Murphy fled frantically through the mountain forest in the dead of night.
The mountain path was rugged and exceptionally difficult to traverse.
In the darkness, he couldn't see the path ahead or make out his surroundings.
Thorns tore at his clothes and branches whipped his face, but he paid no mind to the pain, focusing only on desperately pushing forward.
The fear of death prevented him from daring to stop for even a moment.
The image of Jimmy's gruesome death, his head exploding, was seared into his mind. He could still clearly feel the blood and brains that had splattered onto his face and body.
Even more nauseating, the sweat from his flight was rehydrating the dried gore, and the foul-smelling mixture of blood and brain matter was trickling down his cheeks, some of it even dripping onto his lips.
The sensation made him retch violently, even as he was gripped by fear.
'This is good, this is good!'
Murphy tried to comfort himself with this thought. When Jimmy's head had exploded, blood and brains had hit his lips then, too, but at that time, he'd felt nothing but fear, no nausea at all.
'But now I feel sick, which must mean my body feels the danger is receding and my other senses are starting to kick back in.'
Of course, Murphy knew this was all unreliable self-comfort.
What he could rely on was the Immortal Cultivation System. Option Two had to be the choice that would allow him to survive, as long as he gave it his all!
Even if it was just a single data point, all Murphy could do now was believe.
At a time like this, belief was all he had!
The mountain path underfoot grew steeper, forcing Murphy to slow down.
In the darkness, he relied entirely on instinct to choose his way forward.
Exposed tree roots, like lurking vipers, periodically tripped him up.
Twice he nearly tumbled down a steep slope, only managing to steady himself by grabbing onto nearby bushes at the last second.
The sound of the wind in the forest was particularly eerie.
Whenever the night wind whistled through the treetops with a mournful cry, Murphy would freeze, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest.
He kept thinking he could hear the whistle of an arrow mixed in with the wind, as if his enemies were tracking him from nearby.
In a relatively open clearing, Murphy finally collapsed, leaning against an old tree to catch his breath.
Sweat soaked his tattered clothes, making them stick to his body along with the dried blood.
He scanned his surroundings, feeling as though every swaying shadow was a lurking enemy.
CREAK!
Just then, the sound of a snapping branch echoed from the distance. Murphy immediately held his breath and huddled behind the tree trunk.
Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Besides the wind, there was no other sound.
Only then did Murphy relax slightly. After regaining a little strength, he gritted his teeth and continued to feel his way forward.
He kept trying to choose downward paths, hoping to get off the Twilight Mountain Range and onto flat ground. He even tried to head back in the direction he came from.
But the night was too thick. He had completely lost his sense of direction and could only flee by instinct toward places that seemed safe.
Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet gave way, and Murphy plummeted downward.
He scrambled to grab a vine, only then realizing he had nearly fallen into a natural pit.
Murphy's heart pounded wildly. He carefully climbed out, rested for a moment to let his heart rate settle, and then resumed groping his way through the darkness.
After what felt like an eternity, the eastern sky began to show the first pale light of dawn.
Murphy finally reached his limit. He slumped against a tree and wearily closed his eyes.
The night-long escape had left him utterly exhausted.
But at least, for this moment, he was alive.
Before he knew it, Murphy drifted into a hazy dream.
In the dream, he was back in his warm rented apartment before he transmigrated, lounging comfortably in his soft gaming chair, a popular shooter game on the screen before him.
Just as he was immersed in the game, a sniper scope's crosshairs locked firmly on an opponent's head, the instant after he pulled the trigger...
...the image of Jimmy's head exploding flashed before his eyes. The splattering brains, the contorted face, the gushing blood—it shattered the pleasant moment in an instant.
"Ah!"
Murphy jolted awake, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from his chest.
He pinched himself hard, knowing this was absolutely not the time to be sleeping.
In the beast-infested Twilight Mountain Range, sleeping without any defenses was tantamount to suicide.
'I have to build a shelter!'
Murphy forced himself to his feet and looked around.
He chose a small hollow surrounded by several ancient trees; the terrain was relatively concealed.
Then, Murphy began to gather dry branches from the area. Sweat once again soaked his ragged clothes, but he didn't dare stop.
"Hang in there..."
he muttered to himself as he dragged the collected branches into the hollow.
Next, Murphy started looking for some vines to secure the structure.
He fumbled through the undergrowth, gritting his teeth as thorns scratched his fingers, until he eventually grew so numb he couldn't feel it anymore.
However, disaster struck while he was building the main structure of the shelter.
After a whole night of trekking through the mountain forest, exhaustion, hunger, and drowsiness left him with almost no strength to secure the branches.
His arms trembled so violently when he tried to lift a branch that it slipped from his grasp without him even noticing.
'Is this my limit?'
he asked himself. But the image of Carter's humiliation flashed in his mind, and he gritted his teeth and carried on.
Finally, just as he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, the simple shelter was finished.
It was a simple lean-to resting against the roots of an ancient tree, its frame barely held together by crooked branches and covered with a patchy layer of leaves and ferns.
One corner of the roof sagged, and the entrance was merely shielded by a few haphazardly hung vines.
The whole shelter looked so rickety it seemed a strong gust of wind could blow it apart.
But Murphy was already very satisfied.
He collapsed inside the shelter, gasping for air.
It was crude, but at least it offered basic concealment.
In his last moments before falling asleep, he prayed silently to the Three Pure Ones and Four Emperors, to Allah and to God, hoping this refuge would see him safely through the day.
...
Deep within the Twilight Mountain Range, at the foot of a cliff, jagged rocks stood like the fangs of colossal beasts.
The narrow valley was flanked by near-vertical rock faces, with only a single treacherous path leading to the outside world.
The center of the valley was littered with shattered armor and broken swords, and the air was thick with the heavy stench of blood.
Miss Douglas stood elegantly on a protruding rock, her ivory-white silk dress shimmering with a pearl-like luster in the morning light.
Beneath her Moonlight Stone Hair Crown, her delicate, porcelain-doll face looked no older than fourteen or fifteen.
"Bishop Alberto, you truly are a lingering ghost," she said, nonchalantly toying with the Soul-Stealing Box in her hand, its diamond shape spinning on her fingertips. "Catching up so quickly... you won't even let a person catch their breath."
"Othilia!"
Bishop Alberto's voice boomed through the valley like thunder.
His Silver Crown was askew, and his snow-white robes were covered in large stains. "You blasphemous Witch! How dare you defile a Holy Artifact of the Master of the Stars. In the name of Oriane, I will purify you here today!"
Baron Duval's eyes were crimson. His armor was covered in slash marks, and a wound on his left shoulder was still seeping blood.
He stared daggers at Miss Douglas, his voice trembling with rage. "Witch! You deceived me! You killed my Moby, cursed my Sylvan, and slaughtered my Knights... I swear I will use your head to appease the Wandering Souls of my son and all who were sacrificed!"
Miss Douglas scoffed, her youthful face filled with disdain. "A Holy Artifact of the Master of the Stars? Please. It was clearly created by a Grand Wizard."
She turned to Baron Duval, saying playfully, "Uncle Duval, come on. You're the one who offered to help me in the first place. I never said I'd help you open the Northern Trade Route. And it wasn't my curse, either. The Grand Wizard cast it, so it has nothing to do with me. But thanks for your gift; the Soul-Stealing Box has almost removed the curse."
"Blasphemy!"
Bishop Alberto rebuked her sharply. "To attribute a holy object to the hands of a Wizard! Your soul has been thoroughly corrupted by darkness!"
Baron Duval ground his teeth. "I only helped you because I thought you were the Lord Duke's daughter! Now I see you're nothing but a scourge!"
He deliberately avoided the topic of the Wizard, as if he hadn't heard her words.
Behind them, a lone surviving Official Knight held a Knight's Sword, his face bearing a scar so deep the bone was visible.
Ten followers formed a defensive line, but every one of them was injured, with two only able to stand with the support of their comrades.
Before Miss Douglas, the Maid Chris's left arm hung limply at her side. A tear in her pale violet silk dress revealed a limb with a metallic sheen.
Knight Green's Plate Armor was dented on the chest, and Guy was on one knee, the arm holding his sword trembling slightly.
More than twenty bodies lay scattered haphazardly across the valley floor.
Official Knight Glen lay on his back in a pool of blood, a gaping hole punched clean through his chest. Walter's body was curled up at the base of the cliff, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
There were also the bodies of a Groom and the followers who had arrived as reinforcements.
Most striking were the remains of six suits of Activated Armor, each nearly four meters tall. They had been torn to pieces by some immense force, and their scattered metal components still twitched faintly.
Miss Douglas raised her chin disdainfully. "If you're going to fight, then fight. Why waste this beautiful morning light? Let's add a splash of blood to this banquet."
She raised her hand slightly. Green stepped forward, and Guy rose from his kneeling position.
Just as Bishop Alberto raised his Holy Scripture and Baron Duval tightened his grip on his Longsword, with both sides poised for battle, something unexpected happened.
A blinding flash of silver light erupted, and the figures of Miss Douglas and her companions began to turn transparent.
Bishop Alberto's expression changed drastically. His Holy Scripture flared with light in an attempt to lock onto them, while Baron Duval roared and charged, his Longsword cleaving only empty air.
Before everyone's astonished eyes, Miss Douglas's figure dissipated like morning mist, the mocking smile on her lips seared into their minds.
"I look forward to our next meeting, everyone."
Her voice, like the chime of a Silver Bell, scattered on the wind.
Chris, Green, and Guy also dissolved into motes of silver light and vanished.
Bishop Alberto angrily clenched his Holy Scripture, while Baron Duval's gauntlets creaked as he tightened his grip on his Longsword.
The surviving Warriors looked at each other, their faces filled with disbelief.
A dead silence fell over the scene, leaving only the mournful cry of the wind in the valley.