Chapter 150: Peat Swamp

The next morning, the proprietress brought out a pot of oatmeal loaded with molasses.

Beside it sat a plate of pan-fried, golden-brown salted fish resting on two slices of toasted dark bread.

When Edmund came downstairs, he wore an old coat borrowed from Captain Field.

He looked less like a preparatory cleric from the School of Theology and more like a northern highlander.

He sat at the long table, warming his hands by the fireplace for a moment before picking up his bowl.

"How are you holding up today?" Richard sat across from him.

Edmund took a spoonful of the oatmeal. Finding it a bit bland, he stirred in his honey.

"When I was washing up this morning, I inspected myself in the mirror."

"See anything?"

"I saw an Edmund Wycliffe who was slightly paler than usual." He took a second mouthful of oatmeal. "Nothing more."

Richard smiled and didn't pry.

Maggie was the last to come downstairs. She had added a scarf over her cloak, wrapped three times around her neck.

"Is the place we're heading today even colder?"

"It's a swamp," Captain Field said without looking up. "Wet and cold."

Maggie tightened her scarf, shrinking into her collar until only the upper half of her face was visible.

During the meal, Captain Field briefly went over the day's route.

"Ten miles north, there's a small peat swamp."

He traced an imaginary line on the table with his fork.

"An archaeological team combed through it the year before last and dug up eleven Bronze Age 'swamp mummies.' All of them were sent to a museum in the Imperial Capital."

"Mummies? Aren't those only found in the Black Soil River Basin?" Theodore paused with his fork.

"I just called them mummies so it's easier for you to understand. The locals call them pickled corpses. If I described the exact preparation process, you'd probably lose your appetite."

"The acidity of the peat can preserve a body for thousands of years," Mr. Hutton added. "Skin, hair, internal organs—everything remains perfectly intact."

"Thousands of years?" The stable boy nearly dropped his salted fish.

"Carbon dating put the oldest one at eighteen hundred years before the New Calendar."

"That swamp was a 'water burial ground' for Bronze Age druid priests.

"Every summer and winter solstice, they would push living people into the bog, sacrificing them to some unknown entity at the bottom."

"Is it an outer god recorded in the registry?" the young cleric asked, frowning at Mr. Hutton.

"The name has long been lost to time." The old gentleman shook his head.

"The druids rarely kept written records; their legacy relied entirely on oral tradition.

"After the Romans arrived, an entire generation of priests was slaughtered. Very few stories survived."

Richard finished the last of his oatmeal.

"Sir, this swamp we're heading to today..."

He recalled what he had read on the subject.

"With so many people drowning there, it should be a Blood-Soaked Point.

"And since the sacrifices were carried out repeatedly, it's also a Sacrificial Scar.

"With those two weak points overlapping, wouldn't it be far more dangerous than a standard location?"

Captain Field smiled—a cold, chilling expression.

"Williams, that is a very good question.

"The proper name for the area we're visiting today is a 'Live Sacrifice Point.'

"Yesterday at the Highland Summer Lodge, the Infatuation Lamp was only a lowest-level evil creature, and a sub-level evil creature like the Drop-Attracting Fire was the absolute limit.

"Today, the weakest thing in the peat swamp will be an ordinary Swamp Corpse. Even among lowest-level evil creatures, they have incredibly thick hides.

"In the middle tier, we'll see Coal-Pickled Walkers—sub-level evil creatures.

"And if our luck is terrible..." Captain Field's gaze swept across the Newcomers. "There will be a Swamp Sacrifice Mother."

"What's that?" Theodore swallowed hard.

"A special product born from pregnant women sacrificed alive," Mr. Hutton chimed in. "It's technically a sub-level evil creature, but it's incredibly difficult to deal with."

"...Then today, we..."

"We don't touch it," Sarah said, clicking the parts of her Hunting Rifle back together.

"If one surfaces today, the captain and I will handle it. You four won't need to dive in."

Hearing this, Richard turned the information over in his mind.

If a Blood-Soaked Point and a Sacrificial Scar could overlap...

What if a place was simultaneously a Blood-Soaked Point, a Sacrificial Scar, a Drowning Line, and a Place of Falling Stars?

If all four converged, what kind of location would that create?

Could there be a single piece of land with four distinct anomalies buried beneath it?

Repeated bloodshed from tribal conquests, ongoing sacrifices by the native shaman class, densely clustered shipwrecks along a coastal route—all situated on a solitary mountain peak thousands of meters high...

Richard took a sip of his ginger tea and pushed the thought aside.

There was no use dwelling on it now.

"Williams," Mr. Hutton said suddenly.

Richard looked up.

"What were you just thinking about?" The old man's gaze was placid.

Richard hesitated.

"I was wondering... if weak points can overlap multiple times.

"If a Blood-Soaked Point and a Sacrificial Scar can combine, could a Drowning Line and a Place of Falling Stars be added to the mix?

"What would a location with all four look like?"

Mr. Hutton let out a sigh.

"Williams," the old man said, "when I was young, I asked my own Mentor that exact question."

"How did your Mentor answer?"

"He didn't." Mr. Hutton picked up his teacup.

"He told me to write the question down, seal it in an envelope, and open it only after I turned thirty."

"Did you ever open it?"

Mr. Hutton took a sip of tea.

"I did. Inside was the question I had written, and my Mentor had added a line beneath it."

"What did he add?"

"'Child, ask again once you become a Major Adept.'"

Richard understood.

"I'm not even a Minor Adept." Mr. Hutton gave a self-deprecating smile. "So I can't answer that question for you."

"But..." The old man's voice grew serious. "If one day you truly reach that level, you will know the answer yourself."

"Until then," Mr. Hutton gently set his teacup back on the table, "you only need to remember one thing.

"That kind of place will always be a blank spot on the map. And some spots are blank because everyone who ever went there never came back."

"I understand."

"Finish your breakfast. We head out in half an hour." Captain Field slapped the table, dismissing the topic.

The sky was just beginning to lighten as their carriage left the village.

The driver had switched to a larger carriage, stretching a canvas tarp over the back.

The canvas was oil-treated, ensuring neither rain nor snow could seep through.

The northbound road was even rougher than the route to the Highland Summer Lodge.

The first half still had wagon ruts, but the second half was nothing but dirt ridges trampled out by livestock.

The carriage jolted violently over the uneven ground. Whenever a wheel sank into a muddy ditch, the driver had to climb down and lead the horses out.

After traveling for an hour and a half, the driver stopped at the crest of a small hill.

"I can't go any farther. The bog is right ahead; the carriage will sink if we go in."

The six of them climbed down.

The moment his boots touched the ground, Richard felt the damp earth.

The entire area was soaked, the chill moisture creeping steadily upward from his calves to his knees, and finally to the small of his back.

A vast, grayish-brown depression spread out before them, coated with a thin layer of ice.

In the distance, a large rock stood dead in the center of the bog.

A hollow marred the top of the rock. Its shape was indistinct from this angle, but a pool of dark water had gathered inside.

The water remained unfrozen.

Richard swept his gaze over it using Spirit Vision, but whatever lurked beneath that pool plunged too deep to see.

"You feel it?" Captain Field walked up beside him.

He turned to face the four Newcomers.

"Listen up. I'll go over today's arrangement one more time.

"Sarah and I will head down first.

"Once we've cleared out the most dangerous batch, we'll leave a few ordinary Swamp Corpses for you to practice on.

"While we clear them, you four will stand here at the top of the hill.

"Watch carefully with your Spirit Vision.

"In our line of work, watching veterans operate is far more useful than practicing blindly on your own."

Edmund nodded. "Understood."

Sarah pulled her Hunting Rifle from its leather case and finished assembling it.

"Let's go."

As they walked down the slope, the two Hunters seamlessly completed their dive into the shallows.

Richard, Edmund, Maggie, and Theodore stood at the top of the hill.

Sarah walked in front, with Captain Field trailing a half-step behind.

Under Spirit Vision, Sarah's Micro-circulation ran deep and stable, its current flowing steadily in a single direction.

Captain Field's Micro-circulation burned scorching and ferocious, surging and churning violently with every pulse.

"Is that what a Hunter looks like outside their energy-saving state?" Richard asked Maggie quietly.

"Yeah." Maggie nodded. "My brother is like that too."

"What about Ms. Sarah's?"

Maggie took a look and narrowed her eyes.

"She might hold a legacy of the Moon Hunting Tradition. Even though she's still a Practitioner, she has already tapped into the minor arts of the moon phases."

"Moon phases?"

"The waxing and waning of the moon affects her condition," the freckled girl answered vaguely.