After entering the town with caution, everyone in the envoy sensed something wrong and became alert.
No, 10 vanished without a trace, even its footsteps disappearing, while No. 4 crawled out of Inanna’s arms onto her head, making it easier to respond to attacks from any direction.
Only the Sword Saint Puchi kept “puchi puchi” strolling boldly at the front, seemingly without a care.
The scattered adventurers in town instinctively shrank into shadows upon seeing this clearly flagged, well-armored group.
Looking at the desolate emptiness, Inanna quietly asked the person beside her, “Was the town always like this?”
Beside her was Ronan, the envoy manager.
“Something must have happened. I’ll send someone to scout immediately, Lady Inanna.”
But before scouts could be sent, a sudden mana surge erupted from the nearby tavern!
Several heavy-armored guards on the flank reacted lightning-fast. They stamped forward, slamming giant shields into the ground with a *boom*. Defensive skills activated, raising a steel wall on the left.
The expected attack never came.
“I told you to stop fucking cheating!” With a crude curse, a figure wrapped in violent airflow crashed through the tavern’s half-closed wooden door and slammed into the newly raised shield wall!
A rough-faced adventurer warrior, armor stained with alcohol.
Dazed from the impact, he shook his head and stood, still cursing, “Fuck! Who the hell was leaning there—banged my head…”
Words cut off. He looked up into the heavy guards’ cold eyes and the cold-gleaming halberd blades protruding from shield gaps—all killing intent locked on him.
The curses stuck in his throat. His bravado extinguished like fire doused with water, leaving only smoke.
He froze, even breathing lightly.
Then a middle-aged man in crumpled mage robes chased out furiously, staff still glowing with gathered mana. “Today I’ll take that cheating hand of yours…”
His words stopped too.
Seeing the fully armed envoy outside—especially weapons pointed at him—the mage’s mouth twitched. He subconsciously tried shrinking back inside.
“Please stay, sir.” Ronan’s calm voice rang. Two guards had already silently blocked the tavern door.
The mage was “invited” to the street center, standing with the warrior.
Under the armed envoy’s gaze, both looked small and awkward. Even when No. 4 poked their faces repeatedly with tentacles, they dared not complain.
Ronan rode forward, eyes sweeping the pair. He ignored their collision and cut straight in: “What happened to this town? Why so few people?”
The warrior swallowed. “O-officer, I don’t know! Three days ago when I arrived, it was already like this! People… like blown away by wind. Shops still had stuff then—not like abandoned long.”
The mage, calmer, added quickly, “I got here early, searched houses. Food spoiled but not badly. People gone at most… a week. No fight traces except the potion shop.”
“Potion shop?”
They found the potion shop—clearly looted by adventurers, a mess.
Guided by the mage, they did find some fight traces, but few. Either stopped quickly or one-sided strength gap.
Later conversation revealed rumors circulating the past two days.
Some said demons found a way through Corruption Lake and raided. Others: Scarecrow Abyss curse overflowed, turning everyone into scarecrows dragged deep. Or cult sacrifices, elves/dwarves driving people out, mutated monsters, even Puchi betrayal…
Overall, little value.
Finally Ronan signaled guards to release them. “Stay where you belong.”
He left that line, turned his horse, and returned to Inanna. The envoy slowly moved again.
They couldn’t stop for unknown reasons.
Unknown to them, unlike the envoy’s nothing-found, the Sword Saint Puchi sensed abnormality.
This scene felt familiar—from his younger days…
Moreover, he spotted a sneaky guy.
Other adventurers hid to avoid trouble. Only that one not only concealed himself but radiated barely restrained malice.
Someone who couldn’t even hide malice was like wearing “I’m suspicious” on their face to the Sword Saint.
By the way, in the mushroom garden he often felt similar unrestrained malice—bigger, source untraceable. He guessed it came from the Fungus Lord.
Yet he thought someone so behind-the-scenes, controlling everything, clearly ambitious and deep-scheming wouldn’t obsess over that old dungeon triviality.
The malice-filled guy observed the envoy a while then slipped away.
The Sword Saint Puchi considered following, but in its perception, the also-stealthed No. 10 had already moved first.
From the journey, the Sword Saint quite appreciated No. 10.
He never expected such a reliable Puchi—at least more reliable than his own disciple.
Only issue: too aloof. Occasionally he wanted to chat; barely any response.
Since No. 10 was pursuing, the Sword Saint didn’t move—he had to protect his great-niece.
Some time after the envoy moved on, No. 10 returned.
Blood stained its body—not Puchi blood, someone else’s. Two left tentacles regenerating, almost done.
It immediately shared tracking results on the network.
“Behind that mountain is a ravine with black-robed people doing some sacrifice ritual. Probably human cultists.” No. 10 wasn’t certain—it had never seen a cult before. “Not weak, but no sign of ambushing us.”
“Cult!” Inanna’s eyes widened, recalling terrifying cult rumors.
“Wipe them out?” No. 4 perked up.
“They’re not weak. The leader’s definitely temple-tier. Sensed me from far away. We’re an envoy, not an army.”
For No. 10, the key was they weren’t provoking—the rest, cult or demon, didn’t block the way, fine.
But the Sword Saint clearly disagreed.
“A cult? Hand of Passage?” Some things didn’t change just because he became No. 14 Puchi. His sword-wrapped tentacles itched. “Perfect timing!”
(End of Chapter)
