A massive Ratta was busily gnawing on the skull of an Orc. Each passing day was unbearably dull to it. It had lived long enough and grown intelligent enough to avoid the flying Batta in the skies. But that also meant the only things it could feed on were the hard, poor quality bones buried deep within the Bone Plains. The skeletons closer to the sea were softer, and some even still contained marrow.

  The Ratta suddenly twitched its damp nose. It seemed to catch the scent of fresh meat, rich and enticing, mixed with an unusually intense and strange fragrance. Its eyes lit up with desire. It had been so long since it last tasted fresh flesh. It threw aside the half gnawed skull and scurried toward the source of the scent. Naturally, it was not the only one to notice.

  “The scent on you is far too strong, Shelley,” Not said irritably. He did not hate perfume, but this was excessive.

  “Another fool who does not know how to appreciate art,” Shelley curled her lips. “Do you see Tris complaining at all, even though I am holding her right now.”

  “You do know that Tris cannot smell anything, right.”

  “...”

  Not felt a chill run down his spine. It was not from Shelley’s murderous glare, but from the countless crimson eyes staring at them from the darkness. They lurked deep within thick bushes or beneath dense layers of bone.

  “Chit chit.”

  They were now surrounded by Ratta. Their numbers were impossible to count. Some were no larger than dogs, while others were as massive as oxen. They bared sharp fangs dripping with saliva. Their hind legs tensed, ready to launch themselves forward at any moment.

  “They are just weak Ratta. Kill them quickly and do not use mana. I do not want the Undead to sense us.”

  Mulock stood motionless on Rowling’s shoulder. He had left the puppet behind on the boat beneath the cavern. Controlling the puppet required mana, and that was far too dangerous once they reached the surface. His only power that did not require mana was summoning shadows, yet even now his shadow no longer obeyed him.

  The Ratta lunged forward in madness. Hunger left them no patience. Thousands poured out from hidden corners, packed together like ants.

  “Slash.”

  Ret and Not had once been special forces soldiers of Golden. Their swordsmanship was solid, and their coordination in battle was seamless. Though their overall strength was somewhat lacking, it was more than sufficient against Ratta. Ret knocked aside a rat’s leg, sending it stumbling to the ground, while Not delivered a powerful upward strike that severed its head. They moved like dancers among the starving rats, back to back, shoulder to shoulder. Their defense was airtight, their attacks lethal, forming a flawless cycle without openings.

  In contrast, Matthew and Mogan fought with far greater brutality. Matthew wielded his claws like razor sharp weapons, repeatedly slicing the savage rats clean in half. Mogan tore them apart with raw physical strength. They drenched the ground in rat blood, killing at a pace ten times faster than Ret and Not.

  Fear finally spread through the rats. They gradually realized that these pieces of fresh meat were not easy prey. They began to retreat, turning their attention to the flesh of their unfortunate fallen kin. However, at that moment, the noise of battle drew the attention of the enormous bats in the sky. The Batta possessed exceptional hearing. They quickly gathered into flocks, flickering in and out of the darkness that ruled this place. The Batta dove down like arrows, their talons digging deep into their prey. They attacked everything, including Mulock’s group.

  The rats were slaughtered on a massive scale, their numbers visibly thinning before the naked eye. Ret and Not ran while dodging desperately. They did not possess the capability to withstand the aerial assaults of the Batta. In stark contrast to their earlier dominance when facing the rat swarm, Ret and Not now looked like two timid rabbits fleeing toward Rowling.

  Matthew disdained retreat. His body hardened like iron and the sharp hooks of the Batta could not even pierce his skin. As for Mogan, he appeared incapable of feeling pain at all. His body was riddled with Batta like a porcupine. The creatures struggled to tear their hooks free, but the dense muscle fibers of Mogan clamped down on them, trapping them in place. The tall man simply reached out, crushed each head one by one, and discarded the corpses.

  The Batta that charged toward Rowling exploded into fragments the moment they drew close. Their remains piled up in a circular ring around her. She floated calmly in midair, not a single drop of blood staining her clothes.

  The battle ended quickly, but its aftermath filled Mulock with concern. According to Jacor’s intelligence, the stone was a special commodity transported aboard a Fogger merchant vessel. That ship was later attacked by a ghost ship. Based on the final mana signal Jacor received, the vessel vanished somewhere west of Fallen Island. From Jacor’s account, Mulock was certain the ship now lay within the Decay Marshlands. To reach that region, they would need to cross the Bone Plains, avoid the central area, and travel along the flow of the Ater River.

  The deeper they went, the more numerous the monsters and Undead would become. Without an effective method, they would inevitably be detected by Baham. Mulock cast a glance at Ret and Not. This was the moment for the two of them to demonstrate their value. Their power was precisely the method he had spent a great deal of money acquiring from Smiley.

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  Ret and Not nodded. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes as if preparing to perform a sacred ritual. Both reached behind their backs and suddenly played rock paper scissors.

  “Hahaha. I win, Not. This time I lead,” Ret shouted with delight.

  “Damn it,” Not frowned. His luck was terrible today. Opportunities to lead such a large group were rare for him.

  In the confused gazes of the others, they formed into a single straight line, with Mulock’s entire team positioned in the middle. Ret took the lead while Not stood at the rear.

  “Everyone must remember to stay in a straight line and place one hand on the back of the person in front of you. If the formation breaks, we will be detected.”

  The team proceeded forward like a chain, delving deeper into the skeletal plains. They passed by Ratta gnawing on bones and wandering skeletons writhing in misery, yet strangely, none of them detected the group at all, as if they did not exist.

  “So that is how it is. They are a pair of Bina. I never expected that worshippers of the New Gods would still remain in this age.” Rowling seemed to recall something. She sighed softly, her gaze toward Ret and Not shifting, filled with sympathy.

  “What is a Bina?” Ret asked curiously. He did not know why they possessed this power. They only knew that they could do it, but could not explain how.

  “The road to the Decay Marsh is still long. Very well. I will tell you the origin of the Bina.”

  In ancient times, when primordial beings first came into contact with the Old Gods through The First Place, many were driven mad and became the Madness. The Madness ravaged Veynar, spreading chaos and slaughter. However, not all of them descended into insanity. Some succeeded in transforming into New Gods. Among those fortunate few was Lumbrinae, the New God of sand and concealment.

  His origin was that of an extraordinarily powerful desert worm. Even so, compared to the Madness, he was far weaker. Despite this, he bestowed upon his worshippers a power that allowed them to survive in an era dominated by the Madness. That power was the Bina, the guides of the desert.

  To create a pair of Bina, two pregnant women, upon reaching a certain stage of pregnancy, had to cut open their own abdomens, exchange the children within their wombs, and sew themselves back together. Their umbilical cords were connected into a single straight line. Their eyes were gouged out, their ears destroyed, and they were required to maintain absolute silence. No sound was permitted, no matter the pain.

  The process of creating a Bina was exceedingly brutal and cruel. Success was almost unheard of. Most mothers and children died upon the sacrificial altar, and this ritual has long been completely banned by the Alliance.

  However, if successful, the two children would possess an extraordinarily powerful ability. Anyone who stood in a line under their protection would evade the gaze of the Madness. They would be as if hidden beneath layers of sand, safe and able to survive the dangers of the outside world.

  “At present, in Eversand, one can still encounter tribes that preserve the tradition of traveling in formation across the desert. Although Bina no longer exists, it has become a faith that cannot be erased. Bina itself is an extraordinarily noble and sacred concept.”

  Ret and Not shrugged. They did not feel noble to any extent. Such words should be used to describe their mother instead. This Ability was something they had merely used for theft and escape. However, through Rowling’s story, they no longer resented their parents. On the contrary, they felt deep admiration and pride. No one noticed that at this moment, Ret and Not had already broken into tears, their faces drenched with them.

  The final day of the Blood Moon Festival had arrived. The perfectly full moon cast a mysterious crimson glow, while the spine chilling howls of the wolf pack from BloodMoon Hill echoed without end.

  Thane and the other brave children stripped bare, wearing nothing but simple loincloths. Red symbols were smeared across Thane’s body by Ulmar. She muttered an incantation of some kind, as if bestowing blessings upon the children taking part in the festival.

  The drums boomed heavily. The children roared with confidence and excitement, charging toward BloodMoon Hill amid cheers and encouragement from their predecessors.

  “Go Thane. Subdue a really cool and powerful wolf.”

  Mira waved her hands enthusiastically to cheer for Thane. Vogar, standing beside her, raised his thumb and nodded with a smile.

  Thane’s goal was simple. He was not foolish enough to venture deep inside to challenge the dangerous existences within. Thane possessed no mana. No matter how strong his physique was, he did not believe he could defeat a warlord level wolf. His plan was to challenge a wolf on the outer edge and subdue it as a mount, convenient for travel and transport. He did not forget to tuck the piece of paper Exitus had given him into his loincloth as a precaution. The paper made Thane far calmer and more at ease. He trusted that Exitus would never give him something meaningless merely for display. It must contain some terrifying power.

  Thane began to move slowly toward the hill. He was not in a hurry, conserving his strength for the battle ahead. He picked up a stone by the roadside, a smooth round rock that fit perfectly in his hand for throwing.

  “At least I have a weapon,” Thane clicked his tongue.

  The boy carefully followed the narrow trail up the hill. From a distance, Thane could see another child grappling with his wolf. The boy’s body was covered in wounds and gashes, his left arm missing a chunk of flesh from a bite. Yet the wolf was hardly in better condition. Its face was swollen from repeated blows, one of its leg bones was broken, and the sounds it made were heavy and weak. It seemed the boy would soon subdue it.

  Thane continued deeper. Strangely, not a single wolf appeared within his field of vision. Thane could feel their gazes from afar, watching him, yet none dared approach. It was certainly not fear of him. Thane sensed no terror from them. Perhaps they had received some kind of command. He circled the outer area for a long time without any gain, until the wolves around him blocked his path of retreat. They did not attack. Instead, it seemed they wanted him to go deeper inside.

  Thane stood at the boundary between the outer edge and the inner region, hesitating. He stared into the boundless darkness of the forest ahead. Stepping inside meant facing wolves of immense power, at least warlord level. Thane turned his head and looked at the hundreds of glowing eyes behind him. Even during the Blood Moon, they were unnaturally calm. They merely hid there, watching and waiting.

  Thane felt no fear. He was only curious. If he wished, he could always break through the encirclement and return. After all, the outer wolves were not particularly strong. Even in numbers, they could not stop someone determined to flee. Yet he did not do so. As he looked at the wolves, Thane seemed to understand them. Their soft howls sounded as though they were telling him, “Go inside.”

  Touching the paper hidden in his loincloth, Thane took a deep breath and steadied himself.

  “Someone is waiting for me inside,” Thane murmured.

  He stepped past the boundary amid the joyful howls of the wolves. As Thane’s figure was swallowed by the darkness of the forest, the wolves dispersed, returning to their original purpose.