The Gray Rock Realm, once a primal and mysterious wilderness, has now turned into a cruel hunting ground.

The organization and intelligence demonstrated by the Native Alliance Army far exceeded the imagination of the apprentices from Nolun Academy.

They were not just scattered indigenous people but well-trained hunters. Every trap, every ambush, directly targeted the apprentices' weaknesses.

"Damn it! It's those natives!"

"Do you have any Recovery Potions? My Spiritual Power is almost exhausted!"

"Damn it! Why isn't the Escape Ring working?!"

"This place... this place is inescapable!"

Similar cries of despair echoed throughout the Gray Rock Realm.

As the traps continued to take effect, the apprentices quickly found themselves being hunted.

The native hunters, camouflaged in animal skins, wielding poison-tipped bone spears and arrows, moved silently like venomous snakes in the underbrush.

They knew the terrain well, often using Points Cards or Rare Materials as bait to launch sudden attacks when the apprentices let their guard down.

Just a volley of unexpected poison arrows could paralyze or slow down the naive apprentices instantly.

Then the indigenous warriors with Enhanced Power would rush out, their speed so fast that their metal spears easily pierced through the apprentices' bodies before they could conjure Shields.

Many scattered teams of apprentices were caught off guard in the initial ambushes.

Their trusted Flying Skill and Escape Ring failed under mysterious spatial fluctuations. Without their go-to escape options, the apprentices were like trapped beasts, getting worn out under the native hunting.

Intermittent rescue signals filled some broadcasting Witchcraft Artifacts, only to soon fall silent.

"The Energy of the Protective Shield is insufficient! Only ten percent left!"

"My Magic Staff has run out of uses. Damn! Why are these natives so persistent?!"

In a narrow gorge, a team of eight apprentices was huddled against a rock wall, barely fending off the attacks of the native knights.

The Energy in their Witchcraft Artifacts was quickly depleting, and several artifacts supporting the Shields were creaking under the strain, eventually shattering.

The stockpile of Magic Potions visibly dwindled, and the physical and mental strain from high-intensity confrontation hit like a tidal wave, slowing down their Spells and reducing the power of their witchcraft.

These apprentices were veterans, scoffing at the cries for help from new apprentices and the natives.

With five additional years of experience, these senior apprentices of the Combat Element recognized their weaknesses, and many deeply studied several offensive or defensive witchcraft.

Though they couldn't independently construct related Witchcraft Models yet, they were certainly stronger than the newcomers.

They were confident in their emergency responses during attacks.

This belief was reinforced during the early skirmishes, as the easily defeated native teams verified their confidence.

But the continuous successful battles led them to gradually overlook the dangers, unknowingly stepping deeper into traps.

Now, these senior apprentices were pale-faced, cold sweat trickling down their foreheads.

Despite undergoing practical tests, they had never truly faced such desperate, all-or-nothing battles with no retreat.

Compared to this ordeal, the practical tests arranged by the academy were like child's play!

Every effective use of witchcraft could easily end an enemy's life, even if enemy corpses piled up high before them, enemies kept coming!

Why weren't they afraid?!

Why didn't they retreat?!

Their former confidence was worn away by relentless pressure, replaced by fatigue and anxiety.

"Captain, how much longer can we hold out?" a young female apprentice tearfully asked.

Her Spiritual Power was exhausted, leaving her only physical weapons for barely fighting back, but against those crude armor-wearing yet exceptionally fierce knights, her Swordsmanship was woefully inadequate.

Besides them, several other teams of apprentices were in this area, drawn here by the alluring stack of Points Cards in the gorge.

But now, under relentless enemy assaults, the apprentices were forced to abandon their individual strategies, gathering spontaneously in easily defensible areas like towering cliffs or narrow caves.

They formed a temporary alliance, barely constructing lines of defense to jointly resist the waves of native onslaughts.

Still, every clash claimed the life of an apprentice.

More and more became injured, fewer and fewer Potions remained, as despair loomed like a cloud over their hearts.

Unsurprisingly, once the last apprentice's Spiritual Power was depleted, the sounds of battle cries in the gorge finally ceased, leaving behind a hellish scene of blood.

The losses were considerable, but for revenge, the natives deemed it an acceptable price.

As time passed, more and more apprentices fell into the traps.

For a while, the entire wilderness became a purgatory of blood and despair.

Yet, exceptions arose in this "war," with geniuses repeatedly breaking through the natives' traps and making a name for themselves on the battlefield.

Two renowned individuals, like dazzling stars, illuminated the gray sky.

Miss Augusta, the Ninth Level Thunder Element prodigy and academy darling, led her team, unbeatable throughout the plane.

Her power was like a divine spirit of lightning descending, each strike accompanied by devastating thunder.

"Do these bugs think they can win by sheer numbers? Ridiculous."

Augusta's slender fingers tapped lightly, and a brilliant white current of lightning roared forth like a raging dragon.

The native ambushers hundreds of meters away, along with their Stealth Runes and Spiritual Interference Totems, vaporized instantly under the raging lightning, leaving charred marks trailing on the ground.

Wearing the lightweight Thunder Armor, her figure flickered unpredictably across the battlefield, each charge precisely targeting the natives' vital points.

The knights attempting to encircle her never got close enough before they were pierced by the Thunder Serpent in her hand, turning them into mere cinders.

As Miss Augusta's reputation grew louder, the Native Alliance Army took notice of her, setting up deadly traps just for her more than once.

Once, they transformed a gorge into a massive magnetic interference zone, with Runes buried underground to trigger chain explosions and Curse Totems floating above to weaken the wizard's power. Hundreds of heavily armored elite knights and shamans awaited, aiming to exhaust her using their numbers and terrain.

"Heh, little tricks." Augusta merely let out a disdainful laugh as violent thunder tore everything apart.

She summoned a column of thunder piercing heaven and earth, shattering the ground's Rune Arrays and exploding the airborne Totems.

Then, cloaked in radiant lightning, she became unstoppable, shredding the entire ambush force. Wherever thunder struck, the ground lay scorched and the natives trembled.

She barely paid attention to the defeated natives, her eyes set solely on her target—the next high-value Points Card.

To her, these natives were just small fries in her quest for glory.

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