Chapter 90: Chapter 90: Spiritual Energy Vortex

After some thought, Kaelen said to Asher: [Take the two children back to the tribe, but don’t let them interact with the other kids in the tribe right away.]

Asher replied happily, "Got it. I’ll send them back to the tribe immediately. Don’t worry, before they get rid of every last louse, I won’t let them pass it on to the other brats."

Kaelen: [...] That’s not the point at all!

Forget it. The kids in the tribe were probably even craftier than the adults; squeezing anything useful out of them would be harder than climbing to the heavens.

Asher drove a wooden stake into the ground within Kaelen’s reach, hung a bamboo tube of water on it, and only then left. Kaelen leaned his head against Sane’s serpentine body and drew several symbols across the snake’s scales.

[You tell me—if you’re going to sleep, then sleep. Why wrap yourself around me? What am I supposed to do if I need to relieve myself?]

The great snake lay motionless, its coils showing no sign of loosening. Kaelen leaned back against the cool scales in frustration, arms folded, lost in thought. How ridiculous. He had been terrified of snakes to the point of fainting, yet the moment Sane met with the slightest mishap, he had forgotten that fear entirely.

Even now, pressing against the icy scales only raised a faint layer of goosebumps and made his legs tremble slightly. He didn’t collapse in a dead faint. Could this count as lightning-fast psychological therapy?

Well, who knew where Walter and the others had gone by now—whether they had left the Magical Beast Forest or run into anyone.

"Achoo! Achoo!" The very Walter Kaelen was thinking of sat poking at the campfire, letting out several loud sneezes. Anthony turned to him anxiously, tugged the blanket higher around his shoulders, and asked, "Are you feeling unwell again? Why don’t you go into the tent and sleep? We can take the night watch."

Walter rubbed his nose with a finger, sniffed a couple of times, and, feeling no congestion or runny nose, waved a hand. "It’s just an itchy nose. I’m not sick. Stay farther away from me."

Anthony was driven off yet showed no anger. He simply tucked a small pouch of roasted pine nuts into Walter’s hand before shifting a short distance away—neither too close nor too far. Walter shot him a glance, then looked down at the pouch in his palm and tucked it into his lap without a second thought. Who knew how many snacks this man had prepared before they set out; every time he could produce a different treat, and all of them were things Walter liked.

At first Walter had refused every offering, but after each rejection the items would silently reappear inside his own pack. Gradually he stopped refusing altogether. He took a handful of pine nuts from the pouch, shelled one, and popped it into his mouth. His sharp gaze flicked toward the tent where the brat Landon was sleeping like the dead. He turned to Anthony and asked,

"Do you feel like this brat is leading us in a different direction from the one we started on?"

Anthony nodded. "He is. It seems he’s hiding something and doesn’t want us to notice."

"Tomorrow tell Draven to make him inhale some knockout powder. We’ll go back to the original route. I want to see what this little rascal is trying so hard to protect."

"Mm." After answering, Anthony continued carving a bird pattern into the tree trunk with his bone knife. Walter glanced at him and suddenly said,

"This pattern is really beautiful. What do you think if I tattoo it on my face?"

The knife in Anthony’s hand slipped, gouging a long, ugly line and ruining the final stroke. He whipped his head around to stare at Walter, only to find the youth’s expression perfectly serious—no trace of joking. Anthony opened his mouth, but Draven, who had been lying awake, heard everything and stuck his head out to snap,

"You dare try it? I’ll have Papa throw you out to dig coal in his place!"

Walter shrank his neck into the fur blanket, then stuck it out again and declared, "Then tattooing somewhere else should be fine, right? I’ve decided—I’m definitely getting a tattoo!" He would put it on his shoulder. Unless he chose to show it, no one would ever see it.

Anthony was speechless. Back in Obsidian, Walter had been timid to the core—always walking with his head down, bolting faster than a rabbit the moment he saw a beastman. After falling into the valley with Kaelen, he had changed so much. He could now laugh and joke with others, raise his slingshot without hesitation to shoot any beastman who teased him until their face swelled purple, and even sit brazenly on Anthony’s back, ordering him east one moment and west the next as if he were a pet.

At the thought, Anthony’s eyes darkened. If Caleb had never appeared, the two of them would still be the same as before—ignoring the distance between beastman and sub-beast, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughing freely. But without Caleb, Anthony would never have recognized his own feelings for Walter. In that case, if another sub-beast like Caleb ever came along, he would still end up hurting Walter all the same.

Anthony felt that the stronger Walter had become was a good thing, even if it meant pursuing him would now be far more difficult. He suddenly said,

"Tattoo it on your ankle. My hand is steady. When we get back, I’ll do it for you. If your Papa blames you, just push all the responsibility onto me."

Walter’s teeth paused on a pine nut. After a moment he muttered, "Who asked you to..." Only the tips of his ears, hidden inside the fur hat, burned crimson and gave him away.

Wofu had wrapped himself tightly around Draven and was whispering, "I know how to tattoo too. Why don’t I give you one? Come on, where would it look best?" His gaze roamed over Draven’s body before settling pointedly on his rear. Draven’s eyes widened. He pinched Wofu’s cheek hard and scolded,

"Pervert! Where exactly are you looking? I’m warning you—that’s the tribe’s totem. If you dare desecrate it like that, I’ll cut ties with you!"

Wofu yelped in pain but kept grinning. "Who said I was going to tattoo that? I’ll tattoo my own name."

Draven pouted. "If you want to tattoo something, go do it yourself. I don’t care!"

Soft laughter rippled through the group. Landon remained fast asleep, one ear twitching before he rolled over and continued sleeping. The fur blanket he had kicked off slid to the side, exposing his round, gently rising and falling belly. Draven smiled faintly and pulled the blanket back over him. This brat truly trusted them more than expected—not only did he sleep soundly, he even slept with his belly exposed.

It was proof enough that the child’s nature wasn’t bad. The only question was why he had deliberately led them down the wrong path. What exactly was he protecting so desperately...?

Night deepened. The snow outside the tent had stopped falling, and voices gradually faded. On the far side of the Magical Beast Forest, Kaelen was drifting toward sleep when heavy, labored breathing suddenly reached his ears. His eyes snapped open. The great snake that had been perfectly still was now twisting violently, as though in agony. Kaelen lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the snake’s head and pressing his forehead against it.

His ability had recovered somewhat. He tried to channel it to soothe Sane, but the moment the energy touched the snake’s mind, it was violently drained away. Kaelen’s head spun violently. If Sane kept drawing from him like this, he would be reduced to a dried husk.

Left with no choice, Kaelen circulated his ability and pulled in the surrounding Wood-element spiritual energy, drawing it into his own body. The gathered energy was instantly absorbed by the great snake.

"What’s happening? Why are all the trees and grass withering so suddenly?!"

Outside the tent, panicked shouts erupted. The vegetation across the grassland had withered to dry stalks in mere breaths. Zale narrowed his eyes, scanned the area, then locked his gaze on the wooden tent. The air thickened, faintly forming a vortex. Zale’s pupils contracted. He drew a deep breath and roared,

"Everyone—get off the grassland! Now!"

The group turned and fled at once. Though panic reigned, their formation held; no one was trampled. No one had time to worry about the goats and cattle in the pens. The livestock could only huddle together in trembling clusters.

At the center of the grassland, Kaelen and Sane’s tent was blasted away by a tremendous force. An enormous sphere of vines erupted from the earth, enveloping them both. Clouds gathered overhead, swirling into a massive vortex that covered the entire grassland. Lightning flashed within the dark mass, and the pressure from above made the ground tremble.

All spiritual energy in the vicinity rushed toward the vortex. Even in the dead of night the grassland blazed bright as day. Everyone was jolted awake and rushed outside to stare at the phenomenon.

In Obsidian, Adrian lay asleep among a pile of sub-beasts. When a subordinate’s urgent report reached him, he flung the sub-beasts aside and sprinted to an open patch of ground, staring in the direction of the vortex. His pupils shifted into vertical slits. His back hunched, fangs and claws lengthening unconsciously.

Powerful. Terrifyingly powerful. This was pressure a lowly beastman warrior like him could never withstand.

"Where is that?!"

He snapped the question at a Gray Wolf clan guard—one of the original Obsidian men. The Gray Wolf beastman had already been kneeling and shaking on the ground. At the question he struggled to raise his head, cold sweat pouring down his face. "I... I don’t know..."

"Useless!" Adrian kicked the man. The Gray Wolf beastman flew dozens of meters, slammed into a rock wall, coughed blood, and died instantly. Everyone else dropped flat to the ground.

"Send men to investigate at once!"

He could feel an overwhelming threat. He needed to uncover its source and crush the danger before it could touch him.

A Hawk beastman retreated behind the leaves, trembling from the depths of his soul, then beat his wings desperately and fled down the outer cliffs of Obsidian to carry the news. He knew better than anyone which direction that power came from. It was the direction of their Crimson tribe.

Nordhal received the report. Cold light flashed in his eyes.

"Seal every road between Obsidian and Crimson. Anyone who approaches—kill without exception."