Chapter 113: Out of the Valley

  Sunlight broke through the blockade of the distant mountain peaks, sprinkling vitality into the valley along with this light. Several species of ferns unique to this place slowly unfurled their leaves, hoping to seize as much of this precious sunlight as possible. Even the mushrooms in the rock crevices over there seemed to accelerate their growth. Two or three gray marsupials emerged from somewhere, poking their heads around curiously, but fled immediately upon spotting the Behemoth by the giant boulder.

  However, if they possessed sufficient discernment, they would have realized this was merely the corpse of a Behemoth, and a quite mangled one at that. Its fur, which even the sharpest blades could hardly harm, was already riddled with countless wounds, revealing the dead gray muscles beneath. Even its incredibly sturdy, giant hand-claws had several snapped off.

  Ethan leaped onto the Behemoth's head, sat cross-legged, and calmly performed his meditation technique from start to finish. Only when his mind was clear as water and his mental state reached its peak did he slowly channel all his magical power into the Behemoth's body.

  He had to be extremely cautious. This Behemoth puppet corpse was the key to whether they could escape this place. Despite being especially careful over the past two days, the Behemoth's internal structure was already very fragile due to repeated magical catalysis and control. The slightest error in the puppetry technique would immediately cause it to collapse into a pile of rotting flesh. And with their current condition and strength, they could no longer hunt another Behemoth to make into a puppet corpse. Moreover, he himself truly lacked the confidence to create another one.

  Sweat beaded on Ethan's forehead. To operate a puppet corpse possessing such a massive and powerful physique as the Behemoth, the magical power required and the mental strength needed for control were utterly incomparable to manipulating other corpses. If it were made into a zombie, it would naturally be easier, but zombies did not last long, their combat effectiveness dropped drastically, and their speed was incredibly slow. Unable to keep up with the team's pace, they would be utterly useless. Therefore, he could only create this much more complex type of puppet corpse, which could fully unleash its combat power and last longer.

  Finally, the Behemoth's body twitched. Ethan let out a long sigh and jumped down. Success at last. But today was absolutely the last day. Tomorrow, under the corrosion of Necromancy, perhaps not even bones would remain of this giant carcass. He slowly spoke to the werewolf who had been standing guard beside him: "Within today, we must exit the valley."

  "Hmm. I know." The werewolf Luken nodded. He was a very young, strong, and intelligent werewolf, with yellowish-white fur and a pair of eyes, unlike his kind's, that leaned more towards human-like expressiveness. In terms of intellect alone, he would even be considered clever among humans. What made Ethan find even stranger was that although Luken's speech still carried the peculiar werewolf accent, it was already very fluent. This could not be merely due to intelligence.

  Ethan did not ask why. Here, all energy and plans were focused solely on how to survive the next moment. He sighed, looking up at the several majestic peaks towering between heaven and earth. No matter how he looked, he could not grasp their full form. Thick clouds lingered around the mountainsides; above them should be even higher, snow-white ice peaks. What lay beyond that, no one knew.

  In the embrace of these continent's most majestic, wondrous, and dangerous peaks, any form of life seemed so insignificant and powerless. Whether himself, the werewolf beside him, or even the Behemoths living here, it was all the same. Looking at those mountains that seemed to support the endless sky, Ethan felt this sense of awe for the first time in his life.

  It was a true awe, stemming from the soul, an awe towards heaven and earth. Only those who came here could understand how powerless and ridiculous the enshrined deities were. Even if gods truly existed in this world, they would surely only reside upon those peaks.

  Faint sounds resembling the clashing of golden blades drifted from within the clouds, mingling with the ever-present wind, forming the ubiquitous soundtrack of the Sanderfirth Mountains. Ethan listened intently; it should be just two or three giant eagles, not the dreaded Thunderbird. He glanced at Luken to signal.

  The werewolf closed his eyes, his furry, pointed ears swiveling to the sides. He estimated their flying direction and angle by sound, then nodded and said: "Approximately one thousand meters altitude, heading northwest."

  Ethan breathed a sigh of relief and waved his hand. "Let's move out." He hoped this would be the last time he heard the sounds of these giant raptors. Every day here, they faced attacks from these terrifying birds of prey, as fearsome as Wyverns. Only relying on the Behemoth puppet corpse could they cope. That day, the team searching for ore on the mountainside had unavoidably engaged in battle with a Thunderbird enveloped in blue-white lightning. Though they ultimately killed it and obtained over a dozen magically imbued feathers from its neck, they paid a heavy price: one werewolf and six lizardmen.

  Unfortunately, such magical beasts, born with innate magical power within their bodies, could not be converted into puppet corpses. Otherwise, their unique glow and presence alone, much like the Behemoth corpse scaring off the gray marsupials, would have deterred other giant eagles. Converting the corpse of a giant eagle, however, was absolutely unthinkable. A giant eagle randomly violating airspace and carrying other animals might attract attacks from dozens of its kind. So they could only continue inching their way out step by step.

  Luken led the others out from under two giant boulders, ready to proceed. But immediately, there was more bad news. The Ogre named Krolin's injuries had worsened further. Even the tenacious life force, comparable to the lizardmen's, could no longer support his body for walking. His ribs, as thick as an arm, were completely shattered. Several wounds, nearly reaching his internal organs, had healed slightly under healing magic but were still rapidly draining the Ogre's energy and vitality. If not for the inch-thick steel armor blocking first, his massive, incredibly sturdy frame (compared to a human) would have been little more than a heap of tatters under the Behemoth's claws.

  Ethan pondered for a moment, then commanded: "Have him remove his armor and discard his weapons."

  After discarding the nearly thousand pounds of steel armor and mace, the severely injured Ogre was carried onward by the Behemoth puppet corpse. But for this, they also had to abandon a small pouch of raw ore that might contain Magical Jade and Star-Eye.

  "I admire your decision, though it may not be a good one," the werewolf Luken said, carrying a small pouch of raw ore as he walked, leaning close to Ethan's ear. A small piece of Star-Eye or Magical Jade could be considered priceless, and whether that Ogre could even be saved was still unknown.

  Ethan shook his head and said lightly: "Sedros would probably also wish for as many as possible to walk out of here alive."

  Four Ogres, six werewolves, ten lizardmen—every beastman who entered the depths of the Sanderfirth Mountains was an elite, a warrior of their tribe. This dozen or so individuals already constituted a significant force within the Oufu army. Now, only two Ogres, two werewolves, and one lizardman remained. Less than half of those who entered, and all were wounded and exhausted. But precisely because of this, every beastman who could pass this trial of life and death and walk out of here would be an elite among elites, a warrior among warriors. That was Oufu's true wealth. More importantly, making such a choice in this situation would strengthen the cohesion between them. This was something Sedros had always valued highly. This invisible force had a profound impact on Oufu, something that could not be measured by a few magical gems.

  There was another reason only Ethan himself knew. The injury to this Ogre and the loss of the other beastmen were actually due to his own misjudgment. He truly hoped that one more person could walk out of here alive.

  Werewolf Luken nodded. Whether it signified agreement or that he understood the true meaning behind it was unclear.

  The other werewolf and the Ogre who was in relatively better condition cast rather emotional glances their way. That was Arkin and Vyr. The last lizardman, Vest, let out a breath of relief.

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  Though they had little time or mood for interaction during these days here, the trials between life and death had made them familiar with each other much faster. They spoke no words, simply walking silently with their burdens. The meanings conveyed by expressions and gazes were enough for mutual understanding.

  Ethan unfolded the map. This was drawn by Gru, very detailed, clearly marking the terrain at the front of the valley, every water source, and the roaming beasts. If Ethan had not decided to venture too deep into the valley and climb the mountainside, entering areas beyond the map, they wouldn't have suffered so many casualties. Of course, neither would they have gained such a huge harvest. A full five pouches of raw ore—this was absolutely the most raw ore ever brought out of Sanderfirth in history, almost equaling the total output of the previous decades.

  The Sanderfirth Mountains harbored a rich variety of magical ingredients. Whether used directly after processing or crafted into magical weapons, armor, and artifacts, all were coveted treasures. But the great wealth here came with correspondingly great dangers. Even the mysterious Diya Valley and the underground labyrinths of Nighon paled in comparison before these majestic and formidable peaks. No one dared deny that this range abruptly rising north of the Barbarian Highlands was the most dangerous place on the continent.

  Here, there was the bizarre weather where thunderstorms and ice hurricanes could strike at any moment; the extremely harsh survival environment with almost no food or water sources edible for humans; and the Behemoths and Thunderbirds inhabiting here were the most dangerous and aggressive creatures on the continent. Even the strongest warriors appeared fragile and powerless before these raging, colossal beasts. The abundant magical ore deposits within the mountains caused the entire area to be perpetually filled with chaotic magical fluctuations. Mages of slightly lower rank might even be unable to use magic here. Because of this treacherous environment, the amount of magical ingredients that could be brought out of here over the years was exceedingly small, while the number of people who died here, becoming food for beasts, grew ever larger.

  This Oufu operation had been meticulously planned. To guard against the Necromancer Guild, Gru could not leave Oufu for long. Thus, he could only send Ethan, leading this specially selected team of beastmen equipped with the best gear and supplies, setting out from Oufu after a long journey to enter the mountain depths. Only these beastmen, with their exceptional wilderness survival skills, could endure this harsh environment for as long as possible.

  After arriving here, Ethan made a strange discovery. He wasn't sure if it was due to the Dark Meditation or the Leaves of the World Tree, but his magic was surprisingly unaffected here. According to Sedros, no matter how powerful a mage was, using magic here would suffer significant interference. Yet Ethan felt almost nothing. So he made a bold, impromptu decision: to explore places even Gru hadn't ventured, not just searching in the valley, but also climbing the mountains. The easily found things in the valley had long been mostly scoured clean by treasure seekers over the years.

  He dared to be so bold because he was confident in his Necromancy. As long as he could kill one Behemoth and turn it into a puppet corpse, it would be easier to kill other Behemoths, then turn them into puppet corpses, and continuously strengthen his forces...

  It was only later that Ethan realized he had been far too confident, too careless. His overconfidence had nearly led to the complete annihilation of the entire team.

  Although Behemoths had considerable resistance to magic, dealing with them would have been much easier if he had used poison magic or the vampire blade crafted by Sandro. Unfortunately, the life force within creatures killed by Necromancy mutated, making them unsuitable for puppet corpses. Thus, the team had to engage in a head-on battle with a Behemoth, aided only by a few gray marsupial puppet corpses. After one lizardman died and an Ogre was injured, they finally killed the Behemoth, which was only a juvenile.

  Facing the juvenile Behemoth's corpse, Ethan attempted the puppetry technique, but it only caused the corpse to rot into a puddle of slime. This time, Ethan thought it was an accident caused by his unfamiliarity with this type of corpse. But after failing a third time, Ethan was horrified to discover that he simply lacked the ability to create a puppet corpse from such a massive creature.

  His magical power was indeed abundant, and his Necromancy skills were not low. But he forgot that his abundant magic came from an external source, and his rapid progress in Necromancy was aided by The Dark Meditative Art. What he lacked was the true spellcaster's proficiency and delicate sense of magical control—those were the essence of magic, accumulated through time and experience.

  He could create and control hundreds of crows, or several gray marsupials larger and stronger than bears. But when faced with a Behemoth whose size was almost like a small hill and whose life force was incredibly vigorous, he discovered his own naivety. With his control ability barely higher than that of a magic apprentice, he simply could not fully control the vast power within its body. Necromancy was an extremely precise magic; the slightest error would cause the spell to fail. And considering the Behemoth's size and power, even Sandro himself could probably only control three or four such puppet corpses at most.

  After several failed attempts at creating puppet corpses, the team's combat strength and numbers gradually weakened to the point where they could no longer confront a Behemoth. The final battle with an adult Behemoth left everyone seriously injured. The strongest Ogre, Krolin, was critically ill, and Ethan was nearly driven to despair. Whether it was luck or a burst of power in desperation, Ethan finally succeeded in turning that Behemoth into a puppet corpse. Then, relying on it as the main force, they fended off attacks from giant eagles and other Behemoths day after day, gradually collecting four pouches of raw ore on the mountainside.

  At least from the results, his plan had indeed succeeded. But Ethan felt no joy whatsoever. The deaths of so many beastmen could all be attributed to his misjudgment. Those were Oufu's elites, the heroes of their tribes! And he could not forget that one werewolf and one Ogre had actually been torn to shreds by the Behemoth's giant claws while covering him.

  On the way down the mountain, Ethan discovered several scattered skeletal remains, long dead, with a pouch of raw ore beside them. Those who could penetrate deep into the Sanderfirth Mountains must have been top-tier experts. From the advanced magical ornaments, weapons, and staffs on the remains, it was clear this should have been a well-composed and truly powerful team. Perhaps they had been famous figures in life, but unfortunately here, these heroes carrying many stories and legends died as silently as rats in a gutter.

  From these corpses, Ethan not only gained a pouch of raw ore but also two magical leather armors and some minor magical gear like bracers and boots. These were all valuable high-end items. Most crucially, there were two well-preserved magic scrolls. These were exactly the useful things he needed now.

  Studying the map carefully, Ethan took all factors into account, deliberated repeatedly, and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Judging by the map's markings, at their current speed, they should just reach the valley entrance around noon.

  This was a small gap between two high mountains, the entrance to the deepest part of the Sanderfirth Mountains they had entered, and also the only exit they could now reach. Once through that valley entrance, they would be out of the most dangerous area of the Sanderfirth Mountains. The likelihood of encountering Thunderbirds and Behemoth giants would become very small. Then, after another day's journey or so, they would reach the safe zone, where reinforcements and supplies awaited them.

  Noon, when the wind was weakest, was the only opportunity to exit the valley. At other times, the strong wind mixed with ice shards at the valley entrance could even blow a werewolf away. When they entered the valley under cover of night, Ethan, the werewolves, and the lizardmen had been blown straight in. One lizardman was unlucky, caught in a turbulent current and smashed against the rocks, becoming lizard paste.

  But noon was also when Behemoths were most active. Ethan remembered that the area near the valley entrance should be the territory of an adult giant beast. Late summer was when the continent's most ferocious, dangerous, and aggressive beasts strove to hunt. It was impossible to sneak past a Behemoth unnoticed. No matter how they concealed their tracks, the scent carried by this group would absolutely attract that adult Behemoth. To a Behemoth tired of the coarse meat of gray marsupials, the scent of werewolves and Ogres was like the aroma of roasted poultry to someone who had eaten only vegetables for a month.

  A true adult giant beast, whose fur had turned completely grayish-white. On Gru's map, this was marked with a large red dot. On a map dominated by black lines, this was the largest and most conspicuous unique symbol. It was clear that even Gru, the mapmaker, was highly concerned about the danger here.

  However, Ethan wasn't overly worried. This could be considered the final battle within the valley. The two scrolls, held as his last resort, could be used without reservation. One was a White Magic "Paralysis Spell" scroll, and the other was a Fire-type "Blazing Might Shot" scroll. The scrolls had been carefully wrapped by the adventurers in specially treated magical parchment. Even now, with their masters' bodies turned to dust, they remained undamaged and perfectly usable.

  From these two scrolls, one could see that the adventuring party had indeed possessed extraordinary means in life, to even possess something as valuable and hard to come by as a Paralysis Spell scroll. While the spell itself wasn't top-tier, transcribing it into a scroll for instant casting required the skill level of, as far as Ethan knew, only Bishop Ronis. And the Church strictly forbade clergy from transcribing White Magic into scrolls. Getting a Cardinal to violate the ban and secretly create such a thing was incredibly difficult. Thus, such an item was truly a rare find. Moreover, to ensure the effect of such precious scrolls, the magical materials used for their creation were undoubtedly of the highest possible grade. Just in terms of rarity and difficulty, the value of this single scroll was probably equivalent to a piece of Star-Eye.

  As for the "Blazing Might Shot" scroll, while it could be bought with money, there were not many top-tier fire mages on the continent. For such a top-tier scroll, which was troublesome to create and slightly damaged the caster's magic power, each mage might produce only a few per year at most. Yet there was no shortage of wealthy individuals who wished to possess a scroll capable of blowing down a city wall. Therefore, the price was usually driven incredibly high.

  Ethan even felt a hint of anticipation for the appearance of that Behemoth giant, because once it was dealt with, they could finally leave this cursed place. And being able to use such high-level scrolls was a rare luxury for him. If circumstances allowed, perhaps he could resolve the battle using just one. Touching the blade on his back, Ethan unconsciously showed a slight smile for the first time in many days. Success was in sight, and it was truly the final battle. He could act without reservation.

  The team's progress unfolded as Ethan had expected. Furthermore, no incidents occurred along the way. Before noon, as the wind speed began to lessen, they had already arrived before the valley entrance.

  This mountain pass, if seen elsewhere, would appear like a wide, open plain. It was over a li wide and five li long, shaped like a funnel with its base facing the valley. Both sides were sheer cliffs over a thousand meters high, with rocks protruding and receding in bizarre formations. Due to the Sanderfirth Mountains' peculiar climate and terrain, a strong wind blowing into the valley prevailed here at all times except around noon each day. The already powerful wind, compressed by the funnel-shaped terrain at the valley entrance, transformed into violent air currents at its narrowest point, capable of blowing people about like straw, becoming a natural barrier that let people in but refused them exit.

  Seeing the exit not far away, every beastman grew excited. After so many days walking the edge of death here, seeing companions turn into corpses almost daily, the exit was now right before them. The relatively energetic lizardman, Vest, let out a strange hissing cry.

  Ethan did not get excited. As the leader, even one who had made a major misjudgment, he had to remain constantly clear-headed and vigilant. Standing here in such a strong upwind, their scent could drift dozens of meters into the valley.

  Sure enough, Ethan's keen senses detected a faint tremor in the ground. Then, both werewolves' ears pricked up.