Luck–if it could still be called that–stood on Kiaria's side.

The instant his foot halted mid-step, the warning from the Dragon Emperors thundered through his consciousness like a blade striking stone. He did not hesitate. Kiaria shifted his weight backward in a smooth, controlled motion, retreating just enough to escape danger without stirring panic.

He lowered his gaze.

The ground beneath him shimmered faintly.

"…What is this…?" Kiaria murmured.

He bent down slowly, careful not to let his shadow fall over the object. Nestled among dead leaves and damp soil lay a tiny sphere of gold, gleaming unnaturally against the dull earth.

"A golden bead?!"

The words escaped him sharper than intended.

As he leaned closer, several footsteps rushed in behind him.

"Hey–don't block the light!" Kiaria snapped without looking back. "I can't see properly. Give me some space."

His tone was calm.

But firm.

The four newbies froze instantly, fear rooting them in place. They shuffled backward, breaths shallow, eyes darting between Kiaria and the ground as if the earth itself might bite.

Kiaria's eyes narrowed.

It looks like a fruit… but it's not a fruit.

The shape was wrong.

The presence was wrong.

Could it be an insect egg?

No…

He frowned slightly, confusion threading through his focus.

An egg wouldn't sit this openly. And it wouldn't shine like this.

Behind him, Chief's voice cut through the tension–weak, but authoritative.

"All of you," he ordered, "keep your distance from anything golden on the ground. And don't disturb Patron."

The words carried command.

But the voice…

It trembled.

Barely audible.

The subordinate twins noticed instantly. Years of following the Chief had trained them to read more than words. Yi turned sharply, eyes locking onto the old man's posture, the slight stiffness in his stance, the uneven breath.

That wasn't fatigue.

That was damage.

"Chief… are you alright?" Yi asked, stepping in quickly.

He caught the Chief's arm just in time, offering firm support before the old man's balance faltered further.

The Chief inhaled slowly and straightened with effort.

"I'm fine," he said, though the lie was thin. "I can stand on my own." His gaze hardened. "Just relay this clearly–tell everyone to stay away from golden-colored beads. Anything unusual. No exceptions."

Yi nodded immediately.

"Yes."

He remained at the Chief's side while passing the orders to Ru, who moved swiftly and efficiently, ensuring every survivor understood without argument.

No one questioned it.

Fear had already taught them obedience.

Kiaria turned his attention fully back to the ground.

He observed the bead again.

No movement.

No twitch.

No pulse.

Not an insect.

His senses expanded outward as he activated his Five Elemental Bloodline, sharpening all five senses at once. Sight dissected detail. Hearing filtered even the faintest disturbances. Smell traced energy rather than scent. Touch sensed ambient fluctuation. Even taste–through resonance alone–detected imbalance.

What he saw became clearer.

The bead was encased within three leaves of translucent, golden leafy sheaths. Leafy cover was thin–dangerously thin–like glass dried from sap. Veins ran through the leaves in delicate patterns, fully visible, as if preserved mid-growth.

At the center…

A golden bead floated.

Suspended.

Surrounded by an egg-white-like fluid that clung to it gently, neither fully liquid nor solid.

The entire structure was small.

The outer berry measured no more than fifteen to twenty millimeters.

The bead inside–

Barely five.

At most, ten.

Tiny.

Yet oppressive.

Kiaria's eyes darkened slightly.

Something this small… shouldn't be able to do that.

And yet–

It already had.

Kiaria did not touch the bead directly.

He scanned the ground once more, then bent slightly and picked up a dead leaf from nearby–dry, brittle, its veins cracked and colorless. Holding it between his fingers, he carefully slid the edge beneath the tiny golden structure and lifted.

The bead rose easily.

Too easily.

No roots clung to it...

No branching fibers...

No surrounding leaves trembled in response…

There was only a minute, fragile stem, thin as a hair, connecting the bead to the earth. The moment it was disturbed, that stem detached on its own, as if it had never intended to anchor itself deeply.

It felt like uprooting something that had been placed rather than grown.

Like a seed that had not yet decided whether this land was worth claiming.

"…That was quite a surprise," Kiaria murmured.

His voice was calm.

But his eyes sharpened.

Then–

CRACK.

The sound was faint, almost polite.

Too late.

The brittle, transparent leafy covering shattered far more easily than he had anticipated–fragile beyond reason, like an eggshell dried under too much sun. The protective leaves split apart, fractures racing through them in an instant.

The egg-white-like fluid inside reacted immediately.

The moment it touched open air, it turned gold.

Not slowly.

Not gradually.

It transformed violently, thickening and darkening as if awakened. The fluid surged inward, digesting the outer layer of the bead itself, dissolving it into a viscous, luminous substance.

Golden liquid spilled out.

Heavy.

Sticky.

It soaked into the dead leaf beneath, staining it with radiant gold.

For a brief second–

Nothing happened.

Then the impossible occurred.

The dead leaf twitched.

Color bled back into it, veins darkening, surface smoothing. The brittle texture softened, regaining elasticity, freshness–life. The leaf straightened slightly, as though it had never withered at all.

At the same time, somewhere above–

A tree shuddered.

Its bark dulled.

Its branches sagged.

Leaves curled and browned in seconds.

Life essence was ripped away violently, transferred without mercy.

The revived leaf lay glowing faintly in Kiaria's hand.

The tree that had birthed it began to die.

Silence crashed down on the group.

No one spoke.

No one breathed too loudly.

Fear pressed into chests heavier than any swamp stench.

Then, through that suffocating stillness, Diala stepped forward.

Her expression was tense–but focused.

"What if…" she began, choosing her words carefully, "…we cover our feet with dead leaves?"

The suggestion hung in the air.

No one laughed.

No one objected.

They thought.

Flying was dangerous–unknown aerial threats, unstable currents, invisible formations.

Leaping from branch to branch risked damaging the ecosystem–and whatever punishment this land enforced for such offense.

There was no better option.

Slowly, one by one, heads nodded.

Diala knelt down and demonstrated, tearing strips of vine and binding layers of dead leaves beneath her armored boots. She tied them tightly, ensuring the soles were fully shielded, no metal or leather exposed to the ground.

Others followed.

Hands trembled.

Knots were pulled too tight, then loosened, then tightened again.

When they finally stood, the fear did not vanish–but it settled.

The leaf coverings were crude. Temporary. Unreliable.

But they were something.

As they resumed walking, each step was placed with painful care. Eyes no longer scanned the trees or shadows above.

They stared at the ground.

Every footfall was measured.

Every movement deliberate.

No one dared to crush another golden bead.

Hour after hour, step after measured step, the forest refused to end. The trees did not thin, the beads did not lessen, and the ground beneath their feet never truly felt safe. Time stretched unnaturally, each minute dragging behind the next, until exhaustion stopped being loud and became numb.

By the time they realized it, a full day had already slipped past.

Then another.

Two days of careful movement–of staring downward more than forward–before the forest finally loosened its grip.

Ahead, the sound reached them first.

ROAR–

A violent current tore through the land, water crashing against stone with unrestrained force. A wide stream cut across their path, its surface broken and chaotic, foam striking rocks like shattered glass.

This was the edge.

One by one, they crossed.

Stepping stone to stone, timing each movement with the current's rhythm, they made it across without incident. Boots slipped once or twice, breaths caught–but everyone reached the other side.

Everyone–

Except the Chief.

He stepped forward.

His foot touched the first stone.

Pain lanced through him.

His body stiffened instantly.

He withdrew, breath hitching, fingers curling unconsciously. The Golden Berry Bead's curse had not loosened its grip–it had deepened. Every footsteps now extracted more life than before.

Subordinates rushed forward.

"We'll carry you," one said quickly.

They tried.

The moment Chief's weight shifted onto another's back, a sharp groan escaped him. Pain surged through his legs and spine, drawing a hiss between clenched teeth.

They tried again.

And again.

Nothing worked.

Each attempt only worsened his condition.

With every step–every adjustment–every breath–

The Chief aged.

Hair dulled further. Skin thinned. Strength drained visibly, like water leaking from a cracked vessel.

He waved them off, jaw tight.

"I can… endure," he said.

But it was a lie even he could no longer fully believe.

Then Diala stepped forward.

Without hesitation, she unfurled her Nimbus Cloth, wrapping it carefully around the Chief's body, securing him firmly–supporting joints, stabilizing his spine, easing the strain as much as possible.

She looked to Kiaria.

Kiaria nodded once.

No words.

He grasped the Nimbus Cloth firmly, calculated the angle, and threw.

He should feel insulted. But–

Didn't…

The motion was clean. Controlled. Precise.

Chief's body arced through the air–

Mu Long reacted instantly.

He caught him.

The impact drove a sharp grunt from Mu Long's throat as pain shot through his arms and shoulders, but he held on. Muscles locked. Feet dug in.

Pain flashed across his face–

Then faded.

Better this than letting the old man crumble one step at a time.

Chief said nothing.

He endured it all in silence.

The stream lay behind them now.

That violent current marked the boundary–the line between the cursed forest and the mainland of Re Ze Lure.

Four more hours of travel carried them fully beyond the trees.

Behind them, more than forty trees had already died in just two days–drained, hollowed, sacrificed to sustain a handful of fragile golden beads.

Ahead–

The land changed.

The mainland opened into a scene so normal it felt unreal.

Fields. Paths. Structures. People.

Life thrived openly.

Children ran. Merchants spoke. Smoke rose from cooking fires. Faces carried worry, laughter, boredom–ordinary things.

Most shocking of all–

The people lived as if this place were no different from the outside world.

No warped bodies.

No cursed expressions.

No signs of constant terror.

It was beautiful.

And that beauty felt dangerous.

Because nothing in Re Ze Lure was ever without a price.

They did not walk far into the mainland–yet something impossible caught their eyes.

A stall.

Crude wooden baskets were laid out beneath a simple shade cloth, their woven mouths overflowing with familiar shapes–round, golden, faintly gleaming even under ordinary sunlight.

Golden Berry Beads.

A woman stood beside the stall, posture straight, expression sharp. At her side, a young boy sorted the beads with practiced hands, dropping them into baskets as casually as one would handle grain or fruit.

For a heartbeat, the world froze.

Then–

The Chief moved.

He slipped from the Nimbus Cloth before anyone could stop him, feet hitting the ground with unsteady force. Pain should have crushed him. Weakness should have pulled him down.

But doubt burned hotter.

He staggered forward, half-running, half-dragged by disbelief, the Nimbus Cloth trailing behind him as the others rushed after, startled.

"Chief–!" someone called.

He didn't hear.

His eyes were locked on the baskets.

On the beads.

How…

How are they here…?

He reached the stall and leaned forward, breath ragged, gaze scanning every detail. His mind flooded with fragments–trees dying, life draining, golden footprints staining the forest floor.

Impossible.

These should not exist like this.

"Elder…?" a voice called out suddenly. "Elder, are you new here?"

The Chief didn't respond.

Slowly–almost reverently–he raised a trembling forefinger toward the basket.

Before his skin could touch the beads–

SMACK–!

A sharp kick struck his wrist, knocking his hand away.

"ARE YOU MAD?!" the merchant woman shouted, eyes blazing. "How dare you touch my goods? Are you here to ruin my business?"

Her voice cut through the air like a blade.

"If you have a death wish, do it somewhere else!" she snapped. "Don't mess with my stall!"

The Chief recoiled, shock breaking his trance.

"H–Huh…!" He straightened awkwardly and bowed hurriedly. "I'm sorry. Truly." His voice shook, not from fear, but from exhaustion and disbelief. "We encountered these beads on the way… and we lost a companion because of them. Seeing them here… I lost my composure."

The woman's eyes narrowed.

"Oh?" she scoffed. "Survivors from the swamps?"

Her gaze swept over the group with open disdain.

"How many left?"

"Less than thirty," the Chief replied honestly. He hesitated, then added quietly, "I'm not this old by nature. I lost too much life essence to these beads. Is there… a cure?"

The woman laughed.

A short, sharp sound.

"Hah. Cure?" she said coldly. "You're all going to die anyway. Why should I help you?" She crossed her arms. "You've already wasted my time and scared away four customers."

The air turned heavy.

Before anyone else could speak, Diala stepped forward.

She bowed deeply, movements calm, respectful.

"Elder," she said gently, "please forgive him. We truly know nothing about this place." Her voice carried sincerity, not desperation. "If you are unwilling to guide us, then at least… tell us what this land is. That alone would help."

The merchant studied her.

Silence stretched.

"Hmph," the woman muttered at last. "At least this girl knows manners."

She sighed dramatically. "Fine. For this little one's sake–I'll help you once."

She reached into the basket and picked up a single Golden Berry Bead, holding it between two fingers.

"Old man," she said bluntly, "put one drop of blood on it. Then eat it."

The Chief didn't hesitate.

He pricked his finger.

A single drop of blood fell.

The bead reacted instantly–devouring the blood as if starving. The brittle leafy sheath peeled open on its own, but this time, the egg-white fluid did not turn gold. Instead, it thickened, darkening as it mixed with blood, forming a solid clot around the bead.

The Chief removed leaf coat and solidified liquid.

Swallowed golden bead.

Heat surged through his body.

Wrinkles smoothed. Pallor faded. Strength returned in a rush that nearly made him stagger.

Youth reclaimed him.

A collective gasp rippled through the group.

The woman's eyes widened.

She stared at his face, then suddenly grabbed his hand.

"Hey, old man," she said briskly. "Are you married?"

"H–Huh?!" The Chief froze, face flushing crimson.

"Marry me," she said in one breath. "I'll help you leave this place."

The words hit harder than any curse.

The Chief went breathless.

He pulled his hand back slowly, turning away with a long, weary sigh–one filled with confusion, embarrassment, and the crushing weight of everything that had happened since entering Re Ze Lure.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.