Free Web NovelGray clouds hung low, as if the entire sky held its breath in anticipation of some ominous premonition.
The scent of scorched earth, mixed with the putrid stench of long-decayed corpses, cut through the sense of smell like a knife in the wind.
Occasionally, a gust of wind would bring with it a sticky, tar-like odor, a nauseating blend of corroded metal and rotten eggs.
All vegetation had withered, and not even the usual birdsong could be heard in the forest; a deathly silence enveloped the dense woods ahead.
Vik stood before the cordon, twenty Elite Knights in deep silver armor arrayed silently behind him.
A stationed Knight quickly approached, blocking his path, and said sternly, “This area is sealed off. Unauthorized personnel are forbidden.”
Vik showed no annoyance, only slowly drew an iron token from within his cloak, engraved with the Red Tide Lord's sun emblem.
“Your Lord sent me,” he said calmly.
The stationed Knight’s expression changed, immediately shedding his wariness, and he bowed with clasped fists: “This subordinate was impolite. Please forgive me, sir.
Please enter.”
“Hmm, it’s fine,” Vik responded indifferently, stepping inside.
Passing through several layers of isolation lines, his gaze swept around: the dead, charred ground, and the strangely “too clean” scene—no decaying bodies, no signs of tearing, as if everything had been “erased.”
A Knight dispatched here by Louis came to report: “From the beginning until now, no living creatures have been found near this area, and the traces of battle also stop here.”
“No other discoveries?” Vik glanced at him, his tone calm, yet it made the man feel as if he were sitting on pins and needles.
The Knight lowered his head: “...Yes.”
Vik said nothing, only lowered his gaze to the ground beneath his feet.
He noticed fragmented traces on the surface of the soil, scorched by high temperatures, while the surrounding grass and leaves were withered but not burned, indicating that the cordon had been drawn very accurately.
“The isolation line is well drawn,” he said, his tone affirmative.
He then took out a bound notebook from his waist and quickly jotted down a few remarks.
This would be included in the formal intelligence report he would submit to Duke Edmund.
After finishing his notes, he slowly raised his head, looking towards the depths of the black earth in the distance.
“Alright,” his voice was as steady as iron, “Next, we will take over the investigation.
2
Passing through layers of scorched earth and the stench of decay, Vik slowly stepped into the center of the forest clearing.
This was originally a dense forest, but now the branches and leaves were withered, and the soil was charred.
It was as if some soul-devouring calamity had lingered here for a moment, then vanished without a trace.
He slowly exhaled a turbid breath, drew his sword, touched it to the ground, and whispered, “Activate.”
In an instant, his battle qi circulated within him, flowing along his bloodlines to his eyes, skin, and even every pore.
Fiery red patterns emerged from below his neck, appearing on his skin like living things moving.
His world changed with it.
Colors faded, leaving only a world of ripples with differences in warmth and coolness.
The dense forest before him seemed to turn into a grayscale silhouette, while countless subtle traces of residual heat, lingering magic fluctuations, and paths of air currents all appeared in his eyes.
He “saw” it.
Three figures, swift and urgent, shuttled through the forest, cloaks fluttering, staffs casting out light that intertwined with scorching heat and chilling cold.
Their positions were spread out, their coordination orderly: one attacking, one controlling, one suppressing.
Magical explosions left rings of faint blue afterimages in the air, spreading like water ripples.
And directly in front of them, several large and unusual heat sources crawled forward—neither metal nor flesh, their wriggling posture nauseating.
They left corrosive traces on the ground, their temperature eerily high, their trails spreading out in spiderweb-like cracks, dissolving upon contact.
Those were individual Worm Soldiers, moving incredibly fast, their aura chaotic yet possessing a precise coordination.
“It truly is them.”
A faint light flickered in Vik’s eyes, and grayscale wriggling traces were reflected in his pupils.
His voice was extremely low, as if he were talking to himself: “And—they’ve evolved.”
He slowly walked to the edge of the battlefield, squatted down, placed his palm on the ground, and a wisp of icy battle qi seeped into the soil through his fingertips.
He wasn't searching for temperature, but rather reading the “path.”
“These Worm Soldiers—they didn’t just charge in randomly.”
Following the faint corrosive trails and heat signatures, in a world “beyond vision,” he saw an even more terrifying truth: the Worm Soldiers’ advance trajectory was fan-shaped, clearly having been “controlled” or “guided.”
They avoided certain obstacles, attacked in batches, and most importantly...
After dying, they even actively retrieved their remains and cleared the battlefield, leaving almost no traceable evidence.
“Not beasts, but—” Vik stood up, his gaze stern.
He remembered that nightmare three years ago, when thousands of corpses, like a flood, relied on their numbers and parasitic traits to crush the entire Northern Army elite into a bloody pulp.
At that time, the Worm Soldiers were terrifying, but they were like wild beasts, out of control, chaotic, and without order.
This time, however, they were ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ like a “military unit.”
“More covert—more efficient,” he murmured.
An ominous thought flashed through his mind.
He pulled out a portable notebook from his waist and wrote a few words on a blank page:
“Worm Soldier behavior tending towards organization, suspected test subjects.”
He did not voice this deduction.
After all, if someone truly could control the Worm Soldiers, it would not be a defensive battle, but a prelude to an apocalyptic war.
At this moment, with his perception not yet reined in, his brow twitched slightly.
“......?”
In the air, there was an extremely faint aftershock, extending towards the southwest, almost dissipated, but not yet completely cooled.
That was the trace left by the fleeing Worm Soldiers. Most people couldn’t see it, but it couldn’t escape his discerning eye.
“They didn’t leave cleanly.” Vik’s gaze turned cold, instantly regaining its sternness. “Everyone, battle ready. Northwest, pursue.”
His adjutant was stunned: “Sir, we haven’t yet—”
“The investigation here is concluded,” Vik interrupted him, his voice calm but icy. “Let’s go.”
Vik led the way, stepping into the depths of the dense forest.
The twenty Elite Knights followed without hesitation, quickly forming ranks, like a cold spear piercing into the silent forest.
A quiet hunt thus began.
The magic candlelight burned quietly.
The gray-blue flame reflected on the obsidian walls, and cold gazes were cast upon Leixier.
He stood in the center of the “Secret Council Chamber,” clad in the shimmering magic robe that symbolized the Silver Masked Mages, his face pale.
His left hand unconsciously pressed against his chest, where the burning sensation of a worm crawling had once been, now seemingly still churning beneath his skin.
Above, on tiered steps, hidden in the shadows, were the Mage Elder Council.
Seventeen ancient Mages, old yet with undiminished magic, silently watched the young man who had brought back news of calamity.
On the topmost platinum seat, a figure sat silently, draped in a light silver magic robe, their face obscured by the brim of their hood.
That was the Supreme Mage—the highest authority of the entire Magician Forest.
Leixier knelt on one knee, his voice hoarse, yet every word was clear.
“Beginning report. I, Fulavia, and Modi, three of us, arrived in the northern region of the Iron-Blood Empire, following the trail to investigate Archmage Jurgen’s disappearance. We were attacked. Six Worm Soldiers, precise in coordination, fearless of magic, fearless of death, their combat instincts undiminished. Fulavia was parasitized. She retained memories of magic and combat, but completely failed to recognize either of us.”
Leixier recounted everything, down to the last detail.
There was no embellishment, no deletion, as if he had laid himself bare, exposed before the elders.
Except for the matter of teaching Louis magic.
If he were to say that “he had taught magic to a lord without permission,” even if it was in the name of “repaying kindness,” it would inevitably cause unrest and accusations. He could only proceed cautiously.
A moment of silence fell over the elder seats.
The gazes of seven grey-robed figures flowed over Leixier, like invisible mental barriers, dissecting, analyzing, and dismantling him.
“That ‘worm corpse’ you mentioned—we have no record of it,” an elderly female Mage finally broke the silence, a hint of wariness in her tone. “Are you certain what you saw was not an illusion? Or, a delusion caused by some form of mental parasitism?”
“I am not insane,” Leixier met her gaze, calm as iron.
“Speaker,” he said, calling out softly.
The next instant, a blue-silver magical runic box, its magic sealed, floated from his sleeve and landed in the center of the hall.
“This—came out of my body.”
Click.
The sealing runes shattered like chains, and a faint green light diffused into the air.
It was a dead worm.
Only palm-sized, distorted yet intricate, its segments regular like metal structures, with corrosive saliva remaining on its hair-thin limbs. Most terrifyingly, its worm-eye had not fully dried, seeming to still faintly rotate.
“This—was inside your body?”
“It was alive before I fainted. The Red Tide Territory’s doctor removed it with surgery. I used my last bit of magic to seal it. It tried to burrow into my spine.” Leixier stared down at the worm, his voice like a blade scraping across ice.
The Magic Tribunal descended into chaos for the first time.
Whispers and mental waves intertwined in the air, and the elders uncharacteristically fell into a heated discussion.
Some advocated for sealing off the matter to prevent panic from spreading, while others proposed establishing a specialized research team—
Beneath the purple-silver mask, the Supreme Mage had not spoken a word from beginning to end.
He merely sat quietly, as if integrated with the Secret Council Chamber, as if his silence carried more weight than anyone else’s words.
It wasn't until the Speaker’s gaze fell upon him for the third time that the elders’ voices gradually quieted.
The Supreme Mage slowly raised his hand. frёeωebɳovel.com
Five fingers gently tapped, a deep thud.
It was not a spell, not an incantation, but a simple tap, yet it was like a heavy hammer striking the heart of the entire Secret Council Chamber.
“This Worm Soldier incident is not an isolated occurrence.”
He finally spoke, his voice deep and hoarse, yet carrying an undeniable authority.
“The Magician Forest will formally dispatch Archmage-level personnel, leading an elite squad, to the Northern Territory to ascertain the truth.”
All four seats trembled.
The elders all fell silent, nodding slightly in assent.
Leixier stood in the hall, and finally, after a long period of taut nerves, imperceptibly exhaled.
He did not show too obvious an expression, but the tension in his heart finally eased at that moment.
It wasn’t because he had received praise, nor because he had been saved, but because:
The danger he had tried so hard to convey had finally been truly heard.
