Chapter 273 Bizarre Resilience, A Clear Understanding

"Hm?"

A surge of scorching heat against the back of his neck caught Xia Nan off guard, making him think for a moment that he was under attack.

Then realization struck.

"[Azure Pine]?"

Originating from the Snake Den Secret Realm, this was his first Rare "blue gear" since his transmigration. A wooden sword boasting classical Eastern aesthetics, its effects were undeniably powerful:

+15% damage to undead creatures (Sunfire)

+20% damage to snake and scorpion creatures (Sunfire)

It had provided considerable assistance before his combat style fully took shape.

Unfortunately, ever since the trip to Kalanfor, Xia Nan had not encountered a single enemy that could trigger [Azure Pine]'s bonus damage effect. As a result, even though he always carried the weapon on his back, he used it far less frequently than his other equipment.

It only left its sheath as a backup weapon in cramped environments, or whenever the Decapitating Longsword slipped from his grasp.

Though he had no intention of selling it, he still found it a pity, often feeling that the one-handed sword's effects were going to waste.

After obtaining his Class Level and ascending to the Association Second Floor, Xia Nan had even sought out a few commissions that might trigger the wooden sword's effects.

Upon further reflection, he decided there was no need to needlessly increase a mission's difficulty just to make the wooden sword seem useful, so he dropped the idea.

Until today. Two or three hundred days had passed since the trip to Kalanfor, making [Azure Pine]'s sudden reaction entirely unexpected.

His mind raced. In this environment, the wooden sword's inexplicable reaction was clearly tied to the mummified corpse kneeling devoutly in prayer beneath the ruined divine statue ahead.

Assuming the creature didn't have scorpions hidden inside its body and wouldn't inexplicably transform into a giant snake...

Then, in all likelihood, it was one of the "undead creatures" mentioned in the weapon's description.

However...

Xia Nan's expression turned a bit strange.

Despite the considerable distance between them, he couldn't sense the slightest trace of the necrotic negative energy—or any other magical particles—that an undead creature of this world ought to possess.

This phenomenon defied the natural laws of the Aifala Continent.

Yet it shared the exact same characteristics as the giant snake's remains, the Gravity Core, and the Sheep-Deer Figurine he had encountered in the past.

Xia Nan's eyes flickered. Linking this to the scattered architectural ruins that seemed to have dropped out of thin air, he grew even more certain of his theory: Ash Valley likely connected to the entrance of a Secret Realm.

Meanwhile, the adventurers in the clearing ahead were carefully probing the "uninvited guest" they had stumbled upon in the fog.

"Hey! Can you understand me?"

With his twin scimitars already drawn, Marcus raised his voice slightly, calling out with caution to the mummified figure ahead.

Seeing no reaction, he cycled through greetings in Elvish, Orcish, and Dwarvish.

He wasn't some naturally gifted linguist, of course. Those few simple greetings were just among the handful of foreign words he had picked up as an adventurer, aside from curses.

Still, there was no reaction.

The bizarre figure shrouded beneath the tattered cloak remained like the most devout of zealots, its head bowed in prayer, entirely indifferent to the outside world.

"Grr... damn it!"

Gorg, the half-orc, let out a low, restless growl. He twisted his thick neck—as broad as a normal man's thigh—in evident discomfort, seemingly unaccustomed to the eerie, oppressive atmosphere hanging over them.

He subconsciously took a step forward, leaving a heavy footprint in the stone dust coating the ground.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced at the squad captain, Marcus. Seeing the man offer no objection to his sudden movement, Gorg understood.

The tacit understanding forged through countless missions told the half-orc that he had just received his captain's silent approval.

Letting out a deafening roar, he charged straight toward the mummified corpse.

One had to admit, although Gorg seemed a bit dim-witted, his racial traits gave him a height of over two meters. Combined with knotted muscles that looked ready to burst through his skin and the layer of metal armor strapped over his body, he was an imposing sight.

From a distance, he looked like a miniature tank. On a battlefield, even before a single blow was struck, his mere presence would be enough to terrify smaller, cowardly warriors into surrendering.

Even faced with this charge, the mummified corpse remained entirely motionless.

It merely kept its hands clasped together, its withered face hidden beneath the shadow of its hood, while meaningless, raspy "ho... ho..." sounds slipped from its throat.

Thud—

It sounded like a blunt object striking thick tree bark.

The dull, heavy sound abruptly burst through the air, only to quickly dissolve into the surrounding fog.

The massive Iron-Studded Wooden Club swung with an exaggerated momentum capable of shattering boulders. Churning up violent winds and thick mist, it smashed heavily into the corpse's frail, withered spine.

If the moment were slowed down, one would see the corpse's frail body fold into a near ninety-degree angle the instant the violent blow landed.

Only then did its flesh's eerie elasticity snap it partially back into shape as the entire body was sent hurtling through the air.

Yet the bizarre part was how unbearably fragile it appeared. Its skin was as thin as paper, looking as though a casual swipe of a fingernail could tear it open; its bones were thinner than the snapped twigs littering the forest floor, seemingly ready to break from a simple tumble.

However, the half-orc Gorg's terrifying swing—a blow powerful enough to smash a grown man cleanly in half—failed to inflict the expected damage on the mummified corpse.

To Gorg, it felt as though his iron-banded club hadn't struck a frail, powerless husk, but rather a thick sack brimming with viscous sludge. It was unusually heavy, and all of his force seemed to just be swallowed up by that shriveled skin.

The corpse didn't even fly very far. It spun just half a rotation in the air before hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

"Careful, there's something wrong with this thing!"

His teammate's warning rang out from behind him.

Gorg remained frozen in the follow-through of his swing, his beastly eyes locked unblinkingly on the spot ahead.

There, the shriveled figure that had just taken his brutal attack head-on was pushing its hands against the ground, staggering as it struggled to rise.

It looked as though a gentle breeze could knock it over, yet its body bore absolutely no signs of injury—it was merely dusted with some stone powder from the ground.

Swish—

A shrill screech of air suddenly tore past his ear. A sharp phantom streak flashed through the corner of his vision at a speed far surpassing a normal human's reaction time.

Behind him stood Ciri, the Bloodedge Squad's ranger. Her pale fingertips hovered in the air, while the taut bowstring blurred and hummed from the residual kinetic force.

A slender arrow fletched with dark green feathers carved a long, empty tunnel through the fog, instantly slamming into the corpse's chest.

It failed to pierce through!

The corpse's durability was far beyond imagination. Even a full-powered shot from a Class Holder archer failed to punch straight through its body as intended.

The arrowhead wedged itself deep within the creature's chest, leaving the fletching and more than half the shaft jutting out, vibrating wildly from the residual force.

Fortunately, the mummified corpse hadn't yet found its footing. Struck by another heavy blow, its stiff body tipped backward.

"Roar!!!"

The maddened roar of a plains tribe echoed through the fog.

His initial failure felt like an unforgivable insult to Gorg. His muscles writhed, swelling and engorging with blood as a furious, fiery red flushed his skin, causing his already hulking frame to expand yet another size.

His leather boots split open in an instant. Driven by raw, explosive muscle power, his massive feet practically gouged cracks into the earth.

A blur of red and green flashed through the air as he instantly closed the distance to the corpse.

Raising arms as thick as a grown man's torso, he swung the massive Iron-Studded Wooden Club downward. With terrifying momentum and an exaggerated frequency, he rained blow after blow onto the creature's head.

"Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!"

He mercilessly bashed the corpse's skull five times in a row.

Only when a crisp crack—like a shattering eggshell—finally rang out did he stop.

"Huff... huff..."

Gorg panted heavily. The rage etched onto his dull, pale-green face rapidly faded along with the fiery redness across his skin.

It was replaced by a bizarre sense of bewilderment.

Staring down at the corpse—whose head he had only barely managed to smash open—Gorg felt an uncanny sense of powerlessness wash over him.

Why?

Why did it take so much effort just to crush the skull of some shriveled husk—the kind of corpse no one would even look twice at in a graveyard?

"Pat."

A callused hand gently patted the half-orc's shoulder.

"Good job," Marcus said, casually offering a word of encouragement as he stepped past Gorg.

However, his gaze drifted involuntarily toward the corpse on the ground.

His expression turned slightly grim.

He possessed a wealth of adventuring experience. While he had been calling out to it earlier and inching closer to observe, he had already formed a few theories about the corpse's identity.

It should have been a naturally spawned undead creature unique to this area.

After all, both its appearance and behavior perfectly matched his impression of such monsters.

That was precisely why he had allowed Gorg to step up and test the waters; he had recruited the half-orc into his squad for exactly this purpose.

What he hadn't expected, however, was for the mummified corpse to display a bizarre resilience entirely at odds with its frail appearance when faced with Gorg's unrestrained blows.

Even the ranger Ciri had only barely managed to pierce its defenses, failing to inflict any wound severe enough to cripple its combat capabilities.

"Something isn't right."

This mummified corpse—or rather, this entire valley filled with fog and gray rocks—was not right.

Marcus's guard was up.

Yet on his hideous, scar-crossed face, he couldn't hide a trace of unspeakable excitement.

Because he knew full well.

For adventurers like them, the vast majority of the time...

Danger and reward were directly proportional.

If they hadn't run into a single enemy along this path through the valley, he would have felt uneasy. He would have suspected that some high-level monster was lurking deeper in the fog, or that this was all a trap deliberately meant to lure them in.

Right now, the enemies might be somewhat troublesome, but since they had already revealed themselves, the squad was mentally prepared for whatever else lay ahead.

'A relic left behind by an ancient necromancer? Or perhaps some ancient civilization that specialized in harnessing undead power?' Marcus wondered with a hint of anticipation.

'Looks like it might be related to a Spellcaster.'

If his guess was right, then he, "Bloodedge Marcus," was about to strike it rich!

On the other side, seeing that Gorg had finished his fight, the squad's mountain dwarf, Stonebelly, quickly sprang into action.

Like a specially trained bloodhound, his short, stout body scurried across the ground, sweeping the entire area—save for the altar itself—in a meticulous and highly efficient manner.

He even thoroughly patted down the corpse's cloak to check for hidden pockets. Showing absolutely no disgust, he then pieced its shattered skull back together to pry open its jaws, searching its oral cavity for any hidden loot.

Suffice it to say, every single orifice on the corpse capable of hiding a valuable had been thoroughly and meticulously scoured by the dwarf.

The result... was naturally nothing at all.

Shaking his head at Marcus and the others, Stonebelly didn't look overly disappointed. Instead, he shot an eager, expectant glance deeper into the fog.

"There isn't a single thing of value here," Stonebelly said. "But my instincts are telling me that if we head deeper, we might stumble upon an unexpected windfall."

Even as he said that, the entire squad—Gorg included—knew full well.

There was still one spot in the clearing they hadn't checked yet.

Yet, out of an unspoken rule among adventurers, all four of them had tacitly ignored it. Not a single person brought it up.

Where?

Naturally, it was the most conspicuous object of all: the ruined Goddess statue, of which only a fractured lower half remained.

In this fantasy world, gods tangibly existed. There were countless sightings of divine avatars every single year, and upon death, your soul truly could be swept up into a divine kingdom to enjoy eternal bliss, or dragged down into Purgatory to suffer endless torment.

Even the most dim-witted street beggar knew that when it came to certain entities, one had to maintain a baseline level of reverence.

And for adventurers—who spent all year walking a tightrope with their lives perpetually on the line—they were exceptionally sensitive to such taboos.

Unless one had completely lost their mind and gone stark raving mad, absolutely no one would dare touch a taboo like that.

After briefly regrouping, the Bloodedge Squad tacitly bypassed the statue and continued their advance into the depths of the fog.

Not long after the group had departed.

The fog silently rolled and parted, revealing a pitch-black silhouette standing in the clearing.

Xia Nan had watched everything that had just unfolded.

That included the bizarrely resilient corpse, the sheer physical force behind Gorg's club swings, and the party's completely fruitless search of the battlefield.

Lost in thought, he suddenly took two steps forward, drawing [Azure Pine] from his back.

As he closed the distance to the corpse, Xia Nan felt the hilt growing increasingly scalding against his palm. A crimson flame faintly ignited along the blade's edge, radiating such intense heat that it warped the surrounding air and churned the white fog.

With a flick of his wrist, he applied no real force, simply letting the wooden blade's edge rest lightly against the corpse.

In the very next second, the dark purple skin—which appeared frail but possessed such incredible resilience that a Class Holder's arrow couldn't pierce it, and a naturally gifted half-orc had to expend tremendous energy just to crack it—reacted.

Amid the sizzling sound of burning flames, the skin instantly softened. The blade sliced through it as smoothly as a hot knife through butter.

Xia Nan hadn't even pushed. With just a gentle sweep of the hilt, he neatly severed half of the corpse's arm.

He nodded to himself, a clear understanding forming in his mind.

He sheathed his sword.

Raising his gaze, he stared at the ruined Goddess statue resting atop its heavy pedestal for a moment.

Before suddenly withdrawing his eyes.

His figure melted away into the depths of the fog.