Chapter 123 Survival of the Fittest
The Frost Azure Flame.
It was whispered to be one of the few Tier 2 exotic flames in the entire Silvercrest Dominion, a treasure coveted by blacksmiths and mages alike. Within the depths of the Hundred Spirits Forest Dungeon, a mere stone's throw from Willowbrook Town. It would be a good start to take over it.
For Eric, the allure of the Frost Azure Flame was twofold. It represented not only a potential source of immense wealth but also a key to unlocking his true potential as a blacksmith.
He remained several hundred proficiency points shy of attaining the rank of an intermediate blacksmith apprentice. Even upon reaching this milestone, forging the Silver Dawnrift, a Mithril-grade weapon of exceptional quality, would still pose an arduous challenge.
The success rate for an intermediate apprentice attempting such a feat was a paltry 2%. For a beginner like Eric, it plummeted to a dismal 1%.
Even with the combined bonuses of his Book of Forging (20%), Obsidian Iron Insignia (5%), and Runeforged Hammer (5%), his chances of success would only increase to a still-discouraging 32%. Considering the rarity and expense of the materials required to craft a Silver Dawnrift, such a low success rate was simply unacceptable. He couldn't afford to waste precious resources on failed attempts.
Moreover, the Abyssal Blade, a legendary weapon shrouded in mystery, required no less than ten Silver Dawnrifts for its initial upgrade.
The Frost Azure Flame, with its ability to significantly enhance forging success rates and imbue weapons with unique properties, was the key to realizing Eric's ambitions.
The Hundred Spirits Forest Dungeon awaited.
Leaving the relative safety of Willowbrook Town behind, Eric set off towards the north, his steps measured and cautious. He had learned the hard way that reckless sprinting in this new, more realistic version of Divine Realms: Legends was a recipe for disaster. Stamina management was paramount, and he had yet to master the delicate balance between speed and endurance.
As he traversed the Greywolf Steppes, a level 5 monster zone notorious for its unforgiving inhabitants, he encountered a scene of utter carnage.
The bodies of fallen players, their armor shattered and their weapons scattered, littered the tall grass, a grim testament to the dangers that lurked within the Steppes. Most were solo adventurers, their hubris their undoing. A few small parties, their formations broken and their spirits crushed, had also met their end amidst the swaying grass.
A thousand feet into the Steppes, a sudden commotion erupted ahead, the rustling of grass and the panicked shouts of players shattering the eerie silence. Eric, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword, moved towards the disturbance, his senses on high alert.
Two figures, their clothing torn and their faces streaked with sweat and blood, burst from the undergrowth, their chests heaving and their eyes wide with terror. They paid Eric no heed, their only thought escape.
Their pursuers, a pack of snarling Silver-eyed Ashen Wolves, were close behind, their grey fur matted with blood and their eyes burning with predatory hunger. Their howls, a chilling symphony of death, echoed through the Steppes, summoning their brethren to the feast.
[Silver-eyed Ashen Wolf, level 5, HP 540.]
Eric promptly understood the circumstances. The duo, driven by desperation and teetering on the brink of collapse, were endeavoring to entice the wolves towards himself, employing him as a decoy to facilitate their own evacuation.
"Tough luck, kid," one of the fleeing players, an Assassin, sneered, his voice laced with malice. "If you're going to die anyway, you might as well take these mutts with you."
They had misjudged him.
As they drew alongside Eric, intending to bolt past him and leave him to his fate, he moved with a speed that belied his slender frame. His hands shot out, iron-hard grips seizing their arms, and with a single, fluid motion, he hurled them towards their pursuers.
The two hapless players, caught completely off guard, collided with the oncoming wolves in a tangle of limbs and snarls. Three of the wolves, their momentum abruptly halted, yelped in surprise and pain.
"You...!" the Assassin sputtered, his eyes wide with disbelief and betrayal.
His words were cut short as the wolves, enraged by this unexpected turn of events, descended upon their new victims with a vengeance. Sharp teeth tore into flesh, claws raked across armor, and the air filled with the sounds of screams and snarls.
Eric watched the gruesome spectacle unfold with cold detachment. He felt no pity for these two. They had chosen to betray him, to sacrifice him for their own survival. Their fate was of their own making.
As the wolves were fully occupied with their grisly task, Eric seized his opportunity. With a roar of defiance, he unleashed his Thunderbolt Slash.
A blinding arc of blue energy erupted from his blades, cleaving through the air with the force of a thunderbolt. The wolves, caught in the blast, were ripped apart, their bodies charred and smoking. The ground trembled beneath his feet as the echoes of his attack faded into the eerie silence of the Steppes.
The experience points gained from the encounter were negligible, a testament to the ever-widening level gap between Eric and these low-level creatures. He collected the meager loot they dropped, his movements efficient and practiced.
From his backpack, he retrieved a Scroll of Veiled Tranquility and activated it.
The System upgrade, while enhancing the realism of Divine Realms: Legends, had also made it a far more dangerous place. Monsters were now more sensitive to their surroundings, their senses heightened and their behavior less predictable. Stealth, once a viable tactic for navigating dangerous areas, was now a risky proposition.
The Scroll of Veiled Tranquility, a rare and expensive consumable, would temporarily mask his presence from the creatures of the Steppes, giving him a precious window of opportunity to escape the area undetected.
With a final glance at the carnage behind him, Eric turned and continued his journey, his destination the heart of the Hundred Spirits Forest Dungeon.
He traversed the treacherous terrain with a combination of skill and caution, avoiding encounters whenever possible and dispatching those he couldn't with ruthless efficiency. He navigated the Korlak Grand Gorge, a labyrinth of jagged cliffs and treacherous ravines, and skirted the edges of Cyberthorn Lake, its depths home to creatures of nightmare.
Six grueling hours after leaving Willowbrook Town, he finally arrived at the outskirts of the Hundred Spirits Forest Dungeon.
The atmosphere here was suffused with a tangible sensation of horror. The trees, knotted and contorted, reached towards the heavens with bony appendages, their limbs denuded of foliage and enveloped in a shroud of mist. The silence was unnerving, broken only by the occasional mournful sigh of the wind as it whispered through the trees.
The Hundred Spirits Forest Dungeon was a place of shadows and whispers, a realm where the veil between the living and the dead was thin and easily pierced. It was said that the forest itself was cursed, its very soil tainted by the anguish of countless souls trapped within its grasp.
The dungeon's denizens, cursed ghosts immune to most physical attacks, were the stuff of nightmares. Their touch brought not pain, but a soul-chilling cold that leeched the life from their victims. They were drawn to the warmth of living flesh, their senses attuned to the faintest flicker of life.
Eric, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation, reached into his backpack and retrieved a vial containing a viscous, silver liquid.
The Elixir of Dissipation.
It would mask his life force for a precious few minutes, rendering him invisible to the senses of the cursed ghosts. It was a risky gamble, but one he had to take.
He ingested the potion in a single swallow, experiencing an overwhelming sensation of bitterness in his mouth. A chilling shiver coursed down his spine as the potion's effects began to manifest. For a transient moment, he would exist as an apparition among other spirits.
He crept forward, his movements silent and fluid, his senses on high alert. He had a destination in mind: Ghost Town, a ruined settlement located deep within the heart of the dungeon. It was there, according to legend, that the Frost Azure Flame resided.
He had a plan, a daring gambit that would pit him against the denizens of the dungeon in a desperate race against time. He knew the risks, but the potential rewards were too great to ignore.
As he approached the outskirts of Ghost Town, a sudden chill ran down his spine, a sensation so profound and unexpected that it stopped him dead in his tracks.
Killing intent.
It washed over him like a wave of ice, so pure and potent that it sent a primal shiver down his spine. Years of battling both man and beast had honed his instincts to a razor's edge, and those instincts were screaming at him to run, to flee while he still had the chance.
A flicker of movement, so subtle it was almost imperceptible, caught his eye. A shadow detached itself from the darkness beneath a nearby tree, its form coalescing into that of an assailant cloaked in black.
Two flashes of silver, swift and deadly as vipers striking, arced towards him. One aimed for his throat, the other for his heart.
The attack was so sudden, so unexpected, that even with his heightened senses, Eric barely had time to react.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
