Chương 361: Chapter 347

Navigating the cloud of aerosolized blood was far harder than he had expected. From the outside, it had seemed almost translucent, thin enough to make out shapes and muted colors beyond it. But inside, his vision collapsed to almost nothing. It was like pushing through heavy fog, his sight reduced to a dozen feet at best. The only reason he could move with any confidence was his superior mana senses. He stretched them outward, using them like a crude form of magical echolocation.

That, paired with his Abyss Sight – trained on the eldritch shapes Katie attracted to herself – gave him just enough awareness to navigate. Even then, it was disorienting. The miasma in the air clung eagerly to his armor, reaching for any exposed skin. It crawled, almost alive, seeking purchase. Sam countered it by constantly emitting a thin veil of clean aura, letting the foul substance dissolve the moment it touched him.

As he moved through the streets – eerily empty – he noticed the blood-cloud didn't just hang in the air. It coated everything. Walls were slick with it, a dark, wet sheen clinging to brick and stone, seeping into cracks and mortar like something alive. In places, it had gathered thickly enough to drip in slow, heavy trails, painting the surfaces in uneven streaks of deep crimson. The cobblestones beneath his feet were worse.

What should have been rough, familiar ground was now treacherous – each step landing on a thin, viscous layer that glistened dully in the muted light. His boots made faint, sticky sounds as he moved, the substance resisting ever so slightly before letting go, like something reluctant to release its grip. Abandoned belongings lay scattered across the street – carts left half-loaded, a dropped satchel spilling its contents, a child's wooden toy lying on its side.

Each one was lacquered in drying blood, edges softened, and details blurred beneath the coating, as though the city itself had been dipped into something foul and left to set. The only saving grace was his re-breather – allowing him to traverse all this without having to smell it, or worse, breathe it in. Even the air felt heavier. The mist dulled sound, swallowing the usual echoes of a city. No wind. No distant voices. No movement. Just a suffocating, damp silence. And yet… nothing was happening. No destruction.

No transformation. It was wrong. Something should be happening. Nobody spends this much effort on nothing. Especially not in the middle of a siege – however unorthodox it may be. At the edge of the cloud, he had pushed forward at full speed, relying on momentum. But the deeper he went, the more he slowed. He wanted to reach his target as quickly as possible. But speed meant mistakes – and here, a mistake could cost the entire city. So, he slowed down. Taking every corner with caution. Listening for any sound.

Watching his steps. When he was probing the depths of the burgundy haze from the outside, he had felt the faint signs of people not tainted by blood magic. Probably the remnants of the Steel Lions. And beyond them… a barrier. A perfect sphere of magical force, utterly impenetrable to his senses. His probes struck it and rebounded instantly, offering no give, no weakness, no insight into what lay beyond. Sam didn't need confirmation. He already knew what that meant. The Blood Army was working inside that barrier.

And whatever they were doing… it wasn't going to be subtle. At best, they were preparing something catastrophic–something that would wipe Deepanchor off the map. An explosion of epic proportions. Or maybe another summoning… At worst, they were building a delivery system for their 'delightful' pestilence. Personally, Sam was betting on a bomb powered by blood sacrifice. That felt on brand for them. They couldn't reuse their approach from Sunspot–setting up a massive ritual circle to consume the city outright.

Not in Deepanchor. For one, Chrysalis was much more organized and united than that loose coalition of mercenaries, and on the other hand, the guild's patrols would have caught it. Constant sweeps for runes, circles, or ritual anchors were part of standard duty. Tedious work, on paper. In practice, though? Players loved it. The system made sure of that.

Every patrol had a chance to uncover something – hidden warlocks carving runes into basements, necromancers establishing footholds, or monsters anchoring themselves through forbidden rituals. No one ever came back empty-handed. There was always something nefarious underfoot. Even the most mundane assignment could turn into a hunt, an investigation, or a race against time – the game system quietly ensuring there was always something worth finding. Doing what it was designed to: entertaining people.

Sam had heard one of the better stories through the grapevine. A mage player had discovered signs of a demonic summoning and tracked the culprit down–but arrived too late. The ritual had already been completed. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. And through arcane magic, a bit of luck and cosmic alignments… A succubus queen had been summoned. A genuine, high-tier threat. Even for Sam. And yet… instead of dying, the player survived.

He had started to talk. Fast. Desperate. Somehow, through sheer charisma and absurd luck, he convinced the succubus queen to take him as her warlock instead of tearing him apart. Amused – or perhaps intrigued – she accepted. Then she simply… left. Leaving behind one stunned, newly-minted warlock. Sam huffed a quiet breath through his nose. Never a dull moment in Magic Unknown. Ahead of him, Sam spotted something on the ground.

Through the haze, it was little more than a shape – humanoid, armored – but with the kind of enemies he was dealing with, he refused to take anything at face value. It could be a corpse. It could be bait. It could be something even worse waiting. His senses brushed over it again, cautious, probing. The outline held – no immediate reaction – but that meant very little in a place like this. His gaze flicked to the side, catching a broom lying abandoned near a doorway, its bristles stiff with dried crimson. Perfect.

With a flick of his boot, he kicked it into the air and caught it smoothly. Before his hand fully closed around the handle, he pulsed a thin wave of cleansing mana through it, stripping away the clinging filth. Only then did he grip it properly. No reason to take chances. He approached the body, every movement measured. He was ready to react the instant something happened. Still nothing. He exhaled slowly… and jabbed.

The broom's wooden handle struck metal with a muted clang, the sound immediately swallowed by the thick, fog-like blood cloud. No twitch. No detonation. No grotesque transformation. Just… stillness. Death, silent and indifferent. Even so, he didn't relax. Paranoia (and genre saviness) had kept him alive this long – he wasn't about to abandon it now. He stepped closer and released a stronger wave of cleansing aura over the body.

The clinging blood-miasma hissed and evaporated under the touch, peeling away to reveal the armor beneath. He recognized instantly. The city's emblem. An NPC guard. A player's body would have vanished already. Maybe caught in the initial assault. Maybe part of a failed attempt to reclaim the streets. However, he had ended up here; the result was the same. Death. Sam lingered for only a moment before crouching beside the body. Time was against him – but ignorance could be worse.

He extended his Mana Sense again, this time with intent, forcing it deeper. It seeped into the corpse, threading through armor, through flesh, through what remained of the man beneath. Looking for anything unusual. Anything useful. Anything wrong. Sam's expression darkened. Blood magic had flooded every part of the body, from the soles of the feet to the crown of the head. The once living being became more magic than flesh and blood. The corpse felt less like a person… and more like a vessel.

A container filled to the brim with something foul.

'Typical…' he muttered under his breath as he stood. Almost unconsciously, he raised a hand. A small pulse of void energy gathered – and fired. The body collapsed inward as the void devoured it, leaving nothing behind. Sam lowered his hand and dipped his head briefly. A moment. Acknowledgment. Then he moved. Back into the suffocating red haze, toward whatever waited at its center. As Sam pushed deeper, the bodies became more frequent. Some wore armor – guards, militia – but most were civilians.

It looked like they had simply… stopped. Caught in the middle of their day. Mid-step. Mid-task. Mid-thought. Then dropped. Like a string had been cut. There was no pain on their faces – at most, he saw surprise – the rest were peaceful. No matter where he looked, he saw no signs of struggle. Each time he passed one, Sam sent out a brief pulse of mana, scanning. Confirming what he already suspected. Every single one was the same. Transformed by the blood magic seeping into everything.

And each time, without hesitation, he erased them with a short burst of void. He didn't know if it would matter in the fight to come. Didn't know if it would help at all. But he owed them that much. Even if they were just pixels and code. A minute later, finally, something changed. In the middle of sneaking around and turning a corner he heard something. A sound. Faint at first – but unmistakable. Metal clashing. Shouted voices. Fighting.

Sam's pace quickened instantly, shifting from cautious advance to controlled urgency. He followed the noise through the choking haze and emerged onto a scene that made him pause. In the door of a house stood a line of heavily armored players, all of them wielding shields, swords, maces, and one-handed axes – with one enterprising person using a pike. Their armor was scratched and beaten to hell and back. Their entire bodies radiated tiredness. Opposing them was exactly what Sam had expected – and hoped not to find.

Bodies. Dozens of them. Moving. Not on their own accord, but directed by malicious intent. He could practically see the thin threads of mana vanishing into the distance. Their motions were stiff, unnatural – but not weak. No, it was the exact opposite. Each strike carried brutal force, enough to rattle shields and send chips of metal flying. Their speed was wrong, too – jerky but fast, making them difficult to track, harder to hit cleanly. At first glance, Sam didn't understand how the players were struggling.

Then he stepped closer. And saw it. Behind the line, one player stood braced, gripping a staff crowned with a faintly glowing sphere. Pale white light spilled from it, forming a thin barrier around the group – just enough to push back the blood-mist. But only barely. Through his senses, Sam could see clearly that the barrier was flickering and shrinking at a rapid pace. Fading. The player probably didn't have the mana regeneration – or mana potions – to keep up much longer.

"Hold the line!"

"Disabling hits!"

"Aim for the legs!"

"They're too fast!"

"How long, Captain?"

"Keep it together! Backup has to be coming!"

"Then where the hell are they?" Sam smiled faintly beneath his re-breather as he listened to their banter.

'That would be my cue…' He moved… One step – then he vanished into motion. Bursting from the mist, Sam surged forward, blade already alive with void energy. His sword carved through the air in a blur. Sending slash after slash, each one aiming at a different body. A body dropped, cut cleanly in half, void devouring the remains before they hit the ground.

"What the–" Another fell.

"Where–" Each strike was precise. Filled with enough energy to consume the bodies.

"Who–" The enemy didn't stand a chance. Confusion rippled through the defensive line as the pressure vanished almost instantly, the horde collapsing under Sam's assault before they could even react. Sam stepped forward without slowing, crossing the threshold into the fragile barrier. He raised a hand, fingers spreading slightly. Clean aura surged outward, expanding from him in a controlled wave, creating a barrier over the flickering one. The blood-mist recoiled, pushed back more firmly now.

Several of the armored players moved to attack him, seemingly on instinct, but the one in the lead held out an arm, crashing it into those who moved. At the same time, the caster behind them collapsed to his knees, gasping, the staff dimming in his grip.

"Boss? Is that you?" the one in the lead asked with a familiar voice. Sam peered closer and grinned. Not that they could see him. But when he spoke, his tone was clear.

"David?" The lead knight exhaled heavily and nodded.

"That's me," he said.

"What's the situation outside?" His head was already turning, scanning the street.

"Inside," he added sharply.

"Move – before more show up." Sam didn't argue.

"I don't think that many people lived around here…" he commented as he stepped inside. David shook his head immediately – his reserved behavior in contrast with his sister's bombastic and chaotic personality.

"I think they brought them. The bodies, I mean. Some of them had different clothing…" Sam nodded. The door shut behind them with a dull thud. Inside, the team spread out automatically, forming a loose defensive formation despite their exhaustion. Armor stayed on. Weapons stayed ready. Sam thought it was prudent. David stepped up to Sam and pushed his visor up, revealing the lower half of his face–sweat-soaked, tense.

"What's next, boss?" Sam didn't answer immediately. Instead, he swept the room with his senses, subtle and precise. His mana brushed over each of them, scanning for any taint – or traitors. They each had a bit of blood magic on them and inside them, but Sam attributed it to spending so much time in this environment.

'Make a note. Have re-breathers a mandatory part of the equipment…' Then a thought struck him.

'Shit, do I seriously have to run PPE classes inside a game?' Shaking his head, he looked back at David.

"I take over," he said, his voice distorted thanks to the re-breather.

"Your sister handled the krakens. Everything else is under control." He looked directly at David.

"You're in no shape to fight." David looked ready to argue, but the quiet, collective exhale around the room upon Sam's declaration stopped the sound escaping from his throat. He reluctantly nodded.

"…Yes, sir." There was a muted cheer in the room before he continued.

"But what if it is a trap?" he asked.

"We saw a barrier go up. Didn't get close enough to check what's inside." Sam struck a cocky stance – as he didn't want to take off his re-breather to grin at them.

"Then," he said, voice edged with dry amusement, "I suppose I'll just have to walk in there…" He rolled his shoulder, trying to project confidence.

"…and trigger the damn trap."