Chapter 125: Trapped in Desperation

Joan did not join in the idle chatter of his companions. He limped over to the stream that meandered through the camp, removed his boots and socks, and let out a long sigh of relief as he submerged his feet in the icy, clear water. After a full day of trekking over mountains and ridges, his feet had first developed blisters, which had then burst, leaving his socks soaked in sticky, congealed blood. Though the wash brought some comfort, his feet were so swollen that he could barely force them back into his leather boots.

After resting for a moment, Joan plucked a bunch of purplish-red wild herbs and held them to his nose. The pungent scent confirmed his suspicions. Struggling to squeeze his feet back into his boots, he returned to the campfire with the herbs to show his companions and ask for their help in gathering more.

"Is this a medicinal herb for detoxifying?" Roger asked curiously.

"Mr. Calandir’s medical texts call it 'Purple Smoke Grass,'" Joan explained. "When burned, it produces a thick column of smoke that is not easily dispersed by the wind. It also has the effect of repelling mosquitoes and insects. Ancient people often used these smoke columns to signal; if the sentries at the Knight Order's camp see this, they might bring a patrol to investigate."

The group agreed it was a good idea. Dick, Roger, and Tom immediately set to work, gathering a large pile of the grass from the riverbank and feeding it into the fire handful by handful. As expected, a purple column of smoke rose, shooting straight up into the night sky. The smoke was dense and emitted a faint, pungent odor, driving away the mosquitoes and moths circling the fire.

After eating their rations, Joan and his companions hurried to rest. As a wizard, Joan was exempt from night watch duties. Exhausted from a full day of fleeing and fighting, his body felt as though it were falling apart, and he collapsed into his tent, falling into a deep slumber the moment his head hit the ground.

He did not know how long he had slept before he was jolted awake by intense barking. Scrambling out of the tent, he found that the sky was not yet fully bright; a faint glow in the east filtered through the leaves, casting a dim light over the forest. The Tyndall brothers and Tom were also emerging from their tents, clumsily pulling on their armor while asking Gray and Jamie, who were on watch, what had happened.

Jamie was barking incessantly at the dense woods across the way. Gray, who was not adept at speech, pointed toward the darkness and growled, "Mog."

Everyone knew that in the Giant language, "Mog" could refer to anything malevolent. Suspecting that Gray had discovered enemies lurking in the woods, they quickly grabbed their weapons and stood ready.

"Gray, have you found goblins again?" Joan asked the Graybag.

Gray shook his head and gestured with his hands as if flapping wings. Joan guessed he was mimicking a bird, but what kind of bird could pose such a threat to a Graybag and a half-breed winter wolf that they would be on such high alert?

Joan stared intently into the thicket, suddenly noticing an unnatural light flickering among the trees, accompanied by a surge of intense magical energy.

Filled with a dark premonition, Joan picked up a pebble, cast "Light" upon it, and hurled it with all his might toward the opposite woods.

Illuminated by the magical glow, Joan saw a jet-black owl perched on a branch. Its bright eyes were fixed on the camp with malevolent intent, and its hooked beak held a slender, ivory-colored rod about two feet long.

The more Joan looked at the rod, the more familiar it seemed. As he pondered, the black owl suddenly erupted with magical radiance. Its form twisted and warped rapidly, and in the blink of an eye, the night owl transformed into a Lizardman shaman draped in ceremonial robes.

Joan recognized him instantly as Elder Barson and hurriedly warned his companions to prepare for battle. Roger reacted the fastest, raising his rifle and firing a shot.

Elder Barson employed some unknown spell; his figure merged into the great tree he was perched upon like a phantom, causing Roger’s shot to miss. An instant later, he teleported out of a nearby tree. While Roger was scrambling to reload, the shaman smirked and began a series of casting gestures.

Joan realized he was casting "Flame Strike." Without thinking, he shoved Roger and threw himself to the side. Almost at that exact moment, a pillar of golden fire erupted where Roger had been standing. The scorching blast threw Joan high into the air, and he crashed into a thicket.

Everything went black, and Joan’s consciousness drifted into a haze. He did not know how much time had passed before he jolted awake, feeling sharp, piercing pain throughout his body, as if his limbs had been shattered. His cloak and clothes were shredded by the thorny brush, and blood seeped through the fabric.

Joan groaned and tried to roll over, but his struggle ended in failure. His legs were numb and swollen, unresponsive, as if they were merely two sticks grafted to his lower body.

"Am I paralyzed?"

A thought of sorrow crossed his mind, filling him with despair. However, he was soon relieved to find he could still barely control his bladder, and the intensifying pain in his legs served as strong evidence that his feet were only temporarily unresponsive.

Joan strained his neck, using the sight of the vestigial eye on the back of his head to survey the situation. What he saw was a mix of good and bad news. Fortunately, Roger and the others were still alive, but their situation was perilous.

After unleashing the "Flame Strike," Elder Barson had immediately cast a spell to turn the weeds around the camp into thorny vines, which now coiled around Gray, Jamie, Tom, and the Tyndall brothers like endless green serpents. While they were struggling to free themselves, he raised his ivory wand and summoned eight spiders, each the size of a washtub.

These giant spiders used their agile, long legs to crawl through the thicket, moving freely while attacking their prey. One by one, the companions trapped by the vines were bitten by the spiders. Joan could only pray that these spiders summoned by Barson were not venomous.

Suppressing his despair, Joan reached into his satchel to search for something that could save them. The "Branch of Yggdrasil" had been used less than a day ago, and his recovering mana was insufficient to turn him into a Treant. The three scrolls in his satchel—"Burning Hands," "Grease," and "Summon Monster I"—seemed incapable of turning the tide. Only the "Fire Breath Potion" and "Dust of Disappearance" held any potential value.

Joan downed the "Fire Breath Potion," the spicy taste making him sneeze. Clutching the packet of "Dust of Disappearance," he glared fiercely at Elder Barson’s back through the brush, praying to every deity he knew to restore feeling to his legs. If he could not move, even the dust would be useless.

Just as Joan felt he might be able to move his lower limbs slightly, the sound of hoofbeats suddenly echoed from across the jungle. The young wizard was startled, first thinking it was a goblin pursuit force. However, he quickly realized that the goblin cavalry of the Screaming Forest rode Wargs, not warhorses. This approaching troop was unlikely to be the Wolf Riders under the command of the "Hobgoblin Lord" Letu.