The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 27

In the dim and damp depths of the forest, Alavin moved with caution, always choosing the most hidden paths for his travels. His knowledge of the nearby woods and mountains paled in comparison to that of Ogmundr, a Botanic Haven Protégé. They were no longer as careless as they had been at the outset, likely devising new ways to ensnare him at every turn. A moment's inattention could mean falling prey to a hidden snare.

However, the forest teemed with peril, and despite Alavin's utmost care, Magi-Monsters ambushed him several times. On one occasion, as he was dodging a Cloud Leopard that lurked ahead, a shadowy griffin swooped down from the sky, shattering the chaotic branches in its path, and lunging at him with black, glossy talons that nearly clasped his throat.

After two days and nights of searching, he found no trace of Nysah and her group, though he did encounter several small bands of herb gatherers. To avoid trouble, Alavin steered clear of them.

The gathering of herbs would last only a fortnight; time was short, and he needed to find a solution swiftly. If Nysah rallied other herb collectors to hunt him down, his chances of survival would dwindle further.

Come the noon of the third day, fortune smiled upon Alavin as he unearthed wild ginseng as thick as a turnip. Held to the sunlight, its clear veins were visible within. It was an Elixir Herb—precious even among the Ordinary, though not quite Advanced.

"Ssshhh..." A strange rustling came from the damp forest ahead. Alavin pocketed the ginseng and peered forward, his breath catching at the sight. This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

A horde of Vermilion Spiders!

Each monstrous spider was as large as a calf, their bodies sheathed in a glossy black carapace that caught the dim light. Their eyes, a blood-red hue, stood out starkly in the shadowy underbrush.

Their eight legs were like rigid spears, thick and powerful.

A single Vermilion Spider was not fearsome, but a host of them—fifty strong—searching for food in the woods, was a terrifying sight indeed. This seemed to be their domain.

Alavin held his breath and retreated silently. Fortunately, the Vermilion Spiders paid him no heed, lazily strolling through their territory.

"Where could Nysah be hiding? Could she have sought out other herb gatherers?" Alavin pondered as he moved through the forest, stopping now and then to sense his surroundings keenly.

Suddenly, a faint scent of blood wafted towards him from somewhere up ahead.

"How is it him?"

Alavin climbed into the treetops and narrowed his eyes at the scene below. Beneath an ancient tree sat a man, bloodied, his head tilted back in horror, his vacant eyes staring into the void.

It was the robust male Protégé from Ogmundr's gathering group.

"What has befallen him?" Sensing no immediate dangers present, Alavin descended cautiously.

Indeed, it was him, recently dead, blood still oozing from his wounds. Signs of a brief and violent struggle were evident, but the area was small, suggesting a quick end to the fight.

"How did he meet his end here? Was it Ogmundr's doing, or..." Alavin's gaze caught more blood trails leading deeper into the woods. Gripping his Dawnedge Blade, he followed the bloodspots leading onward until they reached a stream, where numerous chaotic footprints were found.

At that moment, Alavin heard a scream, followed by cruel, mocking laughter. Alavin's brow furrowed, and he followed the bloody trail.

Ahead lay a secluded valley blooming with wildflowers. Their fragrance wafted through the air, and several elegant trees dotted the landscape. The scenery was idyllic, but the events unfolding were far from beautiful.

A band of mercenaries had captured Nysah and Ogmundr. Ogmundr lay in a pool of his blood, pinned under the boot of a burly man who was admiring his Gold-Veined Bronzesword. "Fine blade! Ha, a fine blade indeed, worthy of a Cobalt Strike Protégé! You actually carry a treasure like this. This sword's worth a king's ransom in gold!"

"The Gold-Veined Bronzesword is yours, just let us go!" Ogmundr pleaded, wounded and struggling on the ground.

"Oh, changing your tune, are we? Weren't you talking tough just a moment ago? Why’ve you softened up so quickly?" The burly man kicked Ogmundr aside.

Ogmundr curled in pain. "I am a Senior Protégé of Cobalt Strike's Botanic Haven, destined to be an Elite Protégé. If you kill me, Cobalt Strike will hunt you to the ends of the earth. Let me go, and I'll act as if nothing happened. You can have the Gold-Veined Bronzesword."

"You think we're fools? Let you go only to face your vengeance? We know your kind. We struck with no plans to let you leave."

The burly man tore his shirt, revealing a torso scarred yet muscular, and strode towards the flowerbeds with a gleeful smile.

"Don't come any closer..." Nysah, severely injured, lay there weakly.

Seven more mercenaries surrounded her, eyeing her hungrily. Their gaze traveled over her body with lascivious intent.

"She's exquisite. I can barely hold myself back."

"Cobalt Strike sure knows how to nurture their Protégés. Look at you, so delicate and soft. I'm burning up just looking at her, ha!"

"A beauty like her would be the star attraction in any pleasure house—worth a hundred in gold for a single night. Today's our lucky day; even death is worth this moment."

"Come on, boss, have your fill so we can have a turn."

The mercenaries were like starving wolves eyeing a slab of meat, saliva dripping from their mouths as they could barely contain their eagerness to pounce and savor such beauty—a beauty they had never before encountered. With alluring looks, shapely and long legs, and a slender waist, every inch of her was perfect.