters to write.

Adam was delighted that his clan survived. He wanted to share a similar story, but he held his mouth and looked at Anika, his older daughter, and his eyes gestured to her, hoping that the item she carried back was hidden away even before their roaming clan came. Anika smiled and just told his father that the firewood is dry and secure.

Adam Roughbrook was even cautious around his own clan, knowing that the amount of items they got from the dead kobolds was enough to have a comfortable life for about a week. Anika just smiled and continued with her task.

Anika Roughbrook, twenty years old, stood a confident five foot eight. Her slim physique spoke of an active life, a natural grace evident in her movements. She possessed a captivating charm, a quality inherited directly from her mother, a woman known for her own magnetic personality. This charm was more than just superficial beauty; it was intertwined with a palpable strength and an insatiable curiosity that often led her down unexpected paths. Her long, intricately braided brunette hair served as a striking frame for her face, adding to the overall impression of a young woman both grounded and endlessly intriguing.

Adam openly explains that staying at this particular area is a risky move, as they saw a kobold go out of the forest last night. It seems the creature got separated from their pack. It scared his family, but he was able to scare it away with his sword.

The chief of their clan heard Adam's explanation and story but didn't give an immediate answer, as he still wished to consult the rest of the elders, and they still wished to rest and regain some strength before making a decision. The chief assured Adam that they would prioritize the safety of the clan and would come to a conclusion after discussing it with the elders.

The thick, cloying mist pressed in on Dane, a suffocating blanket woven from the cursed forest's breath. He could hear the unsettling rustle of movement all around, a chorus of skittering legs and clicking claws that sent shivers down his spine. These were the Mimics, grotesque humanoid insects whose grey, too-tight skin stretched taut over their frames.

They were hunters, masters of deception, their five-inch hook-like claws glinting ominously in the dim light. Dane knew their game, the cruel mimicry of human voices, the desperate pleas for aid that masked a deadly trap. He had learned the hard way to ignore the heart-wrenching cries, his hand instinctively tightening around the grip of his knife as he pressed on. Adding to the misery, the forest itself seemed to mock him, its toxic plant life requiring him to constantly wear his gas mask, its filter working hard to keep the noxious air at bay.

He still lacked a healing scroll, a painful oversight in his journey, and now, with the Mimics swarming, this vulnerability felt all the more acute. Even though they moved like preying mantises, their agility and size made them incredibly dangerous and more difficult to kill than they looked; standing a meter tall made each encounter a test of skill and endurance, and as he was only about sixty meters when he entered the misty area, he knew he had to move faster. His gaze was fixed on the forest opening, a beacon of hope in this nightmarish landscape, knowing that the only way to survive was to keep moving.

He has already hacked and cut many Mimic, but the stench of their blood attracted more of them to come out from the hiding place. He watches out for their ability to spit low-level acid, as these creatures don't want their prey to get physically ruined by their acid.

Dane stood at a crossroads, the Mimic a flickering silhouette against the backdrop of the dense, untamed habitat. The urge to unleash his power, to incinerate the creature with a roaring inferno, was a burning desire within him. However, the weight of responsibility held him back. This wasn't just a barren wasteland; it was a vibrant ecosystem teeming with docile creatures, their lives intertwined with the very foliage that would fuel a devastating fire. To obliterate the Mimic in such a way would be a catastrophic act, condemning countless innocents to a fiery death.

Thus, his strategy shifted. He couldn't resort to brute force; instead, he needed a swift and elusive shadow, engaging the Mimic in a deadly game of cat and mouse. He relied on his newfound gifts, the unexpected bonus of his recent regeneration. Having been reborn at the age of 23, his body pulsed with restored vitality and nimbleness, a youthful vigor that surpassed his previous capabilities. He noticed quickly that his physical form, his strength and agility, was beyond what he remembered.

Notifications from his system kept informing him of his increased speed and reflexes, allowing him to outmaneuver the Mimic with ease. As he continued to adapt to his enhanced abilities, he realized that defeating the Mimic required a combination of strategy and precision, rather than sheer brute force. With each encounter, he would move with minimal actions, but each strike of his mother's katana was calculated and precise, taking down the Mimic with efficiency. He made sure his movements were in circular motion so the enemies at his back would be taken down simultaneously. The fluidity of his movements surprised even him, as if he was dancing through the battlefield with deadly grace.

The breathing technique his mother taught him was very helpful, including the footwork. His focus sharpened as he honed his skills, finding the perfect balance between offense and defense. The Mimic stood no chance against his newfound finesse and technique; this was the first time he faced the enemy in a straightforward manner, and unlike with the kobold, he used stealth.

Dane sadly wasn't able to gather the mana crystal inside the mimic dead corpses; getting swarmed with large numbers is a downfall for any warrior or hunter, but he knew that his improved combat skills would serve him well in future battles. Dane tried to cast a focus plasma burst enough to penetrate the mimic exoskeletal body and experiment on ways to manipulate the fire orb spell. Despite the setback with the mimic corpses, the orb wound only slightly singed the edges of the mimic's exoskeleton, revealing its invulnerability to low fire-based attacks.

Maybe because it's in an orb shape, if he can change the fire orb into a piercing spear shape, it might have a better chance of breaking through the mimic's defenses. Dane decided to continue experimenting with different shapes and intensities for his fire orb spell in order to find a way to defeat the mimic. The acid spits from these creatures are ruining his clothing; he can use the formless armor, but it drains his energy quickly. Perhaps he can find a way to neutralize the acid attacks altogether, allowing him to focus on offensive strategies against the mimics.