In the depths of the mountains, jagged peaks pierced the lead-gray sky like the spines of colossal beasts. Deep rifts resembled ghastly wounds upon the earth, and the primeval forest, with its titanic ancient trees, wove an eternal, gloomy canopy.
However, what truly made living creatures recoil was the swamp region, which spread wantonly through the forest's heart like festering green pus.
On this cursed land, monsters ran rampant. It was plagued by anomalous weather, chaotic Magic Power, and other phenomena. The damp, cold air was thick with a perennial, toxic miasma of decay and an unknown, cloying sweetness.
In the eyes of the Sub-humans struggling to survive on its periphery, this dangerous Corrupt Marsh was a veritable "Land of Death."
Even the Lizardman tribes, who had danced with the treacherous environment for generations, only dared to operate on the swamp's fringes.
These cold-blooded descendants worshipped an ancient ancestral spirit called the "Coiled One" and the Spirit of the Swamp who governed it, Putu. They believed the swamp was the domain where their ancestral spirit slumbered, and that Putu was its guardian. Excessive intrusion would invite cataclysmic disaster.
In early spring, when the faint sunlight barely pierced the forest canopy, they would hold a grand "Ice-Breaking Festival." Presided over by the tribe's Scale Claw Priest, they prayed to their ancestral spirit for permission and blessings to hunt.
Only then would elite hunting parties cautiously venture into the outer reaches of the Swamp Forest to hunt the giant poisonous frogs and Hard-shelled Water Lizards that had been catalyzed by Magic Power.
They also gathered rare anti-toxin mosses and glowing swamp fungi—these were the medicinal herbs, food, and valuable goods the tribe relied on for survival and for trade with outsiders.
Also coveting the marsh's resources was the Jackal Wolf Tribe that roamed the Corrupt Marsh and the riverbanks. Driven by their faith in Demons, these predators were far more greedy and reckless than the Lizardmen.
For them, early spring was the season of the "Fang of Hunger." With their winter stores depleted, the tribe's Jackal Wolfman war chief would drive his starving Warriors and domesticated hyenas to sweep through the marsh's edge like a plague.
They respected no ancestral spirits, fearing only strength. Their targets were usually the large beasts driven out from the deep marsh by the poisonous miasma, or lone Lizardman braves who dared to venture too deep.
The two Sub-human Tribes lived together on the south bank of the river, but competition, prey, and bloodshed fueled a mutual hatred. Each saw the other as little more than food to be stored for the winter.
However...
A few winters ago, a faith known as "Corruption" changed the dynamic between the two tribes.
The faith of Corruption aggressively suppressed and usurped all heresies, gradually rising to dominance under the influence of an unknown power.
The Jackal Wolf Tribe had completely fallen to it. Only a few Lizardmen from their tribe, calling themselves the "Descaled," were still putting up a futile resistance.
But hunted and cornered by both tribes, today, the Descaled would meet their final doom.
Within the poison-fog-shrouded Swamp Forest, a small, slender Lizardman tore through the dead silence, plunging deeper inside.
Sergash staggered numbly onward, her amber, slitted pupils darting back from time to time as her slender tail thrashed about anxiously.
Her scaled claws were covered in bloody wounds, and her right shoulder had been pierced clean through by a wooden spear, revealing a mangled mess of flesh and muscle within.
With every step, she could feel the wound tearing at her nerves, triggering sharp pain and hysterical gasps for breath. It felt as if her consciousness was sinking into the swamp, her vision growing ever more blurry.
She didn't know where she was fleeing to, nor how she could escape this peril. She was driven only by the instinct to survive.
Only by shaking off the Believers of Corruption chasing her could she, a follower of the ancestral spirit and the Swamp Spirit Putu, possibly find a sliver of hope in the swamp.
"Hisa! (Descaled!) Gala! (Prey!)"
A cacophony of chaotic shouts erupted behind Sergash. A hunting party—composed of two Jackal Wolfmen, one Lizardman, and their hyenas—emerged from the toxic fog. They brandished primitive clubs and spears, their voices filled with hatred for the heretic.
Sergash coughed violently, spitting up blood. A faint ringing echoed in her head, like a warning from her own brain. Then, she only had time to register that the Twisted Oak Tree before her was very tall before she tripped on a root and pitched face-first onto the ground.
"Hisa! (Descaled!)"
The three Sub-humans' eyes were bloodshot as they shouted in fury, quickly closing in on Sergash.
"The Shaman! She'll be useful!"
"Believe in Morgul!"
Sergash struggled to push herself up from the ground and cursed with a cold sneer, "Filthy Believers of Corruption!"
"May the ancestral spirits and the swamp curse you, that you may never set foot in the bounteous marsh again!"
"I, Sergash, would rather return to the embrace of the swamp!"
Seeing her defiant attitude, a gray-furred Jackal Wolfman stepped forward, swung his club, and smashed it into her abdomen, sending her flying several meters.
"Cough..."
Sergash crashed to the ground, blood gushing from her wounds. Her blood-smeared vision grew blurry and red; she could only faintly make out a panicked Moss Monster on the ground as she felt death closer than ever before.
In that moment, she remembered her father—the man who had guided her to believe in Putu, who had watched her become a Shaman step by step.
A sudden, sharp pain lanced through her heart. The memory was stained red with blood and ash. On that night, she had watched with her own eyes as her aging father, resisting the faith of Corruption, had his chest pierced by the Priest's sharp claws. Blood had sprayed everywhere.
Just like her now.
'Sigh...'
A heavy sigh echoed in her heart.
'It's a pity. In the end, I couldn't overthrow the Priest of Corruption. I couldn't avenge my father. I can only sink into the bottomless mire like some beast, my bones lost forever.'
'Then again, maybe this is for the best.'
'To return to the embrace of the Swamp Spirit Putu is my greatest honor. It's better than falling into the hands of those filthy Believers of Corruption.'
She lay weakly on the ground, her eyes level with the earth. She seemed to see green bubbles rising from the swamp, as if they were Putu's messengers—the Slimes—welcoming her return...
"Hisa! (Descaled!)"
The noisy, irritating voices still echoed in Sergash's ears. She heard the footsteps of death drawing closer, step by step. The next swing of a club would split her head wide open.
But she no longer feared death, feeling only acceptance and regret.
She slowly closed her eyes, ready to sink into darkness. But then, gradually, she felt a warmth enveloping her body, which had grown so cold from blood loss.
It was like being wrapped in soft Slime Gel.
'Has Putu come for me?'
But the faint doubt that arose in Sergash's heart did not last long before a bloodcurdling scream pierced the darkness and echoed in her ears.
A loud buzzing sound grew more intense. At first, she thought it was just her brain, reeling from the blood loss, but gradually, she realized something was wrong.
'Wait...'
'That's the sound of a Poisonous Sting Bee's wings!'
Realizing this, Sergash snapped her eyes open. She forced herself to look up and saw a rain of Poisonous Stings pouring down from the trees, driving away the Sub-human invaders.
These Black Iron Tier monsters usually appeared in swarms. The Poisonous Stings they shot were terrifyingly lethal; even a scaled Lizardman wouldn't dare to provoke them lightly.
'How could there be a Poisonous Sting Bee nest here of all places? And why did it have to attack the hunting party right now?'
'Could it be that the ancestral spirit and Putu heard my prayers?'
In an instant, the hope for survival ignited within her. Enduring the intense pain, she dragged her body, slowly moving to hide in the swamp.