At the eastern edge of the Scarecrow Abyss, where the Dwarven Ranges met the Elven Forest, a newly emerging settlement was developing along an ancient road.
In the past, the Scarecrow Abyss was notorious for its bizarre mechanisms, with danger far exceeding ordinary dungeons.
In other dungeons, if injured, adventurers could still attempt to retrace their steps.
But here, once injured and slowed down, they often couldn’t find the boundary to return to the upper level before falling back into those intersecting, overlapping spaces, ultimately disappearing forever inside.
Yet the relatively monotonous yields from the abyss were nowhere near sufficient to match such exorbitant risks.
Therefore, unless receiving specific commissions or being moved by certain high bounties, few adventurers were willing to linger here long-term.
With few human traces, naturally no towns specifically serving adventurers like the old Mute Wind Town could develop.
For a long time, only an elven patrol and a dwarven garrison kept watch here, guarding against monster tides while periodically clearing curses that escaped from the abyss.
However, times had changed.
Now, groups of humans fleeing war crossed the Scarecrow Abyss in droves.
Although the elves still strictly guarded their borders and accepted no outsiders, the dwarven mountains didn’t reject these human refugees.
And every team that successfully crossed the abyss carried at least one Puchi without exception—these were their talismans for traversing that dangerous land.
As human traffic increasingly grew, this border area originally jointly managed by both races naturally sprouted new vitality.
Crude wooden inns rose from the ground, providing resting places for travelers exhausted after days of continuous travel.
Fresh ingredients transported from afar were marked with high prices and sold to refugees who’d been gnawing dried rations for days.
And of course, most importantly, the Puchi sales and buyback business!
This once desolate land was awakening with vitality in a rough yet vigorous way.
The tavern was filled with the mixed scent of ale and tobacco leaves.
Though the wooden tables weren’t full, the mingled sounds of conversation, clinking cups, and occasional laughter created a lively atmosphere.
People gathered in small groups, their topics always circling around two things: first, the escalating war in the north, and second…
“Did you hear? Another group got stuck in the abyss,” a weathered burly man gulped down some ale and heavily set down his wooden cup.
His lean companion beside him lowered his voice: “That’s right, seven whole people! The group behind them watched helplessly—just ahead of them, and whoosh, they vanished. It’s been days now without any news, I’m afraid…”
The burly man shook his head and sighed: “Without preparing for falling into the deep layers, how could they possibly climb out? Now there’s a whole bunch of cursed slimes down there, even more dangerous than before!”
“How did they suddenly fall in? Didn’t they have Puchis with them?” A younger man with a somewhat immature face at the neighboring table couldn’t help but interject, his face full of confusion.
The burly man scoffed: “What else could it be? Naturally they bought fake Puchis! Taking advantage of those refugees not knowing how to identify real dungeon Puchis, they catch ordinary Puchis nearby and pass them off as genuine ones from the dungeon.”
Emerging settlements existed on both sides of the Scarecrow Abyss, but since they’d all formed spontaneously with no official forces involved in management, they were still in a relatively chaotic phase, with no one specifically handling such deplorable incidents.
“Just to save that bit of shipping fee?” The young man’s eyes widened. “This concerns people’s lives!”
Hearing the youngster’s words, several people exchanged glances and burst into laughter: “Kid, first time out adventuring? Never mind fifty silver coins in shipping fees—in these times, some people would treat another’s life as worthless for just two silver coins!”
Amidst the raucous laughter, the tavern’s creaking wooden door was suddenly pushed open.
A raggedly dressed swordsman stood in the doorway, the setting sun behind him outlining his weary yet upright form.
Strangely, as he entered, the sounds in the tavern gradually died down, turning to whispers instead.
The young man looked around in confusion, leaning close to the burly man and lowering his voice: “What’s going on? Why did everyone suddenly…”
“Fool!” The burly man also lowered his voice: “See the corrosion marks on his armor? Not just the leather armor—even the metal parts are corroded like that… This is a tough character who climbed out from the deep layers!”
The young man sharply drew in a breath and immediately dared not make a sound.
The swordsman walked with heavy steps to the counter, slapping two silver coins on the wooden board: “A room, and food.”
The owner stared at those two silver coins, opening his mouth to say this amount wasn’t enough to stay here, but seeing the marks on the man, he still prudently chose to shut up.
This down-and-out swordsman was none other than Fifteen, a personal disciple of Sword Saint Airaven.
The reason for his appearance was because he too had bought a fake Puchi!
How was he supposed to know about all those twists and turns? Rushing to travel, after briefly inquiring about Puchis’ uses and hearing about such a convenient thing, he immediately went enthusiastically to buy one. Who knew Puchis came in real and fake?!
The result was falling all the way to the bottom layer of the Scarecrow Abyss, relying solely on his longsword to kill his way out by sheer force!
Though his mission was urgent, the exhausted him truly needed to recuperate.
After wolfing down food, the utterly weary Fifteen collapsed headlong onto the inn room bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
The next dawn, when the first rays of morning light had yet to pierce through the mist, he was already dressed and departing.
Contrary to the flow of people heading to the Dwarven Ranges, his destination was the Elven Forest!
Back when Sword Saint Airaven was ambushed and severely wounded, when the army retreated to defend Threehill City but before the demons completed their encirclement, Fifteen had been ordered to break out.
This journey, he shouldered a critically important mission: to obtain an elven artifact for his master!
At the Elven Forest’s perimeter, Fifteen made no effort to hide his form and was soon discovered by forest rangers.
Two feathered arrows pinned into the mud before his toes—this was the elves’ customary warning.
However, not only did Fifteen not retreat, he stepped forward, attempting to explain his purpose.
This action angered the forest rangers hidden in the woods. Regardless of what Fifteen was saying, they decided to teach him a lesson—every person caught trying to enter the forest had similar excuses!
Fifteen had no choice but to draw his sword. In just a few breaths, he’d subdued the entire ranger squad on the ground.
He deliberately controlled his strength, only temporarily depriving them of mobility. However, the sounds of combat had already alerted more forest rangers.
Just as things were about to develop in a worse direction, a familiar figure emerged from deep in the forest shade.
Eko, former elven royal guard captain who had transferred to become forest ranger commander, recognized Fifteen’s face and raised his hand to stop his subordinates from loosing arrows.
He’d once sparred with the Sword Saint, so naturally he recognized this disciple of the Sword Saint.
Though he had quite a few complaints about that sharp-tongued Sword Saint, Eko didn’t stoop to making things difficult for juniors.
Hearing that Fifteen had urgent business seeking an audience with the elven royal court, Eko decided to personally escort him to the royal city. With him, the forest ranger commander, accompanying, there was no fear of Fifteen having other intentions.
Along the way, Fifteen’s gaze kept unconsciously drifting toward the top of Eko’s head, where a Puchi sat bouncing up and down with each of Eko’s steps.
Fifteen very much wanted to ask about it, but felt that their relationship was merely acquaintance, making it inconvenient to ask. He held it in quite painfully the entire way.
When stepping onto the winding tree paths of Ysil Doline, Fifteen was even more astonished to discover Puchi figures visible everywhere in this elven royal city—completely different from his last visit.
Looking at the Puchis that seemed to have suddenly appeared, Fifteen had an indescribable strange feeling but no time to think carefully about it.
In the deepest hall of the royal palace, he finally met Galadriel Dusksong, who was temporarily administering royal affairs. Galadriel sat upright on a throne woven from moonlight vines, radiating a cool and aloof aura.
Fifteen knelt on one knee and solemnly stated his purpose: “Noble Lady Dusksong, I come under orders from my master Airaven, humbly requesting to borrow the Hazy Moon!”
At these words, all the elves present simultaneously turned their gazes in the same direction: toward that sword leaning in moonlight beside the throne.
(End of Chapter)
