Chapter 182: Evergreen Graveyard

Long before kingdoms carved out borders and cities claimed their names, the Evergreen Mountain Range stood tall, vast, ancient, and indifferent to the rise and fall of civilizations that clung to its edges like moss on stone.

No living record could truly capture its age. Some scholars argued it formed alongside the first mana tides that reshaped the world, while others believed it was the fossilized spine of a primordial beast whose death forever altered the land.

Regardless of the truth, one fact remained undisputed, the Evergreen Mountain Range had endured for hundreds of thousands of years. It was unchanged by war, empire, or ambition, a colossal scar etched across the eastern part of the Kingdom.

The mountain range did not belong to any single region, instead, it divided them. To the east lay the Evergreen Region, fertile and industrious, where Greyvale City served as both a commercial hub and political anchor.

To the north, beyond jagged peaks and mist-choked passes, stretched a colder territory where people were said to worship endurance itself, hardened by snow and scarcity.

To the south sprawled lands thick with jungle and sweltering heat, rich in rare herbs and poisonous flora. Here, warriors trained their bodies against nature’s elements.

To the west lay arid plateaus and deep canyons inhabited by people known for their brutal efficiency and unyielding pragmatism.

All four regions circled around the Evergreen Mountain Range like wary predators eyeing a slumbering god.

Travel between these regions could be achieved in one of two ways: skirting around the mountain range entirely along long trade routes that added weeks or even months to a journey but offered relative safety; or attempting to cross through the Evergreen Mountain Range itself.

Almost no one chose the latter not because it was impassable, far from it but because danger lurked at every turn. Every step within those mountains carried risk; every shadow concealed potential death.

The mountains were a crucible where fortune coexisted with danger, a place where those unprepared vanished without so much as a scream left behind.

And yet, despite or perhaps because of, the dangers involved, warriors had always been drawn to this formidable range. Rich beyond imagination, veins of rare metals ran deep beneath its surface, untouched by systematic mining efforts.

Ancient ruins and forgotten tombs lay buried under layers of earth and time, remnants of powerful civilizations that met their ends within its depths.

Mana concentrations fluctuated wildly here, creating natural hotspots that accelerated cultivation and honed combat instincts. Magical beasts thrived in this environment; their cores formed the backbone for countless alchemical breakthroughs and weapon forges.

For those willing to gamble their lives on adventure, glory awaited in abundance within these mountains. For those who failed? Silence was all they would find.

Over countless ages, a grim structure emerged from chaos not by design but through survival instincts. The mountains effectively divided themselves into three distinct regions, each more dangerous than the last.

The outer region of the Evergreen Mountain Range served as the domain for the weakest beasts, where first- and second-order magical creatures roamed. Occasionally, a third-order predator would stake a temporary claim here but would quickly retreat deeper into the mountains when faced with stronger competition. This area was a training ground for novice warriors and low-ranked adventurers, dangerous enough to command respect but forgiving enough to allow for some missteps.

Beyond lay the inner region, where the balance of power shifted dramatically. Here, third- and fourth-order beasts asserted their dominance, their territories in constant tension as they overlapped. Fifth-order creatures might occasionally appear, transforming entire valleys into no-go zones almost overnight. The mana pressure in this region became palpable, while the land itself grew more hostile, steeper cliffs, denser forests, and treacherous terrain demanded attentiveness.

At the very heart of the Evergreen Mountain Range lay the core area, known simply as the graveyard. This was where fifth- and sixth-order beasts made their lairs, the air thick with mana saturation that weighed heavily on the senses. The core area was ruled by territorial monarchs; each Lord Beast claimed a domain with absolute authority, rarely leaving their territory unless provoked.

Among these rulers, the sixth-order beasts occupied a realm far removed from everyday existence. They no longer hunted out of necessity; at their level, mana could sustain them for years or even decades.

Food became a luxury, pursued more for pleasure than survival. Many of these beasts spent much of their time in a dormant state, instinctively absorbing ambient mana to grow stronger at an alarming rate, much like high-level warriors.

Those who ascended to great heights no longer relied on mundane sustenance. Food transformed into something ceremonial or recreational, crafted from rare ingredients that could enhance cultivation or accelerate recovery. In this world, power fed upon power.

Among the monarchs of the core area, one name struck particular fear: the Crimson Abyssal Lion. Unlike many Lord Beasts that lay dormant for centuries, the Crimson Abyssal Lion hunted, not for survival, but for the thrill of the chase.

Its bloodline was marked by an inherent aggression and a predatory intelligence that could be described as cruelly cunning.

It ruled its territory not merely through strength but through an unyielding fear that even other high-order beasts avoided its domain altogether. This was a king who took delight in reminding the world of its sovereignty.

It was toward this king’s domain that eleven figures stood poised, facing the formidable expanse. They occupied a tall ridge that overlooked the first folds of the Evergreen Mountain Range, the land before them stretching infinitely like a coiled titan at rest.

From this vantage point, the forest canopy rolled like a dark green sea, interrupted only by jagged stone outcroppings and distant peaks shrouded in perpetual mist. The wind swept across the hill, bringing with it the faint scent of mana and aged blood.

Valeria stood at the forefront, clad in blood-red armor that clung to her form like a second skin. Its sleek, form-fitting design highlighted her strength without unnecessary embellishments.

The armor hugged her curves while allowing for complete freedom of movement, with every plate strategically layered to protect vital areas during battle.

Her long crimson hair flowed freely down her back, catching the light as it danced in the wind like flickering flames.

Beside her, embedded point-first into the earth, was her weapon, a massive broadsword of the same striking hue. The blade was long and broad, its surface etched with faint organic patterns that pulsed subtly whenever mana coursed through it.

The edge shimmered with a promise of restrained violence, and the hilt featured a crimson gem that resonated softly with her presence as if acknowledging its master. This was more than just a weapon; it was an extension of Valeria’s will.

To her right stood Vanthrice, exuding a different kind of elegance yet equally commanding. She wore segmented armor designed for protection without concealment, plates fitted precisely over critical areas while leaving her limbs free for lethal grace. Strapped across her back was a uniquely designed halberd, its shaft reinforced with gold-threaded alloys and its blade slightly curved for both sweeping arcs and precise thrusts.

Her short black hair fluttered in the wind, framing a face sharpened by discipline and experience. Though relaxed in posture, she radiated readiness; every muscle poised and every sense alert.

Nearby stood Gregor, clad in slender silver armor that reflected light with understated brilliance. His gear prioritized mobility over bulk, fitting his frame as if grown rather than forged. His long green hair was tied into a high ponytail trailing down his back while resting against his shoulder was a massive claymore, bulky yet elegantly balanced, promising devastating reach without sacrificing control.

Brutus loomed nearby like a mountain made flesh. He wore heavy gauntlets and reinforced armored pants; his massive torso bore scars that told stories older than words themselves. A double-headed axe rested casually on his shoulder, its weight something lesser men would struggle to lift, as he grinned faintly, eyes sharp with anticipation rather than fear.

Leona stood with disciplined poise; shield strapped securely to one arm and sword held loosely in the other hand. Her practical armor showed signs of countless engagements, each mark telling tales of survival through resilience rather than brute force.

Calista leaned against a rock slightly; her tight black leather armor accentuated an agile form built for speed and precision. She radiated danger in subtler ways, poisonous intent hidden within shadows and watched the forest with predatory focus as fingers flexed as if rehearsing kills.

Caelis rested both hands atop his spear planted firmly into the ground beside him. His lighter armor favored reach and control while his calm demeanor masked the lethal efficiency inherent in his fighting style.

Behind them stood three more figures, two men and one woman, each among the elite of the Bronze Adventurer Ranking.

Aldren, a tall man with ash-blond hair and piercing gray eyes, carried twin blades at his sides and wore armor adorned with intricate runes of reinforcement.

Kaela, broad-shouldered and marked by scars, wielded a heavy mace and tower shield, his presence radiating unshakeable stability. Then there was Seris, the only woman in their ranks, dressed in flowing battle robes reinforced with mana-thread; her hands crackled faintly with contained elemental energy.

Eleven warriors in total. Each one capable of commanding a battlefield on their own. Together, they resembled a storm brought to life.

Valeria turned to face them, her gaze sweeping across the group as the wind howled around the hilltop.

“This is where our preparations end,” she said, her voice steady yet resolute. “From this point forward, it’s instinct, discipline, and trust that will determine who survives.”

She outlined their formation, their initial movements, and the rules that would guide their advance: no heroics, no reckless charges, no deviations without command.

The Evergreen Mountain Range awaited them. With a single decisive gesture, Valeria signaled for them to move forward.

In silence, they descended the hill, eleven shadows advancing toward a place where kings lay at rest and where blood would soon be shed.

——-

A/N:

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