In a short time, Punk had already walked out of the dense forest.
The side effects of the "Activation Potion" faded quickly. With no need for extensive searching or predictive spells, a single night was enough to cross the forest using a Swift Spell.
As the first rays of morning sunlight touched the wilderness, Punk returned to the small town of Niailan. Naturally, being no rider, he had run back on foot.
His first priority was repairing Golem One. This construct was his most crucial combat asset—his only advantage in challenging those old, official-level powerhouses. Until it was fixed, he would have no peace of mind.
Additionally, Punk intended to find another soul with an unyielding will to refine a new batch of "Activation Potion." The potion's effects had satisfied him greatly, proving invaluable in his battle against the High Priest. Its success also deepened his curiosity about the other potions recorded in Menezi's notes.
But the most pressing matter was acquiring the legendary equipment held by the "Goddess" and dealing with Tishachar, whose enmity was now carved in stone.
"Given Tishachar's current mental state, her actions against Dolez City will only grow more deranged. If the city's official-level dwarven warriors truly care about Dolez, they will have no choice but to cooperate with me. When that happens, there might even be an opportunity to profit."
Punk mused to himself. Right now, that dull-witted dwarf had yet to uncover the truth about Tishachar's so-called "divinity." That ignorance was an opportunity.
Of course, Punk could not have anticipated that the "stubborn" dwarf cared only for the Hyde family and had no regard for Dolez City's fate. But even more unexpected was the scene that awaited him upon entering Niailan.
The once-beautiful, peaceful town had transformed into a ghost town. Neatly paved streets were strewn with discarded belongings. A large pool of dried blood at the street entrance silently recounted the horrors that had unfolded.
The strangest sight, however, was the townspeople.
Like wax figures, they huddled in corners, motionless. Many of their limbs were grotesquely twisted, yet they regarded their own deformities with eerie indifference.
Gaunt figures, their faces gray as ash, occasionally took out tiny morsels of dry bread, letting them melt in their mouths as if they lacked the strength to chew. Their hollow eyes remained fixed on the empty air, silent and unresponsive.
"What happened here?"
Punk walked through the desolate streets, scrutinizing the lifeless townsfolk. They seemed to be suffering from some kind of magical plague. As he moved, he could sense faint traces of destructive magic coursing through their bodies.
But where had this magical disease come from?
Punk was certain that when he left, the townspeople had been in perfect health. Yet now, they lay sprawled on the streets, barely clinging to life. Moreover, something about their numbers felt... wrong.
Passing through what had once been the town's busiest district, Punk found only further signs of devastation. The town's only bakery had been reduced to a pile of charcoal. Clothes lay abandoned in front of shattered storefronts, as if their owners had fled in haste. Graffiti scrawled in curses covered the walls.
"It seems that something extraordinary has happened in the past week."
Punk stepped toward a wall, his fingers tracing the crude spider emblem drawn in dried human blood.
If this were simply a case of cult activity running rampant, he wouldn't be surprised. Tishachar was clearly capable of brainwashing. If she had abandoned subtlety and openly spread her lunatic religion, it would take only a few days for her to turn an entire town into a horde of fanatics.
But this...
This wasn't the sight of zealots.
This was something else.
Something more insidious.
Punk was curious about what had transpired in his absence, but he had no intention of using divination magic to investigate.
Prophecy spells could provide only a rough outline of events, missing the finer details—and those details could hold the most crucial clues.
Instead, he would use a far more reliable method.
After all…
Who better to provide answers than a firsthand witness?
Mader was a small-time thug in Niailan.
He spent his days extorting protection fees and living an easy life. But the past few days had been a waking nightmare.
First, a group of crazed fanatics stormed the town, preaching lunacies and nearly forcing him to drink their so-called "holy water." He had barely escaped after being chased through two streets. Then, without warning, he collapsed, wracked by unbearable pain. When he regained consciousness, he found himself abandoned in an alley, marked as infected by the guards who had driven out the cultists.
Now, his food was gone. His body, frail from both hunger and disease, refused to move. Lying in the filth, he could do nothing but endure.
Just as his consciousness began to fade into delirium, a strange warmth surged through his body. It was as if the divine radiance of Mira had seeped into his very blood, restoring his strength.
Forcing his eyes open, he saw a figure looming over him.
A young man clad in a black mage robe embroidered with blood-red patterns. Most of his face was concealed beneath a hood, his silhouette cast in shadow by the sun at his back. His eyes—icy blue—gleamed with an unfathomable depth.
A green glow emanated from the mage's outstretched hand, bathing Mader's heart in life essence. Strength returned to his limbs, yet a bone-chilling cold spread through his soul.
Instinct screamed at him—
This man's help was anything but fortunate.
Punk, seeing that the thug had awakened, ceased the Life Healing spell. Without a word, he grabbed Mader by the collar and hoisted him upright, utterly indifferent to the sickening crunch of broken bones shifting inside the man's body.
"S-Sir… Please, if you have orders, I will tell you everything! I swear! My old mother is still—"
Mader barely managed to croak out his plea, enduring the agony of his fractured bones grinding together. He was terrified that if his words displeased this cold-eyed mage, he would be left to rot in the alley.
Punk ignored his babbling.
With a simple gesture, he signaled Golem One to stand guard, then began chanting a spell in a low, measured tone.
Official-Level Mind Spell — Memory Reading
Consumes mana to extract the memories of a being weaker than oneself.
(Note: Those with extreme willpower or protective energy around their soul may resist this effect.)
Punk extended a silver-covered finger, tapping lightly on Mader's forehead.
The moment his finger made contact, liquid silver energy split into countless thread-like tendrils, slithering through Mader's eyes and ears. The man convulsed, his body trembling violently.
And then—
His memories unfurled before Punk like an open book.
Now, all he needed to do was turn to the pages from a week ago…
…and watch.