Chapter 108: Bloodshed in the Dense Fog

“Ye Ran, close your eyes. When your sight can no longer help you see yourself clearly, you must learn to see with your heart,” Shali gently instructed. “The human eye struggles to perceive qi energy and the source of life, but you can feel them. It’s like the spring breeze and warmth—you cannot see them, yet they are always by your side.”

Under Shali’s patient guidance, Ye Ran closed his eyes, his mind clearing into a tranquil void. The qi within him flowed in orderly currents, gradually weaving a complex, interlaced pattern of the human body’s meridians in his mind. Then, the meridians faded into nothingness, while the qi grew stronger.

“The body’s qi and the primordial source complement each other. The source is the root of qi, while qi is the vessel through which the source manifests—neither can be lacking. Do you see the intertwining black and golden tree trunks before you? That rushing black flow is your primordial source, called Eri.”

“It is unlike wind, fire, thunder, or lightning; it is a unique kind of source.”

“I once saw Antaeus beneath the withered World Tree. He is the son of Gaia, the Earth Mother. As long as he touches the ground, he wields boundless power. This is a branch of the source of strength. Your Eri is a gift from the heavens. One day, you will possess a power as great as Antaeus’s...”

Ye Ran’s hands formed an embracing gesture as the qi surged, occasionally sweeping aside the strands of hair over his forehead. His face was expressionless, cold and stern, yet focused and resolute. At this close range, Shali gazed intently at his features.

Looking at his face, at his furrowed brow, Shali seemed to glimpse the hardships of his past. The trials a person endures cannot be erased, only forgotten with the passage of time.

Shali winked at Freya and quietly stepped out of the grass hut.

“Shali, I see it now,” Ye Ran suddenly said, the qi around him slowly rising.

“What?” Shali asked, puzzled.

“The source—it feels like a life trying to break free from its shell, but it cannot break through the black casing.”

Shali smiled. “Let it nurture a little longer. When it grows strong enough, one day it will break free.”

“Mm,” Ye Ran agreed, the qi within him flowing faster.

Shali gently closed the door behind her. Silence fell over the thatched hut, save for the faint sound of flowing qi. The qi energy released from Ye Ran’s body suddenly contracted, all currents rushing inward.

Within Ye Ran’s perception, the body’s meridians vanished completely. The now powerful qi reversed course, colliding fiercely with the black energy.

He was trying to break through the shell imprisoning the source of his power.

As the qi flowed back, the first to suffer damage were his tendons and blood vessels. The initial impact caused veins to bulge across his hands and face, bloodlines spreading over his skin.

A faint metallic sweetness filled his nostrils. Ye Ran hurried to restore his qi’s normal flow, but after a brief pause, he gathered himself and launched a second assault...

The thatched hut remained silent and tense, much like the land of Ipseya—seemingly calm on the surface, but fraught with lurking danger.

The Blood Clan’s secret treasure had drawn forces from Torrent City, Frostfall City, and various factions. The Hunter God Tribe, like ravenous hyenas sensing blood, mobilized. Elves, dwarves, and hunters all stirred to action.

For days, the hills, taverns, swamps, and forests of Ipseya were teeming with those seeking the Blood Clan’s treasure, yet none succeeded.

The Hunter God Tribe was the first to halt their search. The sudden death of Ivan, the Fearsome Hand, dealt them a severe shock.

Ivan was a major wanted criminal within the Demon Hunting Legion. Though not the strongest in the Hunter God Tribe—the vice-captain Old Griem slightly surpassed him—he was the most arrogant and ruthless, a prime example of what demons feared most.

Yet this feared figure perished at the hands of an unknown youth named Ye Ran. Though all seemed calm now, everyone knew the Hunter God Tribe would relentlessly seek revenge against this fledgling adversary.

By evening, the Minotaur encampment was bustling. Labrador busied himself bringing dish after dish from the kitchen.

Even beyond the Troll Forest, these minotaurs preserved their tribal customs—always eating together.

However, they had adopted some human habits, such as using tables, bowls, and chopsticks, moving away from the primitive practice of tearing food with their hands and teeth.

“Divine Envoy, where is Brother Ye?” someone asked.

Over the campfire, two mountain chickens roasted to golden perfection, their aroma filling the air.

Shali tore off a drumstick and handed it to Freya, smiling. “That boy is still hard at work. He’ll be at it late into the night. Let’s save this chicken for him.”

Freya hurried over and carefully wrapped the untouched mountain chicken in greasepaper.

Minotaur chieftain Barnar raised his cup. “Brother Ye’s dedication is truly admirable. I guarantee that within two years, he will make a name for himself here in Ipseya.”

He took a hearty sip.

“Woof! Woof!” The hunting dogs at the camp suddenly barked furiously at the gate.

These were no ordinary domesticated dogs but wild hounds caught from the Troll Forest. Born amidst danger—giants, goblins, wolves, and beasts—their senses were extraordinarily sharp.

As dusk fell, smoke from the fire curled around the entrance, blending with the darkness to form a thick gray mist. Heavy footsteps echoed, mingled with the clinking of chains.

Sinclair and the others put down their food and stared into the fog.

“Keep eating. I’ll go check it out,” Barnar said firmly.

How could the chieftain tolerate an intrusion on his home? Grabbing his war hammer resting nearby, he strode into the mist.

“Barnar, I’ll go with you. Xiao Meng, stay here,” Sinclair said, grasping his own slightly smaller hammer, the axe hidden in his sleeve quietly dropping into his hand.

“Zzz,” Barnar’s nearly three-meter-long war hammer scraped sparks as it dragged along the ground. The two men marched into the fog.

Ahead, a dark shape became clearer, and a sickening stench of blood filled their noses. They stopped five meters from the figure.

Barnar slammed his heavy hammer onto the ground with a loud clang and said in a deep voice, “Show yourself.”

“Clank, clank,” harsh iron chains rattled.

From the mist emerged a huge black boar, its bristling hair like steel spikes. Two tusks protruded from its mouth, sharp and over a meter long.

Its fierce eyes glowed with malice, and a dark aura radiated from its entire body. The black mountain boar resembled a small mountain itself.

Thick iron chains, as thick as a child’s arm, dragged behind it. Barnar and Sinclair realized a rider sat astride the beast.

Clad in heavy black iron armor, the rider’s helmet was as large as three ordinary heads stacked, though his body was not much taller than an average man. He gave off an aura of immense strength, as if possessing inexhaustible brute force.

He wielded a chain in one hand and a wolf-tooth club in the other. His terrifying eyes, bloodshot and fierce, fixed on Sinclair and Barnar.

When Sinclair noticed the black mark at the corner of his eye and the roughness of his skin, he gasped.

This rider was no man but the leader of the Blood Gnomes.