Chapter 82: Bonus Chapter 10: No one Sent Me to Invade the All-Female Amazon Tribe—The Shadow Bancho Is in Trouble (Warning; slight guro at the end)

Eventually I reached a particular treehouse that carried the strongest, most unmistakable trace of Benjamin Mark’s scent.

It clung to the air here like incense that had soaked into every surface of the place.

I could only presume: this was where he used to live.

Inside the dwelling, the space was simple but surprisingly cozy and welcoming for savages who made their homes in the trees.

I scanned the place with my eyes: A woven hammock hung between two sturdy beams, a small three-legged stool sat beside a low table, and some brilliantly woven mats covered the floor.

A few personal trinkets, like shell necklaces, and a polished stone carved into the rough shape of a bird, had been arranged with obvious care. A female’s room, I suppose.

I moved to the hammock and brushed my fingertips across the fabric.

Pfft. Seriously? A hammock? Poverty really is something.

But then my eyes caught something else.

A faded, irregular stain on the edge of the woven cloth. It wasn’t significant, but it was unmistakable once I focused enough.

I touched it to confirm:

It wasn’t sweat, neither was it urine. It wasn’t any of the usual bodily fluids left behind in passion or carelessness.

I activated one of my more innate abilities, a quick analytical evaluation, and the truth came back as clear as day.

[Tears].

Someone had cried here, a great deal. Enough that the liquid had soaked deep into the fibers and dried in uneven patches.

I had not seen anything similar to this in the other places I’d entered. There were no tear stains on the joint sleeping platforms, or the private rooms. And there were no damp spots on any pillows in the lower houses I searched.

So… was it possible this room belonged to someone who held Benjamin Mark particularly dear?

Or perhaps others had cried too, but not there in the exact spot where they slept. Maybe in a place where their guard was lowest and their grief could spill unchecked.

But regardless, biting and unrelenting curiosity tugged at me.

To truly understand what had happened here, and to peel back the layers of emotion and memory that clung to this place, I would have to use [Dark Communion] again.

Of course, not the passive concealment I was using now. To use it properly, it will be an active conjuration of influence.

I would have to draw power from it, then open a small rift and let the darkness taste the residual tears and unveil the entire matter concerning it back to me.

But, wisdom should prevail here, this was the heart of Verdant Spire.

The risk was too enormous.

In general, I rode the tides of danger all the time, yes… But this particular risk could turn very messy, very quickly—

SMASH!!!

Ugh. What now?!

I had been lost in thought, busy weighing the gamble, when a fist suddenly appeared in the corner of my vision. It was moving at a speed that should have been impossible to catch.

By the time my instincts alerted me, it was already too late.

The blow connected with such devastating force, my skull rang like a struck bell.

The world flipped around me violently, as I was launched backward; off the treehouse platform, and tumbling through branches that tore at my arms and legs, hurting me.

Twigs snapped against my ribs, and sharp leaves scratched at my neck and face.

I eventually twisted mid-air, forcing my body to steady itself, and finally managed to land on my barely feet, on the softer earth below.

As I landed, I looked up to understand—

Nearly a hundred meters had been distanced. That single punch had thrown me nearly a hundred meters away.

Trying to move my head sent fresh spikes of pain lancing through my neck and temples.

Fuck, the gig was up.

Somehow—maybe through some divine sense, or maybe through a spell I hadn’t detected—my presence had been made visible to her. To Sara.

I thought she was supposed to be away from Verdant Spire?

But for sure, she definitely hadn’t seen my face; not clearly, and not enough to identify me as a beastkin.

So I assume Shishi-no-su was still safe for now.

But they are currently on hyper-vigilance, so if I tried to escape using [Dark Communion] again, there is a sliver of a chance my features would flash into view during the transition.

And just a single glimpse would be enough for them. They’d know a beastkin had been here, and they’d know we were possibly involved in Benjamin Mark’s kidnapping.

So I had to get the hell out physically, on foot and strictly on instinct, using only my speed and hiding in the shado—

“Ἀνάγκασον καὶ διάλυσον τὸν ἐχθρόν μου.”*

(*The spell means “Shatter and destroy my enemy”).

The words came in an ancient language, so cold and resonant in its echo.

BOOM!!

An explosion of raw magical force crashed into my entire body without warning.

My small body was hurled backward again, smashing against the trunk of an enormous tree.

The sheer impact immediately drove the air from my lungs, as blood sprayed from my mouth in a warm rivulet.

I could taste ash and copper; the burnt ozone from the spell mingling with the iron of my own blood.

Not wanting to be caught off-guard again, I forced my eyes open.

And there she was; a brown-skinned, tall woman standing a few distances before me.

A few fine lines of age marked her otherwise strikingly beautiful face. Grey hair braided with silver vines fluttered around her shoulders, stirred by the wind of her own casting.

And it was honestly terrifying, that those sharp and unblinking golden eyes of hers were locked directly on me.

The damn legendary mage herself had found me.

But I understood once again; that my face was almost certainly not being seen.

My reason: If they had truly identified me already, if even a clear glimpse of my features had reached them… there would be no reason to bother with this drawn-out chase.

They would simply seize me as a living hostage and drag me before their council, then use me as leverage to launch a full assault on Shishi-no-su for their treasured god-touched.

The fact that they were still hunting me, still trying to corner me like this, must mean that my identity remains hidden.

But my small form, and the unmistakable silhouette, was visible to them now. That much was undeniable.

I refused to hesitate anymore. I exploded into motion, with my legs pumping at a speed that blurred the vegetation around me.

I darted between massive tree trunks, vaulted over thick, gnarled roots that snaked across the forest floor, and I twisted in the middle of the air to avoid low-hanging branches that would have torn at my arms and face.

However, every leap and every sharp turn, sent fresh spikes of pain radiating from my skull where Sara’s fist had connected and from the bruised lattice of my spine and ribs where Lotus’s spell had smashed me into the tree.

Yikes.

I was actually in a lot of trouble right now.

I had not foreseen this, not even a little. My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat, with a dull, sickening drum that made my vision swim at the edges.

My lungs were burning so much, and my ribs pained every time I twisted to change direction.

Really, I needed just a moment to breathe, and to think of a way out of here without any more encounters.

Shortly, I slid behind the wide trunk of an ancient-looking ironwood and pressed myself flat against the bark, letting the shadows fold around me again as best they could.

My chest was heaving, not just from my movements, but from fright. Sweat rolled from my forehead, it stung my eyes.

However, when I looked properly at where I had landed, to gauge my bearing, horror stared back.

“P… Please… we have nothing to do with the god-touched, I swear… Just kill us…already…”

“We’re sorry we’re sorry we’re sorry we’re sorry we’re sorry we’re sorry we’re sorry —”

“Mommy… Mommy, help me…”

The voices were broken and overlapping, some of them barely more than weak whimpers.

There were maimed figures and bound figures sprawled across the small clearing I had stumbled into… dozens of them.

They couldn’t see me, I’m sure. Their eyes rolled blindly and unfocused, simply darting at nothing and everything.

That would mean they weren’t speaking to me when they talked either.

So… They were speaking to phantoms? To the empty air? Or to whatever nightmare had replaced their normal state of minds?

A human girl, no older than nineteen by appearance, lay propped against a root.

Her lower half was completely gone, ending in a ragged, burned line just below her ribs. But she was still breathing, regardless. She was still crying and was still calling for her mother in a thin, trembling voice, as tears and blood streaking her dead-pale cheeks.

Most of the people here were human. A few dwarves also laid in ruins, still stout even in corrosion. And three demons were also there: three horned figures in skin-tight outfits… very dead, and very thoroughly massacred.

One demon had been split from sternum to pelvis; the upper half of his torso lay draped over a low branch like discarded laundry, his black claws still glinting in decease.

The other two demons were females, both looking like they fell under the same fate: they looked as though something enormous had bitten them from chest to groin, chewed multiple times and then spat the mangled remains onto the dirt.

Their insides glistened wetly in the dappled light, spread in a wide, obscene fan. They were both, unquestionably, gone from this world.

However, the rest of the races were alive.

But was that not somewhat worse…?

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