SWDnovel Chapter 48: The Spiderweb Swamp
Chapter 48: The Spiderweb Swamp
On the seventh day, as dawn broke, the hazy dampness transformed into wisps of pale blue gauze, hanging among the remaining tree canopies of the ancient, mist-shrouded forest. A breeze blew from the depths of the forest, carrying the crisp scent of decaying leaves and dew, but it was quickly intercepted by the warm, humid air rising from ahead. The two mingled, condensing into a sticky, heavy dampness that felt less like the wind and more like someone gently brushing one's face with a silk cloth soaked in warm water.
The group rested briefly at the edge of the forest, both men and horses breathing heavily. These past few days traversing the ancient forest, though they hadn't encountered any more ferocious creatures like the tree demons, they had suffered greatly from miasma, dampness, poison, and attacks by snakes and insects. Everyone's clothes were soaked, stained with mud and bits of grass, and their faces betrayed their exhaustion. Only their eyes, tempered by the repeated perils, possessed a calmer, sharper light than when they first entered the mountains.
Lin Yan stood at the head of the group, the morning light slanting across his shoulder, making half of his blue cloth shirt slightly translucent, vaguely revealing his slender yet resilient spine. He did not rush into the dark and indistinct swamp ahead, but instead closed his eyes and concentrated, his fingertips hovering in front of him. Faint, grayish-black energy quietly dissipated from his pores, gently mingling with the surrounding damp air.
He was trying to master the two innate divine abilities he had obtained from the tree demon and had already begun to refine—"Illusion" and "Awesomeness".
The art of "illusion" is profoundly mysterious. The boundless gray mist, the indistinguishable illusions, and the countless skeletons that perished within the tree demon's fragmented memories all originated from this. Lin Yan had been pondering this repeatedly over the past few days, gradually grasping its essence. This supernatural power wasn't created out of thin air; rather, it was like using one's own divine consciousness as a guide, plucking the strings deep within the opponent's mind, drawing out their most feared, most desired, or most unresolved images, weaving, twisting, and amplifying them, causing them to become deeply trapped without realizing it. If the caster's divine consciousness was strong enough and their methods exquisite enough, they could even cause the opponent to exhaust their mind and die in a delusional state, without leaving a single external scar.
"Intimidate the Gods" focuses more on intimidation and shock, directly impacting the opponent's soul with a powerful mental will. At best, it causes the opponent to lose their composure and become sluggish; at worst, it causes their soul to tremble and their consciousness to dissipate. The two supernatural powers, one soft and one hard, one illusory and one real, can be used properly as two great surprise weapons when facing an enemy.
However, having just acquired this supernatural power, its application was still somewhat clumsy, and it needed living creatures to "test it out." Lin Yan's gaze swept over the team behind him without making a sound, passing over Li Tie's steady back, Lu Ling's wary profile, and Zhou Fu's focused expression as he checked his quiver, finally landing on Wang Dashan, who was leaning against a withered tree, panting heavily.
This man is honest, straightforward, and without any guile; he is the perfect candidate for the trial.
With a slight thought, a wisp of invisible and intangible yet condensed divine consciousness quietly emerged from between Lin Yan's brows, taking advantage of the lingering morning mist and moisture to silently entwine itself around Wang Dashan. Lin Yan did not unleash his full power, but only used the most basic "Drawing Thoughts" technique of the "Illusion" supernatural power to gently touch the other's mind.
Wang Dashan, who was panting, suddenly stopped. His eyes, which always exuded a fierce aura, were blank for a moment, then lost focus, and the corners of his mouth involuntarily turned upward, revealing a smile that was completely different from his usual rough and tough self, almost like a foolish smile.
"Hehe...hehehe..." He let out a muffled chuckle, his large, bell-like eyes staring intently at the empty space ahead, as if he had seen something incredibly beautiful, oblivious to the drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. His thick arms loosened their grip on the tree trunk, unconsciously gesturing in front of him as if embracing something, or grasping at some treasure, his face radiating a pure, almost childlike joy.
This bizarre sight immediately attracted the attention of those around them.
"Dashan? Wang Dashan!" Li Tie, who was closest to him, was the first to notice something was wrong. He frowned, whispered, and reached out to pat his shoulder.
Wang Dashan, however, seemed not to hear, still chuckling to himself, muttering incoherently, "...Cui'er...so pretty...new clothes...red veil..."
Li Tie's hand froze in mid-air, his face filled with surprise and uncertainty. Several teammates around him also turned to look, exchanging bewildered glances.
Su Qingyao, who was at the back of the group, was tidying up her belongings when she heard the sound and looked up. She was taken aback when she saw Wang Dashan's appearance, but then she seemed to understand and immediately turned her gaze to Lin Yan at the front of the group. She saw that the figure in the blue robe stood still like a pine tree, his profile appearing calm and undisturbed in the morning light, except that the corner of his mouth seemed to curve upwards very slightly, so quickly that it was almost an illusion.
Su Qingyao was incredibly intelligent. Connecting this to Lin Yan's occasional mentions of refining the tree demon's powers these past few days, and seeing his current expression, she understood seven or eight parts of the story. She was both amused and exasperated, shaking her head helplessly. She moved gracefully to Lin Yan's side, lowering her voice, and said with a mixture of reproach and helplessness, "Brother Lin, how can you be so...unserious! With a formidable enemy at hand, and the swamp treacherous, you have the leisure to tease Brother Wang?"
Her voice was soft, yet each word was clear, like pearls falling onto a jade plate. The three words "improper" were spoken in such a clear and cool tone that they had a unique and indescribable charm, as if reproaching, yet also containing a hint of intimacy and teasing.
Upon hearing this, Lin Yan's smile finally became more pronounced, but he still didn't turn around. He simply replied in a low voice, "My supernatural powers are just beginning to take shape, so I need to test them out. Da Shan is a simple and honest person. Even if there are illusions, they are just beautiful scenes that he desires, and they are harmless."
After speaking, he focused his mind, and the "illusionary" consciousness that had been entangled with Wang Dashan quietly dissipated.
Wang Dashan, who was still chuckling to himself, suddenly shuddered, his unfocused eyes clearing instantly. He blinked, looked around blankly, and saw Li Tie's hand still hanging on his shoulder, with the surrounding teammates staring at him strangely. He scratched the back of his head and mumbled, "Wh...what's wrong? Why are you all looking at me?" The lingering chuckle on his face, combined with his current bewildered expression, made him look even more comical.
Li Tie withdrew his hand, looked him up and down, and asked suspiciously, "What were you grinning about just now? And what were you muttering about Cui'er and the red veil?"
"Cui'er? Red veil?" Wang Dashan was stunned, his dark face turning bright red like a boiled shrimp. He waved his hands repeatedly, denying it in a gruff voice: "No...no! I didn't say anything! Boss Li, you must have misheard!" His eyes darted around and avoided eye contact.
Seeing his embarrassed appearance, everyone understood that something amusing, "not for outsiders to know," must have happened just now. Although they didn't know the specifics, judging from Wang Dashan's reaction, it must be related to the girl he was thinking about. A few suppressed laughs suddenly rang out in the group, and the heavy fatigue from days of travel seemed to dissipate a little because of this small episode.
Zhou Fu, being mischievous, leaned forward and winked, "Brother Dashan, did you dream about your new bride just now? Wasn't she beautiful?"
Although Lu Ling was usually taciturn, a rare smile appeared in her eyes at this moment. She patted his shoulder, and everything was understood without words.
Wang Dashan was so ashamed he wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground. His dark red face turned purple, and he kept shouting, "Go away! What nonsense are you spouting! Let's get going! Let's get going!" After saying that, he picked up his broadsword as if fleeing and rushed forward with his head down. No matter how you looked at his back, he could tell that he was feeling guilty and short of breath.
Lin Yan's gaze swept over Wang Dashan's still-reddened ears, a barely perceptible smile flashing across his eyes before disappearing. He took the lead and stepped into the dark, damp land shrouded in the morning mist.
The group followed closely behind. As they ventured deeper, the texture underfoot gradually changed. The relatively firm soil at the edge of the Misty Ancient Forest was quickly replaced by a softer, slippery texture. Over the years, the decaying leaves and soil had fermented into a dark brown, almost black, paste. Stepping on it didn't produce a crisp "crack," but rather a muffled "plop," with mud gushing out from the edges of the boots, carrying a pungent, sweet-smelling odor unique to decaying plants and some kind of mineral.
The air grew increasingly heavy, and the faint morning breeze seemed to have vanished completely. Thick, impenetrable moisture condensed into visible white fog, swirling low to the ground and blurring the view ahead. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the layers of fog, falling on the swamp, but lacking warmth and brightness, leaving only a gloomy, dismal gray-yellow hue, making the sparse, oddly shaped shadows of the plants appear even more menacing.
This is no ordinary wetland. It is clearly a giant beast's hide, spread out and slowly decaying. The surface of the grayish-black mud is not calm. Tiny bubbles can be seen everywhere, bubbling and bursting. Each burst releases a small, even stronger burst of sour, putrid odor, which mixes with the faint sweet and fishy smell in the air to create a nauseating yet lingering stench.
The plants growing in the swamp also possessed an eerie quality. There were dark red mushrooms, their caps as large as winnowing baskets, thick and fleshy, yet their surfaces were riddled with honeycomb-like holes, constantly oozing a viscous, dark red sap that dripped into the mud. There were withered, blackened reed-like water plants, their stems twisted like braids, their tips long since fallen, leaving only a few scorched, blackened remnants that stiffly pointed towards the hazy sky in the still air, like desperate arms reaching out from the swamp. Even more numerous were large patches of dark green moss, spreading across the surface of the mud, thick and glossy to an almost eerie degree, as if soaked in putrid sap, ready to be squeezed out of the dark green liquid at the slightest touch.
Puddles of varying sizes dotted the landscape, their water murky and covered with a layer of iridescent, multicolored oil that shimmered with a slippery sheen in the dim light. The wind had completely died down, leaving the oily film motionless, a deathly stillness that sent chills down one's spine. Occasionally, a pale, half-buried animal bone could be seen, half-hidden at the edge of the mud, partially obscured by moss and filth, its empty eye sockets staring blankly upwards, silently testifying to the place's ominous name—"The Swamp of Rotting Bones"—a name that truly lived up to its reputation.
"Damn it... this godforsaken place." Wang Dashan muttered under his breath, trying to dispel the oppression in his heart. His earlier embarrassment had long since vanished at the sight before him, replaced by an instinctive wariness and disgust. He took a heavy breath and inhaled the sweet, pungent, and foul air, which immediately made his stomach churn, and he quickly closed his mouth.
"Silence!" Li Tie's shout was stern and unquestionable. Although his left arm was in a sling, hindering his movement, his gaze was sharper than a hawk's, constantly scanning his surroundings. His injured arm was caused by a sudden attack from the roots of a demonic plant disguised as a withered vine at the edge of the Misty Ancient Forest, which struck his shoulder blade hard. Even though he managed to block in time and absorb most of the force, his bones and muscles were still injured, and his skin was torn open. Although Su Qingyao had carefully treated him these past few days, applying the best wound medicine and giving him pills to promote blood circulation and tissue regeneration, the pain had lessened and the wound had begun to close, but it was not completely healed. Even the slightest exertion would aggravate the injury, causing a dull ache. As he spoke, his left shoulder unconsciously tensed slightly, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, but he stubbornly kept his back straight, showing no sign of weakness. "In this place, even the slightest movement could attract deadly things. Everyone, keep your eyes peeled, watch your step, and follow in the footsteps of those who came before you—don't make a single mistake! Don't touch any of those thick, sturdy moss patches that look like they're safe to walk on! Remember, here, your eyes can lie!"
As he spoke, he forcefully patted Zhao Si's shoulder with his uninjured right arm. Zhao Si's face was slightly pale, clearly intimidated by the eerie atmosphere of the swamp. Li Tie's pat was not weak, but it carried a reassuring steadiness. Zhao Si trembled, took a deep breath, nodded vigorously, and gripped his spear tightly.
Lin Yan stood at the head of the group, his blue robe soaked with mud, the hem darkening the color. He didn't rush forward, but slowly spread his spiritual sense. However, as soon as he extended it, he felt an invisible stagnation and interference. In this swamp, the deathly aura accumulated over the years, the miasma emitted by decaying plants, and some more subtle, seemingly cold aura from the depths of the earth, all intertwined and mixed together, forming a murky "field." When his spiritual sense probed into it, it was like someone with excellent eyesight suddenly entering a thick fog; everything he saw and felt was blurred and distorted, making it difficult to distinguish truth from falsehood. His normally keen perception, capable of clearly sensing the movement of grass within dozens of feet, was forcibly suppressed to less than ten feet here, and even within those ten feet, the various auras were chaotic and difficult to distinguish accurately.
What made him even more uneasy was that, deep within this murky "field," he vaguely sensed the presence of more than one "living creature." They were not powerful, even somewhat weak, but their numbers seemed considerable, and their auras were cold, slippery, and greedy, like venomous snakes lurking in the deepest, darkest corners of a swamp, silently flicking their tongues, waiting for their prey to step into their trap.
His fingertips unconsciously brushed against the slightly rough rope binding the hilt of his sword, the cool touch calming his chaotic thoughts. This long sword, which had been with him for so long, had drunk the blood of demon wolves and severed the roots of tree demons, and now it would face the unknown dangers of this swamp.
"Lu Ling." Lin Yan turned his head, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching the ears of the hunter beside him.
Upon hearing this, Lu Ling's dark, calm face remained expressionless; he simply nodded silently. He reached behind his back and retrieved the hardwood hunting bow that had been with him for many years, its back smoothed and gleaming from his hands. With practiced ease, he drew a specially made arrow from its quiver. This arrow differed from ordinary feathered arrows; its shaft was slightly thicker, and its arrowhead, instead of a sharp triangular or shovel-shaped point, was a small, barbed hook tightly wrapped with hemp soaked in pine resin and sulfur. He pulled a tinderbox from his pocket, rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, and with a soft "hiss," an orange-red flame leaped up, appearing exceptionally bright and warm in the dim morning mist of the swamp.
He remained silent, his left hand holding the bow as steady as a rock, his right hand with three fingers on the string. The veins on the back of his hand, with its distinct knuckles, bulged slightly, and the muscles in his arms and back tensed, making him resemble a fully drawn bow, ready to be released. His gaze, sharp as lightning, quickly locked onto an area several dozen feet ahead, a patch of exceptionally dark color covered with a particularly smooth and thick layer of moss.
"call out--!"
The bowstring twanged, the arrow flew from the bow, streaking with orange-red light, piercing the stagnant air and shooting straight toward its target.
The arrowhead pierced the center of the moss with a precise "plop," a soft, not dull, sound, more like it had pierced some fragile membrane. Immediately afterward, the oil-soaked hemp wrapped around the arrowhead burst into flames, the flames instantly licking at the surrounding thick moss. Those seemingly vibrant, dark green plants ignited instantly upon contact with the fire, the flames spreading rapidly, sizzling and hissing, and billowing large plumes of black smoke with a pungent, acrid smell.
Just as the flames burned away the surface of the moss, a strange change occurred!
The mossy ground, which everyone had previously thought might be "solid," suddenly collapsed and melted down, like a sack of bones ripped out! It wasn't a collapse of soil, but rather like overcooked porridge, the surface rapidly cracking and churning, revealing a black, viscous mud beneath. The mud wasn't still; it was slowly and unsettlingly churning and rolling, with grayish-white foam constantly rising and bursting, releasing a putrid stench ten times stronger than the surrounding air, enough to make one nauseous.
"It's...it's a mud trap!" Zhao Si's exclamation trembled uncontrollably. He instinctively staggered back half a step, his heel striking a rock half-buried in the mud. The pain was sharp, but he seemed oblivious, his eyes wide as he stared intently at the "ground" that had instantly transformed into a death trap. His face was drained of color, his lips pressed deathly white. If it hadn't been for Lu Ling's arrow, if anyone had stepped on it...he dared not even imagine the scene. They probably wouldn't even have had time to struggle before being completely swallowed by the sticky, filthy black mud, becoming yet another unknown skeleton in the depths of this swamp.
A collective gasp rippled through the group, and the atmosphere instantly became extremely tense.
Lin Yan's gaze had already shifted from the collapsed mudflats, quickly scanning his surroundings. "Go around," he said calmly, with an undeniable decisiveness, pointing to the left front, "Go that way, to the hard ground where the edge of the puddle meets the mud."
The direction he pointed to was such that to the left was a large, stagnant puddle with a slippery, oily film on the surface, while to the right was a darker, seemingly softer, muddy swamp. Only a narrow strip of soil, a dark brown color, interlocked with the edge of the puddle, forming a winding, narrow "hard ground" no more than a foot wide. This soil had clearly been soaked in water for a long time, its color dark, but it felt slightly firmer underfoot than the rest.
There was no other choice. The group started moving again, forming a tight, long line, slowly advancing along the narrow, terrifyingly hard ground. Everyone was on edge, their steps extremely light. Before landing, they would repeatedly poke the ground ahead with the end of their spear or scabbard to confirm it was solid soil, not moss-covered silt, before cautiously placing their full weight on it. Their pace was as slow as an old man's pacing, yet no one dared to urge them on in this treacherous swamp. The "plop" sounds of mud being crushed and boots being pulled out were particularly loud and alarming in the deathly silence.
Several gray-brown vultures had gathered in the sky at some unknown time. They did not cry out, but simply spread their broad wings and circled silently, taking advantage of the weak air currents above the swamp. Occasionally, they would lower their heads and look down at the slowly moving "prey" with their cold and cruel dark yellow eyes, as if patiently waiting for an upcoming feast.