The bard fantasized again.

Chapter 38 Fatal Negligence
When the 'sun' fell, all was silent.

All sound seemed to have vanished.

A faint tinnitus enveloped everything, and only after a long while did a sound come through, but it seemed to blend into the noise and was indistinguishable.

But amidst the dizziness and blurred vision, the noise gradually became uniform.

Even the new star's body trembled.

"Rumble, rumble—"

The tremors were far stronger and more powerful than the troll's footsteps.

It must be some much larger creature slowly approaching him.

He patted his confused head, trying to force himself to come to his senses—

In the instant the flames erupted and the earth was engulfed in fire.

Realizing that it would be burned to ashes, the new star used its last remaining ring.

Using the [Mysterious Step], it transformed into a wisp of silvery-white, thin smoke, almost blending into the layers of illusory mist in the forest.

In the blink of an eye, it floated to the camp thirty feet away without even touching a spark.

The flames ignited the flammable glue next to the campfire, and even all other flammable materials.

The series of explosions, along with the roar of the fireballs, still affected his eardrums.

Now that he had finally come to his senses, only one thought remained in his mind—

escape!
For spellcasters, once they come into contact with the realm of the Third Ring, their status and position will undergo a qualitative change.

The fireball, like a meteor, came out of nowhere, and almost none of the mercenaries could react.

Now, flames burned their faces, and their crimson armor was coated with intense heat. Most of them could only wail in agony as they burned, incapacitated.

Those who narrowly escaped the flames fled desperately towards the edge of the inferno.

With just one spell, the once valiant mercenaries were routed.

That's how unreasonable the spellcaster is.

And the trembling sound grew ever closer.

A towering figure gradually emerged from the newly gathered mist.

Because it is large enough, and slow enough.

Its true form cannot be seen yet.

All that could be heard from afar was the deafening sound of drums beating in unison with that figure, and the roaring battle cries:

"Hoo, ha!"

"Hoo, ha!"

"Hoo, ha!"

Whatever is hidden in that shadow is something that the new star has never encountered and is powerless to resist.

As he turned and fled back to his tent in a desperate act, the howls of the wolves echoed in his ears, sending chills down his spine.

"They're orcs, they're fucking orc tribes!"
Everyone, retreat! Retreat into the woods!

How could they possibly be in this godforsaken place?!

The 'Lords' Alliance' is a fragile treaty among the independent city-states on the eastern coast of the Forgotten Continent, encompassing trade, diplomacy, and strategic cooperation.

The reason they were able to maintain this fragile agreement was not because the lords were so noble as to refuse to encroach on the territories of other cities.

Simply because of that southern front—

In the millennia that have passed since history was lost, wars on the continent have never ceased.

It was not only a matter of power shifts, but also rife with racial hatred.

Orcs, these green-skinned creatures that are as ugly as wild boars, as ferocious as jackals, and as brave as tigers, have never ceased their desire for conquest and slaughter.

They abducted women from various tribes, forcing them to bear new warriors for them, in order to strengthen their tribes in their nomadic lifestyle, and then turned everything into a sea of ​​slaughter and bloodshed.

From a values ​​perspective, violence and killing are their 'aesthetics'.

This is something that most races cannot accept.

The first principle of the Lords' Alliance is to keep them outside the Great Wall at all costs in exchange for internal peace.

But Baolang was a true soldier who participated in the defense of the South—

This is, of course, for the sake of a generous reward.

Even though the mercenaries around him are no longer the same brothers they used to be.

The fear of orcs has never ceased for even a moment:

"How could they possibly cross the Great Wall and migrate to the Dusk Forest, thousands of miles away!?"

Their presence is enough to explain the vanguard force composed of goblins and trolls.

Only orcs could enslave them and turn them into their suicide squad.

But this precisely proves that they were a complete tribe, not a scattered group of deserters.

Unless the major cities in the south are reduced to ruins and the druid tribes in the woodlands are slaughtered, there is no reason for them to appear in this forest!

They can't even find their way around in the forest.

Why did they have to run into this caravan on its way back when they were lost?

Explosive Wolf finally understood how several of his brothers had disappeared.

The facts cannot be explained by common sense.

But there was simply no time to think.

In his haste, the wolf grabbed the caravan master and servant, who had fled in terror from the roar of the fireball, and glared at Merard, commanding:

"Use the eye on your shoulder to lead us back!"

"Mercenary, watch out—"

Hus stepped forward, but before he could finish speaking, he was punched to the ground by Explosive Wolf.

"Don't fucking make me repeat myself a second time!" Merad was also terrified.

He was just an ordinary nobleman who originally thought it was just a safe vacation, no different from previous years.

The fact that you haven't wet your pants in fear is already a testament to your courage.

"Okay, okay—the town, the town...it's there!"

He patted the bottled eyeball on his shoulder, waiting for it to take flight and head towards the woods on his left.

Due to the fog, that wasn't the 'path' they remembered, but the Wolf Explosion wouldn't question a construct.

He called out to his able-bodied brothers.

As for the seriously injured...

I wish them good luck:
"And there's a rising star... Damn it, where is he? Forget it, everyone come with me!"

The giant shadow in the fog moved slowly, and only the war cries of the orcs were approaching, which meant that they still had a chance to escape.

As for the rising star he mentioned that disappeared, it wasn't because he panicked and went astray.

The young mage is currently rushing back to his private camp to retrieve his dimensional bag—

It contained food, ingredients, and even all of his research on magic.

This also includes a third-circle spell, which will be key to his future advancement.

He is a scholar, and knowledge is his most precious possession, which he must never lose.

The camp was deliberately set up in a remote location. As long as I concealed myself properly and was covered by the fog, there would still be enough time...

This was not a matter of wishful thinking, but rather a judgment made by Xinxing based on his estimation of the speed of the branch group's march, his assessment of his own resources and physical strength.

It's like a well-structured formula.

The answer is 'Take back the dimensional bag and leave safely'.

By listing all the known elements and analyzing them, a perfect result that matches the answer will naturally be obtained.

unless.

What factors did he overlook?

When the new star entered the camp, he saw his belongings neatly stacked.

He breathed a sigh of relief the moment he realized that the two prisoners seemed to be avoiding the fireballs and had not yet reached the camp.

Without delay, he quickly picked up the dimensional bag and the rare scimitar from the corner.

But then he realized:

"The knife is gone?"

This means that someone has already broken into the camp...

"not good!"

He exclaimed in surprise and turned to run away.

"Puch-"

A black scimitar suddenly pierced his chest.

"Humans, destruction!"

A kobold's vicious and furious roar echoed in my ears.

"My treasure!"

A spellcaster is always vulnerable when someone gets close.

Not to mention casters who have exhausted their ring slots.

The new star collapsed to the ground, a feeling of exhaustion washing over him.

He realized that death was imminent, and fear made him tremble uncontrollably.

There was a time when he also contemplated his own death.

I fantasize that I will write a legend during my adventure and calmly face my death.

I imagine myself growing old and dying as I delve deeper into my studies.

But he never imagined that he would die at the hands of a kobold.

They are so weak.

Even the scales should be ground into powder, becoming insignificant spellcasting materials in his hands.

What's even more ridiculous is that he doesn't even remember when he destroyed the kobold's treasure.

In his eyes, a treasure is a treasure.

It is a wonder, it is magic, it is knowledge.

Instead of a stick.

Just as Kuru couldn't understand why the treasures it cherished were worthless in the eyes of others.

Nova will never understand why a kobold would value such a worthless staff so highly.

Because I don't understand, I don't care.

So when the outcome went wrong, this learned tactician...

A rising star in the eyes of adventurers.

They couldn't even realize that crucial, overlooked element...

And it is deadly.

The young monk stared blankly, his eyes perhaps never able to close.

Let the breath flow away in bewilderment, until, in resentment, one walks toward the end of life.

The kobold cautiously slashed at the corpse, and after confirming it was completely dead, it grabbed its dimensional bag and prepared to leave.

Outside the tent, however, the sound of arguing suddenly arose—

(End of this chapter)