Chapter 302 [Chill Touch]

"Roar!!!"

A furious warning roar suddenly erupted. Its sheer volume was so high it practically formed visible ripples in the air, shaking the leaves and branches of the surrounding shrubs.

A massive, nearly three-meter-tall frame reared up on its hind legs. The twisted shadow it cast upon the ground was enough to entirely envelop a grown human.

It looked like a mountain draped in fur. Its thick brown pelt—matted with dried pine resin and crushed dead leaves—was stretched taut by the dense muscle and heavy fat beneath. A pungent body odor permeated the area, carrying the wild scent of dirt, beast, and pure, raw power.

The muscles of its shoulders bulged high, clearly rippling and expanding beneath the skin as they gathered enough tremendous force to snap steel.

They looked like pauldrons forged of flesh and fur. Its snout thrust forward, wide, wet, and black as leather, while yellowed fangs glinted with a deadly dark sheen amid the roars surging from deep within its throat.

This was an adult woodland brown bear!

Millions of years of natural evolution had honed this carnivore's anatomy entirely for survival, crowning it the apex predator among the ordinary creatures of the forest.

In an ordinary world without supernatural powers, one could even say this creature had absolutely no natural enemies. As long as it reached adulthood, the only things that could kill it before old age were rare natural disasters like wildfires and floods, or accidents like disease and fatal falls.

Every other living thing was on its "menu."

Even on the Aifala Continent, this large creature—nurtured by the catalytic magic particles in the air—boasted a Challenge Rating of "1."

In its enraged state, even a Bugbear without a suitable weapon wouldn't be its match.

Under normal circumstances, unless it pertained to a quest objective, ordinary adventurers rarely provoked such a troublesome beast.

But right now, its opponents were clearly not an "ordinary" Adventurer Squad in the conventional sense.

"Roar!"

A warm gust of air, carrying thick, foul-smelling saliva, blasted from between its sharp teeth. Its massive, muscle-bound forelimb—wrapped in thick fat and hide—slammed down!

Scythe-like, pitch-black claws flickered dangerously from its rough, heavy paw pads, making the air wail under the crushing force of the strike.

There was no doubt that even a glancing blow from this paw would be enough to shatter an adult human's skull and leave deep dents in heavy iron plating.

Thud—a muffled impact rang out as flesh collided with metal.

The brown bear had thrown nearly its entire body weight into this all-out strike, landing it squarely on target.

However, the expected sounds of snapping bones and mangled flesh did not follow.

A round metal shield engraved with a unique crest remained perfectly still, firmly blocking a slap that could have felled a massive tree.

All that kinetic force vanished like a stone tossed into the sea. Beneath the buckler, one could just faintly make out a few braided whiskers adorned with obsidian swaying against a chest, and a pair of stout, short legs planted like boulders deep into the mud.

An unprecedented sense of powerlessness washed over the brown bear—a predator that had grown up hunting in the dense forest relying entirely on its own brute strength—causing it to freeze for a split second.

And it was exactly this moment of dazed hesitation that someone seized.

Swish—a sharp Short Dagger, coated in faint black shadow energy, darted out from the shadows in the bear's blind spot. It delivered a light, stinger-like jab directly to the beast's vital neck.

It retreated the instant it made contact.

In the next second, a massive, bloody hole opened up in the brown bear's fat-and-muscle-laden neck.

"Roar!"

The intense agony and the scent of death filling its nostrils drove the unlucky brown bear to the brink of madness. A bloodthirsty crimson overtook its two deep-set, agate-like brown eyes.

The massive paw resting on the iron shield stamped down violently, driving the dwarf beneath it several inches deeper into the soil. At the same time, its hulking, heavy body unleashed an exaggerated burst of explosive power.

Twisting its waist and abdomen, it threw its gaping, blood-reeking maw toward its flank, snapping exactly where the dagger had struck from.

Right at that moment, prompted by the sound of chanting coming from deep within the nearby bushes, the magic particles in the air suddenly surged!

They rapidly and intricately rearranged themselves on a microscopic level.

This caused a swath of dark green, freezing mist to abruptly materialize out of the previously formless, colorless air.

It intertwined, then condensed.

It formed a translucent, ghost-like skeletal hand forged entirely of pure mist.

Perhaps it was because the Spellcaster's technique was unrefined and his spiritual energy quality and reserves were relatively mediocre.

This spectral green skeletal hand was extremely unstable. Simply being brushed by the brown bear's massive body as it lunged forward was enough to completely shatter it into a dim stream of energy that rapidly dissolved into the air.

But that contact of less than half a second was enough to trigger the effect of this necromantic cantrip known as [Chill Touch].

The enraged brown bear, which had been frantically attacking its assailant, suddenly displayed a flash of human-like agony on its furry, ferocious face. Its entire body froze for a split second.

It was exactly this blink-of-an-eye moment of stiffness that allowed the tall, lean figure—who had left that terrifying wound on its neck—to retreat back into the safety of the deep shadows.

And it finally granted the agile figure—who had been prowling around the brown bear since the battle began, waiting for an opening—the perfect chance for a fatal blow.

It was the muffled sound of leather boots stomping the ground, sending mud splattering.

Dark-gold braids whipped violently behind her head, and her heroic, wheat-colored face was filled with unwavering resolve and killing intent.

A gleaming, razor-sharp sword pierced through the air. Fueled by a combat technique known as "Straight Lunge Thrust," she channeled the entirety of her body's strength into a single point and unleashed it as she stepped forward.

Squelch.

Meeting no resistance whatsoever, the tip of the blade crossed the spatial gap and instantly plunged into the standing brown bear's flank.

With astonishing precision, it keenly pinpointed the beast's vital heart, buried deep beneath layers of muscle and diaphragm.

Pierce.

Withdraw.

Retreat.

With its life now on a countdown, the brown bear roared madly. It flailed its paws in vain, desperate to take an enemy down with it in its final moments.

Yet every single strike was firmly repelled by the metal buckler.

The force behind its blows steadily weakened, and its roars grew increasingly feeble.

Finally, with a barely audible whimper, it crashed heavily to the ground.

This revealed the only figure still standing next to the bear at the very end: a gruff dwarf who had taken an untold number of slaps and was now completely covered in crushed leaves and enemy blood.

"Pah!"

He spat a wad of saliva onto the devastated ground.

Thordin reached up to wipe a mixture of blood and sweat from his cheek. With some difficulty, he pulled his lower legs—which had sunk deep into the earth from weathering dozens of the brown bear's blows—free from the soil.

Panting heavily, he grumbled, "This beast didn't have much for brains, but it sure packed a punch. Your average adventurer definitely couldn't have withstood that."

"Isn't that exactly what we recruited you for? Are you seriously complaining?" an eccentric, mocking voice drifted over, just like always.

The tall and lean Rogue, Goldensand, emerged quietly from the shadows of the woods, gripping his bloodstained Short Dagger.

The icy seriousness he wore during the battle was long gone. Instead, he sported a faint sneer, looking at the exceptionally disheveled dwarf with a half-smile.

Hearing this, even though he knew the man was deliberately provoking him—and that he himself rarely won their verbal spars anyway—Thordin still felt a surge of indignation well up in his chest.

Unconsciously raising his voice, he snapped, "What happened? You couldn't seize such a perfect opportunity?"

"I had the beast completely pinned! You couldn't kill it with one strike, and the captain had to step in and finish the job?"

Seeing this, a victorious gleam flashed through Goldensand's eyes. Without much anger, he simply dragged out his words, "I wanted to wrap things up quickly too."

"It's just that someone, for whatever reason, learned combat techniques but refuses to use them. He thinks he can hold all the enemy's attention just by standing there, completely unconcerned that it might suddenly turn around and bite someone else."

Sure enough, as soon as he spoke, the dwarf's face—which had been flushed red with indignation—instantly stiffened awkwardly. He tried to explain himself, but his voice grew softer and softer: "I was just trying to conserve some stamina. Combat techniques drain so much energy... and we're still days away from our destination. I had to save some strength..."

Though he could have stubbornly argued the point, Thordin really had made a mistake during the battle just now. By trying to save energy and failing to use his special combat technique to draw the enemy's hostility, he had allowed the brown bear to ignore him and lunge at his teammate after being attacked.

This caused a wave of guilt to wash over the straightforward dwarven man, and the anger he had felt from the mockery vanished without a trace.

Unexpectedly, despite being handed the perfect opportunity to mercilessly scold and mock the dwarf without him talking back, the Rogue Goldensand suddenly changed the subject. He stopped discussing Thordin's mistake and instead began complaining that the party's Spellcaster had cast his spell too slowly, nearly getting Goldensand bitten by the bear.

Having worked together for years and survived countless life-and-death crises, the two of them were as familiar with each other as could be.

Goldensand knew the dwarf's sore spots and bottom lines perfectly; he could easily rile Thordin up with just a few words, but he would never actually cross the line. He knew exactly when to press his advantage and when to shut up. Likewise, Thordin knew that those infuriating words were just a product of the Rogue's personality. They might be infuriating and embarrassing, but they carried no real malice. Goldensand simply enjoyed the thrill of gaining the upper hand in verbal sparring, yet he still maintained the professionalism required of a Class Holder during their missions.

Step, step.

Captain Margaret stepped out from the nearby bushes, wiping down her longsword.

Trailing closely behind her was Joshua, the party's sole Spellcaster.

Right now, this fledgling mage—whose face still looked remarkably youthful and who had only recently joined the team—was visibly much more nervous than he had been in Rivervale Town.

He gripped his staff tightly with both hands, his pale, bloodless face darting anxiously from side to side, as if he were terrified that another monster might pop out of nowhere.

Seeing this, Goldensand, realizing the mage's stress levels were completely maxed out, couldn't help but stop his complaining. He subconsciously furrowed his brow and looked toward the captain standing in front of the mage.

Naturally understanding his meaning, and with Joshua standing right behind her, Margaret didn't say much. She simply gave the Rogue a barely perceptible nod, signaling him not to worry.

Only then did she clap her hands together, shifting her gaze to the brown bear's corpse on the ground as she called out to the group, "Don't waste time. Quickly strip off all the useful, easy-to-carry materials we can sell."

"We're already close to the forest's core region. The smell of blood here will likely attract trouble soon."

"Ten minutes."

"Once time is up, no matter how much is left, we evacuate immediately."

Margaret, Goldensand, and Thordin were all veteran adventurers with established Class Levels. Having mingled in Rivervale Town for years, taking on quests in the Misty Forest felt like going home.

Furthermore, they had worked together for years and had impeccable teamwork. They knew each other's personalities and ways of doing things, and their relationship had long surpassed the bounds of ordinary friendship.

In contrast, the mage Joshua was truly a newcomer who had just joined the party not too long ago.

And his Class Level fell far short of the team's average standard.

Joshua was a mage who had just graduated from his apprenticeship, standing at Level 1.

Under normal circumstances, for a late-blooming class like a mage, being at such a low level meant they would want to spend all twenty-four hours a day holed up in a laboratory until they hit Level 5. They would absolutely never risk venturing out on an expedition—unless they were rogue practitioners who had accidentally stumbled upon meditation methods and possessed the aptitude but lacked the resources.

And judging by the nervous way Joshua was acting in the forest, he naturally couldn't be one of those wild mages, who were far more dangerous and desperate than other Class Holders of the same level.

As for why he was out taking quests as an adventurer to earn gold coins at such a low level... you really only needed to know two things to piece the story together:

1. He hailed from Nym;

2. His family consisted of destitute nobles who had been stripped of their titles.

It was a very cliché yet genuine situation—a classic tale whose plot anyone who had ever listened to a bard's melodramatic stories could easily guess.

Yes, it was exactly what you were thinking.

And precisely because of this, an obscure, ordinary Adventurer Squad like Oathkeeper Blackwood had managed to secure a rare and precious Spellcaster teammate during a chance encounter in Nym City a while ago.

His Class Level was indeed a bit low, but he was still a proper Level 1 mage who had mastered multiple cantrips and supportive 1st Circle Spells.

He could be incredibly useful over the course of a mission.

Just taking the battle with the brown bear as an example: even though Goldensand complained that Joshua's cast time was too slow and had nearly gotten the Rogue injured, it was precisely that barely-cast [Chill Touch] that had momentarily paralyzed the woodland brown bear, creating the perfect opening for Margaret to deliver a fatal strike from the flank.

If he were alone, he would probably die even faster than a bottom-tier ordinary adventurer, but with teammates who possessed a Class Grade looking out for him, the utility he provided was nothing short of extraordinary.

Now, they had only recently returned to the town from Nym. They hadn't even spent a few nights sitting in the tavern, nor had they taken the opportunity to fish for the latest local gossip while chatting and boasting like they usually did.

Instead, the veterans in the party had decided to pick up some investigation quests with lower combat requirements, using the journey to build rapport and find their synergy.

"Go sit over there and rest for a bit." Seeing him so tense, Margaret reached out and patted Joshua on the shoulder, pointing to a nearby clearing with decent visibility.

"Yes, Lady Margaret."

Nodding obediently, the pale-faced mage stumbled forward and sat down on a fallen tree trunk.

He watched his two teammates efficiently stripping materials from the brown bear's corpse (while Goldensand stood guard nearby). Feeling like he was of no help at all, a faint sense of guilt welled up in his heart.

He then pulled a map from his robes and carefully studied the route that had been planned out long before their departure.

Their objective was the lair of a deceased Petrification Lizard, located right on the boundary between the Misty Forest's outer rim and its core region.

If it were the ordinary adventurers from the town, they would naturally take a detour and avoid getting too close to the inner forest as much as possible.

But as a Class Grade party, they had ventured into the core region of the Misty Forest countless times, so naturally, they weren't worried about such things.

They would just cut straight through, slightly avoiding the territories of a few dangerous monsters along the way; they didn't need to care about distinctions like "outer rim" or "core region."

Suddenly, his gaze fixed on something.

Joshua stared at the route on the map, looking at a peculiar, irregularly oval-shaped terrain that their group was about to pass through.

Unusually for a necessary waypoint, its name was explicitly labeled: "Rotten Root Mire."