Round 16: The Temple

Dawn was approaching.
In stark contrast to Bloodaxe’s bold claims that they were nearing their destination, the group had been wandering—or rather, circling—in the swamp for almost twenty days. The temple hadn’t appeared as quickly as Bloodaxe had hoped, and supplies of food and water were running low. The water they brought with them had run out days ago, forcing them to rely on Moriel’s water-purifying magic to obtain drinking water, much to her displeasure. Worst of all, the group was on the verge of running out of food. The only ones untroubled were Forty-Seven and the werewolf—Forty-Seven didn’t need to eat, while for the werewolf, the swamp was like a cafeteria, with all sorts of strange creatures serving as his food, allowing his wounds to heal rapidly. He was even fatter now than before they set out.

“Fog is coming!” Kane, who was at the front, glanced ahead and reported to Bloodaxe behind him.
“I hate swamp fog the most. It’s sticky and makes my beard tangle.” Bloodaxe rarely joked, but no one laughed.
Soon they entered the thick fog, or rather, the thick fog swallowed them up quickly.
The ground grew wetter and softer, with puddles appearing in many places. Forty-Seven often stumbled and got his legs stuck, forcing him to struggle to pull himself free. Fortunately, the group had started to slow down and become more cautious; otherwise, Forty-Seven might have fallen behind.

“Look!” Kane suddenly flipped his hands and revealed a dagger.
A path lay ahead of them. Though not perfectly flat, the solid path wasn’t unusual in itself, but its appearance in the heart of the swamp, full of puddles and mud pits, made it seem rather strange.
Kane stepped onto the path and looked around. It was long, with its end hidden in the gradually thickening fog.

“What does this mean?” Jason carefully stepped onto the dry soil. The question was clearly directed at Moriel.
“I don’t know,” Moriel said, crouching down and picking up a small handful of soil, letting it fall apart as it drifted through the windless air. “It must be some kind of magical effect.”

“What then?” Quick suddenly pointed across the path.
A small figure appeared in the fog not far ahead. Though the thick fog blurred everyone’s vision, it was clearly a ratman standing there.

“No way,” Quick said, drawing the dagger hidden at his waist, looking helpless.
“I’ve never heard of a single ratman appearing in front of other creatures,” Jason said, unlocking the chains of the half-wolf and looking around. Yet his vision couldn’t penetrate the thick fog.

“Can’t you cast a spell to blow away this damned fog?” Bloodaxe grumbled, expressing his dissatisfaction with Moriel.
“You don’t understand how difficult natural magic is—how much mana and time it takes to cast it!” Moriel retorted.

“That’s why I hate mages!” Copperhammer, who was usually quiet, spoke up, perhaps because of the eerie atmosphere around them.
Moriel ignored Bloodaxe and studied the ratman for a while.

“Attack,” she ordered Forty-Seven.

Forty-Seven hesitated for a moment, as he had just been staring at something at one end of the road.
“What? Do we still have to—” Before Kane could finish speaking, Forty-Seven’s hand flew out from his arm, piercing through the goblin in front of him and rushing into the thick mist.
“There’s nothing there. Maybe we’re already near our destination!” Morriel waited for Forty-Seven to pull his hand back with the chain, then walked forward on his own, with the others following. As they passed by the illusory image of the goblin, the mist grew even thicker.
Soon, a majestic palace gradually emerged from the mist before them.
Rather than a palace, the structure ahead resembled more of a fortress, like a sentinel. Two tall cylindrical towers rose abruptly on either side, with not a single window in their entire bodies—even at the very top, beneath the protruding eaves, no lookout holes could be seen. Two flagpoles stood at the top of each tower; the flag on one side was gone, and the flag on the other was tattered. Due to it hanging limply on the pole and the mist still not clearing, the pattern on the flag was invisible. The main fortress between the two towers was shorter but appeared even more imposing and noble, with a conical spire reaching skyward. The walls on either side stood like cliffs, and a long staircase led inward, seemingly without an end. From any angle, this temple must have had a glorious history in the past, but now it stood alone in this desolate swamp, submerged in weeds and dirty water, covered everywhere by floating plants and wildly growing shrubs, exuding a sense of desolation and horror. Everyone was stunned by this sight and forgot to move forward.
As if summoned by something, Kane stepped onto the first step, then the second. At first, everyone thought he was scouting the way, but Kane showed no sign of stopping. As Bloodaxe shouted, “Stop!”, a white mist-like entity seemed to suddenly form from the thick mist and appeared right beside Kane, instantly enveloping his body. Only then did Kane seem to wake up from a dream and struggle desperately—but the white mist penetrated his body without any resistance and pulled him upward into the air. The others watched in shock as Kane was doomed; not even Bloodaxe tried to throw his axe. Finally, Kane fell to the ground like a sack, with the mist slowly dissipating from his body—by now the mist had turned pale red. It circled above Kane for a while before gradually fading back into the mist, leaving only Kane lying on the staircase, silent, as if asleep.
“Idiot! Wasted my backpack!” Bloodaxe cursed fiercely.
Quick’s face turned pale, and he trembled as he said, “What was that just now? What happened to Kane?”

“Red Mist Demon! It’s such a high-level undead!” Moriel was also surprised. “Kane is dead—this thing crawled into his body and drained his blood and life force… We can’t move forward for now. Forty-seven, go ahead and scout the area. You can’t hurt it, and it can’t do anything to you either. If the Red Mist Demon were as reclusive as usual, it would be easier… Who knows what else is in there!”
Blood Axe slammed his axe heavily on the stairs ahead, causing the stone slabs to crack. The mist seemed to dissipate significantly as a result of the shockwaves.
“I want to go in too!” Blood Axe said firmly, leaving no room for refusal.
“If I had known it would be like this, I wouldn’t have come up,” Sullivan said, covering his mouth with a handkerchief and pacing awkwardly, his voice sounding strange.
“Heh, but Lord Ale is quite sure there’s what we’re looking for here.” The man in white snapped his fingers, and the torches on the corridor walls lit up.
“Huh? I didn’t expect your fire magic to be so skilled,” Sullivan was surprised.
“Too kind. It’s nowhere near as good as Lord Ale’s,” replied the red-robed mage named Ale, unimpressed by the compliment. He stretched out his hand as if trying to sense something.
“That’s not fair. You two are not of the same type.”
They had reached deep within the tower. There was still a faint trace of magic here, and the swamp dwellers couldn’t invade yet, so it was much cleaner—at least within acceptable human standards. This relieved Sullivan, who was somewhat particular about cleanliness.
“Ale, why did you bring us to see a corpse? Oh, there’s also a Shield Guardian here—how crude, completely unrefined.” Sullivan considered what lay before them to still be a corpse. Perhaps his standards had broadened since entering the swamp.
Ale gave it a quick inspection, then turned to look at Sullivan and the man in white. The air around him began to contract, the temperature rose slightly, and words appeared in midair, burning brightly.
“The magical aura emanating from this mage is very strong. I think we’ve found the right place.” Ale rarely spoke, unless necessary—a habit he developed when he could still talk.
“Are you sure?”