Mandar's eyes flashed as suspicion seemed to be wearing him down—he believed Carly had enticed the young master into this reckless venture.
He had overheard their conversation while standing guard at King-Sea Inn, and at the time he had assumed the plant was within the outer or inner regions of the forest. Only now did he realize the truth.
It was the freaking Dark Zone! The clan would never have the young master enter such a place.
Mandar thought he should have restrained him at the inn or kept him within the safer reaches of the forest, like the outer region. However, regret was useless now; that moment had already passed.
It was folly to risk the Dark Zone for nothing more than a grade‑4 plant. That thought only deepened his suspicion—Carly surely had a hidden agenda, luring the young master into entering the Dark Zone.
Mandar knew he couldn't stop the kid now. If he tried to prevent the young master from entering, he knew definitely that the diabolic woman would intercept him without hesitation, and he dared not order his men to strike against the young master's entourage.
He suddenly found himself at the very center of a brewing storm, shackled by circumstance.
Carly flicked her tongue playfully, waiting for Mandar's decision—though she already knew what it would be.
He had no choice.
"Alright. We'll only explore the outer section straight to the target. If anyone dares take a single step into the inner region, we will fight it out." Mandar finally agreed, his teeth clenched. His eyes never left the lady as he spoke, for none among the group could match his strength.
In that instant, he led the warriors into the Dark Zone.
Carly sneered coldly, her eyes flashing as she watched him depart. "No doubt, you're going down today. You'd better watch yourself." she muttered under her breath.
Mandar's situation with Carly had always been tense. She sought every possible way to hinder him, cutting across his decisions whenever she could. She vowed to end him once and for all on this venture.
At that moment, Simley trembled as the tales of the Dark Zone resurfaced in his heart, doubt seeping into his heart like a chilling mist.
"Aren't you coming?" Carly called out, looking at him.
A glint flickered in his eyes before he stepped forward to join the group.
He had to claim the plant. His confidence was reaffirmed!
This was also his chance to contribute to the clan. A grade‑4 herb, one that could harmonize with rare blacksmithing materials, was a prize worth the risk.
He cleared his throat and stepped forward.
___
The Dark Zone was in its usual eerie state, shrouded in ever‑looming danger, until suddenly something far more daring than the shadows themselves broke its silence.
Blood came crashing through the tree branches after his unblinking launch; he was rushing downward at extreme speed.
Soon after, he smashed into the ground, the earth lifting in a violent crash. He tumbled for several meters until he stopped, gritting his teeth against the almost unbearable pain.
Blood rested his back against a tree, scanning the zone. This was it—the Dark Zone. He had made a bold decision; one he found far from pleasing. Had they not forced him, he would never have dared to step into the region.
He glanced around, surveying the shadows for danger, then rose and stretched his back for comfort. The crash had not been unbearable.
Suddenly, something stubbed against his toe and rolled slightly away from the tree. His gaze followed it path upward, to the branches above—where a squirrel stared back at him.
Blood's expression grew grim as he sensed the strange and unsettling aura radiating from the beast. Without hesitation, he vanished from sight, reappearing ten meters away.
Blood dashed and didn't look back, not until he was far enough and believed he was safe.
As he dashed, however, he sensed no pursuit. Perhaps the beast's movements were too flawless to be detected—since it could leap silently, using the trees as its path.
After running for a while, he stopped, scanning the darkness to confirm whether he was being followed.
Not all beasts loved to chase their prey. A beast's size did not always determine its power. It might be a mere squirrel—but could also be one with terrifying strength.
He had heard many tales of beasts lurking within the Dark Zone, etched into his memory like scars.
The environment was dark which limited his sight, even his spiritual sense was limited to a certain range.
Blood knitted his brows as his gaze instantly caught a silhouette sprawled like a fallen log on the ground. The figure's clothes were tattered; their body was marred by grievous wounds.
Drawing closer, Blood extended his senses to the peak. He moved with extreme caution, wary of the treacherous environment. This could well be a trap meant to lure him nearer, however, he felt compelled to investigate.
Step by step, at a slow pace, he closed the distance until he stood only a foot away.
Blood crouched, turning the body over with caution. A bloodied chest greeted him when he turned the body, and green germs spilled from the man's mouth.
Blood looked at the middle‑aged man whose form was miserable, nearly unrecognizable—it was surely the work of the Dark Zone's vicious beasts.
The moment the body shifted, the scar‑faced middle-aged man sniffed and opened his lifeless eyes, before coughing in a strange manner.
Blood quickly produced healing pills and pressed them to the man's lips.
At this gesture, the man's eyes opened slowly. His hand suddenly sprang forward, gripping Blood's firmly by the neck, though with surprising gentleness.
Blood was bewildered as his heart skipped a beat, fear surging before it slowly steadied when he felt no danger. Blood thought he was doomed, since the man's strength was not inferior to that of the enemies he had only just escaped.
The middle‑aged man shook his head faintly and whispered, "You don't have to waste pills on someone like me. I will die either way." A line of tears traced his scarred face as he continued, his voice weak.
"I've been trapped in this place for over a month, and it's already a miracle I still breathe. I don't know what a kid like you is doing here, but if you've got the nerve to tread this cursed land, perhaps you truly have what it takes."
The middle‑aged man regarded this as a rare chance—one that would never come again till his death. He was fortunate to have crossed paths with a decent cultivator; otherwise, such an encounter would have ended swiftly, since he would have been slain and his treasures taken the instant greedy eyes fell on him.
"I have a simple request." the man rasped. "Swear to me you will take this information to the Thundering Sword Sect. In return, I will share you a secret—a place where you will find a treasure of equal worth. It should have matured by now. All you must do is deliver a message to my sect." His words came with difficulty, his breathing unsteady.
He would never have risked revealing this secret if not for death looming over him. Most cultivators would never honor a promise simply because they had agreed to. However, he had no choice—his sect needed to be informed, and the only way to get the message to them was to trust this kid.
Blood paused and pondered for a moment before agreeing. Though he hadn't come seeking treasures, since his presence here was pure circumstance—he reasoned that taking something valuable along the way would not be unappreciated.
The middle‑aged man was relieved when Blood accepted. There was now a chance his junior brothers and sisters might be avenged.
It didn't take long for him to relay what he wished Blood to deliver.
Blood's expression darkened when he learned that an entire group had been massacred over a single grade‑3 plant. With a tense gaze, he remembered his parents' warning—the cultivation journey was cruel.
He accepted the deal and promised to pass the information when he had the chance. The Thundering Sword Sect was within the city, passing the information should be easy enough.
When the matter was settled, the scar‑faced man coughed violently, green liquid seeping from his mouth and nostrils. He had been restraining the poison for far too long. At last, he could die with a relieved heart.
At that instant, he removed his spatial pouch and handed it to Blood.
He would be dead anyway; the pouch was useless to him now. He dared not ask Blood to deliver it to his loved ones—that would only jeopardize their fragile agreement. After all, once he died, it would rightfully become Blood's loot.
Blood was baffled by the gesture. He accepted the pouch reluctantly, scolding himself inwardly for taking advantage of a dying man.
But the man smiled faintly at Blood's downcast look. "You shouldn't feel guilty for taking my treasures." he said. "Others would take them from my corpse without hesitation. I have done the same myself. I give them to you so that my death will not be in that same way. Just make sure you deliver the message." His voice grew riotous toward the end.
He died soon after.
Blood sighed, closing the man's eyes and gave a slight bow.
He understood now why people said a fruitful encounter wasn't always a blessing. Without sufficient strength to protect oneself, fortune could quickly turn to doom.
Wasting no time, he set out again. He had to find the Sharp‑Hind Grass.