Chapter 53: The Mangrove Forest

Rowling had been in the Maya Mountains for nine days.

As evening fell, the world was gripped by cold, and a biting wind howled past. Rowling shivered; his body, even as a third-level mage, was still somewhat frail. If he were a third-level warrior, weather like this would not affect him in the slightest.

He and Little Black huddled behind a large tree. They had just eaten some dry rations and planned to spend the night here.

“Phew… today is the Day of the War God, Little Black.” Rowling cupped his hands around his mouth, breathing warmth into them before rubbing them together.

A glimmer flickered in Little Black’s large eyes. “That’s right, Little Row. This time last year, we were still at your home, playing with your little brother Hawk.”

A faint smile appeared on Rowling’s face. He remembered it clearly. On this day last year, Hawk had begged him to play with the Necromancer’s Space, filling it with fireworks. His father, Gregil, and his mother, Isa, were all smiles. That evening, they ate a reunion dinner together, then went to the church square in Borsang Town, where the whole town celebrated as one…

Today is once again the Day of the War God. My parents and brother must be having a joyous time. This is my first time being away from home for the holiday—they must be thinking of me.

Suddenly, Victoria’s image surfaced in his mind. Last year, after the festival, he had left for the academy. By the bonfire on the back hill, he had met her, shared dinner, and together they set off fireworks. Thinking of it now, the memory was still sweet.

“I wonder if Victoria is still in the Maya Mountains. If she is, might we meet again?” Lost in thought, Rowling’s mind drifted.

Cous floated in midair, gazing at the surroundings, which seemed so familiar that he felt dazed. Once, he had traveled this very path, discovering the ancient ruin. He had then searched everywhere for disciples who met the ancient master’s requirements, but not long after, he lost his body during the great calamity that swept away necromancers. Were it not for the white stone, he would have perished long ago. In the blink of an eye, more than a thousand years had passed, and here he was again, on this same road.

…

Two days later.

A sharp wolf’s howl pierced the air, and a pack of giant wolves surrounded Rowling and Little Black.

This was a pack of third-level Wind Wolves, numbering about twenty or thirty. There was no fourth-level leader among them; at the head was only a particularly robust third-level Wind Wolf. They had suddenly burst out onto the road to the ancient ruin. It had been a long time since these magical beasts had tasted human flesh, and seeing Rowling, they had no intention of letting him go.

Faced with this pack, their eyes shining with ferocity, jaws agape and fixed on him and Little Black, Rowling showed an odd expression. After all, his Necromancer’s Space also housed a pack of wolves, though his were only second-level Light Wolves.

With a growl, the lead Wind Wolf gave the command to attack. The pack pounced, some slashing out with several wind blades.

Suddenly, another wolf pack appeared around Rowling. These were smaller than the Wind Wolves, their eyes dull and lifeless—the very second-level Light Wolves from the Necromancer’s Space.

No sooner had they appeared than they began firing light blasts, intercepting the incoming attacks of the Wind Wolves.

Seeing so many of their own kind, the Wind Wolves were momentarily stunned, unable to fathom why these magical beasts were helping a human.

Controlled by Rowling, the wolf corpses attacked with all their might. Though weaker in rank, the element of surprise allowed them to seriously injure several Wind Wolves right away.

With another howl, the lead Wind Wolf, sensing danger, ordered a full-scale assault.

The Wind Wolves snapped out of their daze and launched a savage onslaught. Now, the Light Wolves began to falter. After all, as second-level magical beasts, they were outmatched in strength, speed, and defense.

Suddenly, a powerful, resonant howl cut through the chaos—Rowling had summoned the fourth-level Light Wolf leader from the Necromancer’s Space. As it appeared, it roared furiously at the pack of third-level Wind Wolves. Though Light Wolves and Wind Wolves were not exactly the same species, as fellow canines, they instinctively feared this higher-ranked leader.

With the Light Wolf leader’s arrival, the tide turned. Rowling then summoned Skeleton Brian, and he and Little Black joined the fray.

The outcome was never in doubt. After nearly half an hour of fierce battle, the third-level Wind Wolves lay dead to the last, not a single one escaping. Many of Rowling’s second-level corpse wolves were destroyed, with only five or six surviving, including the fourth-level Light Wolf leader.

Despite losing so many corpse wolves, Rowling felt no disappointment—on the contrary, he was delighted. He had lost many second-level Light Wolves, but now he had gained a large number of intact third-level Wind Wolves. He had deliberately kept the corpses as whole as possible during the fight, and now, nearly all the bodies lying around could be put to use.

As before, Rowling gathered all the third-level Wind Wolves into the Necromancer’s Space, then found a safe spot to bring them out again. He first had these Wind Wolves relinquish their third-level magic cores, then refined them. Soon, all these Wind Wolves became his subordinates. With this swap—replacing second-level Light Wolves with third-level Wind Wolves—Rowling’s combat strength soared.

In the blink of an eye, Rowling had spent a month and a half in the Maya Mountains. On the way to the ancient ruin, Rowling and his companions had faced many dangers but made it through safely. Now, the Necromancer’s Space held thirty-six robust third-level Wind Wolves, the result of continuous upgrades along the way. Other third-level magical beasts had been acquired, but none were as powerful as Wind Wolves, so Rowling had chosen to keep only them. The fourth-level Light Wolf leader was also replaced by a fourth-level Wind Wolf leader.

Since he could control only one magical beast above his own rank, and Wind Wolves were easier to manage, he made the switch.

By now, these mighty beasts nearly filled the ten-cubic Necromancer’s Space to bursting. Unless Rowling leveled up and expanded its capacity, there would be no room for more undead.

During these six weeks, battles with magical beasts had honed the combat skills of Rowling, Little Black, and Brian. However, as a mage, Rowling’s body remained too fragile—on several occasions, he narrowly escaped death, accumulating more than a dozen scars.

Yet, Rowling was overjoyed by the haul of magic cores he had collected, now worth thousands of gold coins—a fortune that would vastly improve his family’s circumstances and spare his father, Gregil, from daily toil.

Lost in these thoughts as he walked, Rowling suddenly glimpsed a flash of red ahead. To his astonishment, several towering trees with crimson leaves and trunks stood before him. Looking further, he saw that the landscape ahead was a vast ocean of red trees stretching as far as the eye could see.

“Uncle Cous, look! This must be the ‘Red Forest’ you spoke of!” Rowling exclaimed excitedly.

With a flash, Cous emerged from the white stone, surveyed the surroundings, and said, “That’s right, this is the Red Forest. The ancient ruin lies in its heart!”

With Cous’s confirmation, Rowling was elated. Before long, he would finally reach the true goal of his journey to the Maya Mountains—the ancient ruin.