Round Seventeen: Thick Fog

Alei nodded in agreement.
“It’s truly rare, finding this in such a remote place,” O’Sullivan said, somewhat pleased.
“So where exactly is it?” asked the man in white.
“I don’t know; it’s been taken away. The burning words are still so neatly arranged—Alei really does take everything seriously.”
“What? We wasted so much time just to come here to look at this corpse and then head back? Was it even properly searched?” O’Sullivan would naturally refuse to agree.
“I guarantee with my life that it’s not here. Ever since we entered the tower, I’ve been constantly detecting his magic, checking every inch of it. I’m sure.”
“That means you tricked us,” O’Sullivan said, holding the mage’s head in his left hand.
“But we didn’t come up empty-handed. I recorded his last traces of magic. It’s just a matter of time now.”
“Time is the issue. This place is absolutely disgusting. Let’s see what happened here.” O’Sullivan looked at the man in white’s calm face with hope in his eyes.
“I’m at your service.” The man in white now held a packet of unknown powder in his hand.
Flying dust particles scattered among the ruins and broken columns, gradually forming fragmented images before the three of them.
“This construct is quite interesting. See that book? I saw it when I was a child. In almost all the portraits of him I’ve seen, he always carried it with him,” O’Sullivan pointed at the illusory image.
“It’s my first time seeing a self-modified construct golem. Quite interesting… Huh? Isn’t that Morriel, the fortune-teller from Rain City? How did she get here? She even arrived before us… It seems I need to pay more attention to the guild’s affairs.” The man in white exclaimed in surprise.
“It seems we’ll be visiting this beautiful female mage next, won’t we? Let’s leave this place quickly. Staying in this swamp is already bad enough.” O’Sullivan rubbed his hands together with a handkerchief, giving one last smileful glance at the illusions of the forty-seven and the red-robed mage.
The red-robed mage’s tightly closed eyelids twitched slightly, as if sensing some doubt. But then he shook his head and followed O’Sullivan out.
“Did they leave Rain City over ten days ago? How long will it take to find them?” O’Sullivan threw his slightly wrinkled handkerchief into the dirty water of the swamp.
The man in white watched as the magical script on the scroll faded one by one: “These fools… off to find some temple again. The swamp is quite large, and I’m not sure where they might have gone. Should we go back to Rain City and wait for them?”
“No, I don’t want to wait idly. It’s rare to catch a trace of them… What if they get eaten by some horrible monster in the swamp and can never return? Do I really have to live in that dump and get married and have children? I’ll send someone else to Rain City, but that will require your men’s cooperation.”
“Of course, no problem.” The man in white’s smile remained polite.
“Good. I hope we can start soon, Mage Mishima.”
“As you wish, Count.”

In front of the temple, everyone was trying to dissuade Blood Axe, the strongest among them, from taking unnecessary risks. While most of it wasn’t out of concern for him, it was because under the current circumstances, only he had the best chance of protecting the others. In this regard, the death- and fear-unaware Forty-Seven was utterly at a disadvantage.

He was busy preparing to enter the temple to find out what was inside, tightening the important joints again while checking the functionality of each part.

He needed a weapon—Forty-Seven thought, ignoring the blade already within him.

“May I borrow your battle axe?” Forty-Seven approached Blood Axe, who had gradually calmed down after some flattery.

“Have the guts to say that again.” Blood Axe glared viciously at Forty-Seven, while the others despised his reckless behavior.

“I need a weapon to enter the temple.”

“Then you’d better tear off your own arm or thigh to use. If it were me, it’s doubtful you’d even get a chance to step onto those damned temple stairs.”

Forty-Seven glanced at Blood Axe and then at the seemingly ordinary large axe in his hand. After so many days of killing, not to mention the random slashing to vent his energy, the axe was still surprisingly sharp, as if it had just come out of the blacksmith’s shop.

“Squatter,” Forty-Seven said, giving up on insisting on his idea.

Moriel watched warily the castle faintly visible in the thick fog. “Strange… I feel something’s off. Have you noticed anything different about the temple?”

“Hm?” Jason and the others strained to see but found nothing. “What’s different?”

“Never mind. Maybe I’m just seeing things.” Moriel said to Blood Axe, “I think it’s better if we stay outside for now. Undead creatures aren’t as simple as the goblins or scavenger wolves we’ve fought before. Carelessness won’t just result in a few more wounds… By the way, you should tell me now what you’re really here for in this temple.”

Blood Axe shifted his fierce gaze away from Forty-Seven. “I don’t know what you idiotic puppet is thinking, but if you dare mention my axe again, I guarantee you’ll spend the rest of your life rusting in the mud! Female mage, what did you say?”

Moriel repeated it, slightly annoyed.

“Hmph… Fine, it doesn’t hurt to tell you now.” Blood Axe sized it up. “What I’m looking for is a scroll!”

“A scroll?”

“That’s right! But don’t think I’m interested in some messy magic. On that scroll are spells written in the blood by the God of Forging from ancient times! Once I get that scroll, I can transfer those spells to my axe! Then my axe will have divine power! It will become a sacred artifact!” Blood Axe roared as he swung his axe. The others stepped back quietly to avoid being hit. Moriel frowned slightly, lost in thought.

“Alright then. I’ll go around and check around. If I see it, I’ll bring it to you.” Forty-Seven shrugged and turned toward the depths of the mist.

“You’d better hurry up! I won’t wait too long! I just want that thing!” Bloodaxe shouted. “Don’t even think about keeping it for yourself—no one but me knows how to use that scroll! If you’re lucky enough to find something else, keep it for yourself!”
“Don’t go too far. Come back if nothing happens. Try to stay together!” Moriel called out.
The rest formed a triangular formation. Bloodaxe, Copperhammer, and the werewolf stood at the periphery, as Moriel said the Red Mist Demon would try to avoid stronger opponents since they could usually break free from its grasp.
Moriel stood in the center with her eyes half-closed, resting. Jason stood by her side—not out of privilege or because anyone objected, but simply because she was a mage.
“Thief, if you keep trying to sneak up behind me, I can’t guarantee what might happen,” Moriel said suddenly, as if to herself.
“Heh, I’m just stretching a bit,” Quick said, emerging from the thickening fog with a forced laugh, fiddling nervously with his dagger.
“No matter how good you get at sneaking, you can’t compare to the Red Mist Demon,” Moriel said, lightly tapping her fingers unconsciously. “The mist demon is silent… If it doesn’t want to be heard, it doesn’t matter if you have dog ears. It can penetrate solids—walls, armor, shields—none of it can stop it. It can easily grab you, slip into your trachea, and drain your blood. Oh, someone like you might die before all the blood is drained, just like that Cain.”
“Ahem…” Jason cleared his throat. “So, Miss Moriel, may I ask how we should deal with this thing?”
“It’s simple—just be stronger than it. I think even if Bloodaxe gets caught, he could blow the mist demon away with a sneeze.”
Bloodaxe grunted slightly, but he was pleased by the compliment.
“But it’s hard to hurt the mist demon too. Unless it’s a spell or a magical weapon, nothing will work. But don’t expect me to help—I’m a mage specializing in prophecy. I don’t know many offensive spells,” Moriel said suddenly, opening her eyes. “Hm? What’s with that filthy beast?”
The werewolf was crouched not far away, swaying its head alertly. From time to time, it let out a low growl, appearing completely normal—always acting the same way, even with regular intervals between growls.
“Damn!” Bloodaxe noticed the werewolf for a moment before suddenly throwing his axe at it. The sharp axe cut through the thick fog and struck the werewolf’s spine—penetrating through it.
“Where did it go?” The rest of them instinctively shrank back, standing back to back.