Chapter 63: The Trail of Blood and Magic

Lia did not rush into action.

From her backpack, she retrieved a small vial of potion and meticulously erased her presence.

She then painstakingly cleared every trace from the spot, not even a broken blade of grass escaping her notice.

Only after completing these preparations did she silently slip into the ruins, moving along the ridge’s shadows.

Her landing was precise, her feet finding purchase on solid stone as her entire form transformed into a phantom, melting seamlessly into the intricate interplay of light and shadow cast by the crumbling walls.

The deathly silence within the ruins proved even more oppressive than that of the forest.

The air hung heavy with a peculiar, fermented scent—a blend of ancient stone and decaying vegetation that settled deep within her lungs.

Footprints on the ground remained starkly clear, suggesting the individual had given no thought to concealing their passage.

And truly, in a place utterly devoid of life, who would ever anticipate encountering another living soul?

Lia followed the tracks, navigating the labyrinthine ruins.

Soon, more clues came into her perception.

She found a stone door violently forced open, its protective runes on the hinges long defunct; the door panel itself bore the deep indentations of pure physical impact.

Nearby, a small, recently extinguished campfire still held residual warmth in its ashes, discarded alongside it were animal bones picked entirely clean.

‘He rested here,’ Lia mused.

Lia’s thoughts remained cool and analytical.

This individual’s actions resembled those of a master surveying their own decaying estate.

After several hundred more meters, a faint, metallic scent of blood pricked at her nostrils.

Lia’s steps halted abruptly; she pressed her body against the wall, her senses stretched to their utmost.

The scent originated from a partially collapsed plaza just ahead.

In the very center of the plaza lay a massive carcass.

Only after confirming the safety of her surroundings did Lia soften her steps, cautiously nearing the fallen creature.

Its form was unlike anything she had ever encountered.

Though wolf-like in stature, its entire body was encased in grayish-white bony plates, with sharp bone spurs protruding from its joints.

Most bizarrely, its mouth held no teeth, but instead, concentric rings of keratinized structures, reminiscent of grinding wheels.

Lia swiftly cross-referenced Adèle’s ‘Field Survival Illustrated Guide’ in her mind,

yet found no matching entry.

‘An unrecorded, indigenous species,’ she concluded.

The carcass was remarkably fresh, the blood oozing from its wounds not yet fully congealed.

The fatal wound was located at its neck.

A single, clean cut had almost entirely decapitated it.

A swift, decisive strike.

Lia knelt, her fingertips brushing lightly over the wound’s edge as her spiritual power slowly seeped into it.

Residual magic lingered.

‘It’s a variant of the Pneumatic Slash,’ Lia thought.

She recognized it as a spell that harnessed high-velocity airflow to create a razor-sharp edge, a foundational application of the Force Field school of magic.

‘The spell model is remarkably refined, and the energy dissipation rate is minimal,’ she observed.

‘It seems the caster has achieved a proficient grasp of their own magical power.’

Lia closed her eyes, rapidly reconstructing the spell’s intricate model within her mind.

Energy output intensity, precision of shaping, release velocity… each parameter surfaced clearly.

‘Third-ring,’ she deduced.

The individual’s power level likely matched that of a Third-ring Mage.

Either a seasoned Second-ring at their peak, or a newly ascended Third-ring Mage.

This caliber of opponent remained well within her capabilities.

However…

‘The model construction is too rigid,’ she mused.

Lia gave a slight frown.

‘A classic case of knowing the ‘how’ but not the ‘why,’ merely copying formulas without understanding how to fine-tune parameters based on practical circumstances.’

Lia rose to her feet, her initial flicker of tension swiftly supplanted by a surge of keen inquisitiveness.

A Third-ring Mage, clearly familiar with this place and possessing a definite objective.

‘Is he also here for the treasure of that fallen noble family?’

‘Or perhaps, he himself holds an intricate connection to that very lineage?’

Lia quickly reached a decision.

‘Follow him.’

‘He is a living map; trailing him is the swiftest path to unraveling all these mysteries.’

The risks were manageable, and the potential rewards far greater.

She reapplied the scent-masking potion, then, adopting an even more cautious demeanor, resumed her pursuit along the tracks.

Her movements were now swifter, and even more discreet.

The path ahead grew increasingly secluded as the footprints diverged from what appeared to be a main thoroughfare, winding into a network of dilapidated, spiderweb-like alleyways.

Lia paused at a corner.

Etched into the ground ahead was a complex magic array; its runes were faded, yet its structure remained perfectly intact.

By scrutinizing its design, Lia identified it as an ancient alarm trap.

While the energy circuit was ingeniously crafted, its trigger mechanism was overly simplistic and crude.

The man’s footprints skirted the very edge of the trap’s detection zone, precisely avoiding activation.

‘He certainly knew about this trap,’ she concluded.

Lia made no attempt to disarm it, knowing it would waste precious time and leave behind traces of her own magic.

Instead, she opted to bypass it as well.

The deeper she ventured, the more her suspicions solidified.

This man and the family behind the treasure map were undeniably intertwined.

‘Perhaps he was a descendant of that very family, returning to reclaim his ancestral legacy.’

‘Then what does that make me?’ she wondered. ‘A highwayman who just stumbled upon the scene?’

Just then, a faint yet unmistakable surge of energy emanated from not far ahead.

‘A battle,’ she realized.

Lia instantly suppressed every trace of her presence, pressing herself silently into the shadow of a crumbling wall, only her head peeking out.

Before her lay a relatively open courtyard.

The man was locked in combat with another formidable bone-armored beast.

The man, clad in grayish-black leather armor, possessed an agile physique.

His face, etched with resolute lines by wind and weather, suggested an age around thirty.

He seemed to wield no weapon, instead holding his fingers together like a sword, using them to guide his spells.

Pale green wind blades rapidly materialized at his fingertips, darting with cunning precision towards the beast’s vulnerable joints.

His fighting style was strikingly efficient, devoid of any superfluous movements; every ounce of his spiritual energy was honed to lethal effect.

This particular beast was even larger than the previous carcass, its bony armor appearing significantly thicker and more formidable.

The wind blades merely sparked against its hide, leaving behind only faint, insignificant white marks.

The man remained unhurried, utilizing agile footwork to relentlessly chip away at the beast’s endurance.

The man’s strength aligned perfectly with her assessment; he was indeed a Third-ring Mage.

His extensive combat experience marked him as a seasoned veteran.

Lia quietly observed his effortless mastery of the fight.

As he moved, Lia recognized the spell he was preparing: an advanced iteration of the wind blade, one that initially combined raw force with evocation, condensing dispersed cutting power into a single point, thus elevating its potency exponentially.

The beast’s massive body suddenly presented a fleeting opening.

The man seized the opportune moment.

His right palm snapped open, and a mass of highly compressed air frantically coalesced within it, forming a visible white vortex.

“Piercing Cone,”

the man intoned with a low growl, thrusting the ‘Piercing Cone’ from his hand.

The white vortex shot forth, leaving a perfectly straight vacuum trail in its wake, and unerringly plunged into the beast’s eye socket.

The beast’s colossal body instantly stiffened, then crashed heavily to the ground.

Its brain had been utterly pulverized into a pulpy mess from within by the furious vortex.

The battle concluded.

The man gasped for several ragged breaths before approaching the fallen beast.

To Lia’s surprise, he made no move to collect any spoils of the battle.

Extending a finger, he dipped it into the beast’s still-warm blood and meticulously drew a peculiar symbol on a nearby flat stone slab.

The symbol consisted of three concentric circles intersected by a single straight line passing through all their centers.

Upon completing the drawing, the man rose with a solemn expression, oriented himself, and continued deeper into the ruins.

Lia waited quietly for a moment, extending her senses to confirm the man had truly departed, before stepping out from behind the wall and approaching the stone slab.

Her gaze settled upon the symbol, starkly rendered in fresh blood.

‘Could this be a marker?’

‘Is he marking his path?’

‘No, it also feels like some kind of ritual.’

The unfolding events seemed to be veering sharply from the expected treasure hunt narrative.

Lia cast a glance in the direction the man had vanished, then her eyes returned to the symbol on the ground, which radiated both a sanguine and mysterious aura.

She hesitated no longer, flashing forward to follow.

Regardless of whether treasure or a trap lay ahead, she was determined to see it through to the end.