Goblin Dependency

Didn't fly far, only made half a turn in the air before crashing heavily to the ground.

"Careful, something's not right with this thing!"

From behind, came a warning from my teammates.

Gorg maintained his stance of swinging the wooden stick, his beastly eyes staring unblinkingly ahead.

There, the shriveled figure that just took a heavy hit from him, struggled to get up, its hands pressing on the ground.

It seemed a stray wind could topple it, but there wasn't a single mark of injury, just some stone dust from the ground.

Swoosh—

A sharp noise pierced through the air around me, a sharp silhouette flashed past the corner of my eye at a speed beyond normal human reflexes.

Behind me, the Blood Blade Squad's ranged shooter "Qianli", her pale fingertips hovered, the taut bowstring quivered with the inertia of force.

A long arrow with dark green tail feathers left a long empty trail in the mist and pierced through the dry corpse's chest in an instant.

Didn't manage to penetrate!

The body's toughness far exceeded expectations, even a professional-level archer's full strike couldn't pierce it through as expected.

The arrowhead was stuck deep in the chest, with only the tail feathers and most of the arrow shaft left outside, vibrating in the air.

Luckily, having yet to regain its balance, the corpse was struck so, its body stiffly leaned backward.

"Roar!!!"

The roar from the Grassland Tribe echoed in the mist.

The failed strike seemed to inflict an intolerable insult on Gorg, his muscles swelled and filled with blood, his skin covered in a layer of furious fiery red, his already burly figure expanded even more.

His boots shattered instantly, and under the force of his muscles, his big feet almost cracked the ground.

The red and green light flashed in the air, quickly arriving in front of the dry corpse.

A stout arm, like an adult's waist, raised high, wielding the thick iron embedded wooden stick, striking down with terrifying momentum and exaggerated frequency.

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Struck five times against the dry corpse's skull.

Finally, with a sound resembling an eggshell cracking, it stopped.

"Huff... huff..."

The half orc Gorg panted heavily, anger rapidly faded from his red skin.

In its place was a strange bewilderment.

Looking at the corpse whose head he managed to crush, Gorg strangely felt a sense of powerlessness.

Why?

Why did this shriveled corpse, likely ignored in a graveyard, require such effort from him to barely smash it?

"Clap."

A calloused hand lightly patted the half orc's shoulder.

"Well done."

Marcus stepped over Gorg's body, casually encouraging him.

His gaze, however, involuntarily fell on the corpse on the ground.

His expression slightly sombre.

His adventurous experiences were substantial, and while asking questions and cautiously approaching, he had some guesses about the identity of this dry corpse.

It should naturally be an undead creature born in this place.

After all, its form and actions aligned with his impressions of these creatures.

And that's why he agreed to let Gorg approach proactively; he was brought into the team for this purpose.

What he didn't expect was that the dry corpse, faced with Gorg's unrestrained fierce strike, exhibited a peculiar resilience different from its fragile appearance.

Even Ranger Qianli barely broke its defense but failed to inflict a wound sufficient to render it unable for combat.

"Something's wrong."

This dry corpse, or rather, this mist-filled and grey rocky valley... has problems.

Marcus felt alert.

Yet, on his scarred face, an inexplicable excitement appeared.

Because he knew clearly.

For adventurers like them, most of the time...

Danger and reward are equal.

If they hadn't encountered any enemy along this valley path, he'd instead feel uneasy, suspecting that there's a high-level demon hidden in the mist or some trap deliberately luring them in.

Currently, the enemy may be tricky, but it has now revealed itself to the squad, and they've mentally prepared for future encounters.

"The remains of an ancient Necromancer or an ancient civilization adept at utilizing undead powers?"

Marcus pondered with expectation.

"Seems to be related to spellcasters."

If it's as he imagined, then "Blood Blade Marcus" would truly strike it big!

On the other side, seeing Gorg finish fighting.

The mountain dwarf "Stone Belly" quickly took action.

Like a trained hunting dog, the stout and short body crawled across the ground, meticulously and efficiently searching the entire venue excluding the altar.

Even carefully touching the cloak on the dry corpse's body, checking for hidden pockets, and reassembled its smashed head to search the mouth for potential gains.

All possible hiding places on this corpse were thoroughly scavenged by the dwarf.

The result... naturally nothing was found.

Stone Belly shook his head at Marcus and others, showing not much disappointment but instead a hopeful glance into the mist.

"There's nothing valuable here."

"But my instincts tell me, going deeper might yield unexpected gains."

Although he said so, the entire squad, including Gorg, knew clearly.

They actually haven't checked one place in this spot.

But due to some adventurers' unspoken rule, the four silently ignored it, not mentioning it.

Where?

Naturally, the most eye-catching place, the goddess statue, broken to only half its size.

In a world where divine beings exist, with annual incidents of divine apparition sightings, and where your soul can truly be sent to the Divine Kingdom after death to enjoy, or endlessly tortured in Purgatory.

Even the most dull street vagabond knows to show the utmost reverence to certain things.

And for adventurers, who often tread a fine line, their heads tied to their belts, they're even more sensitive to such matters.

Unless utterly driven to madness, one wouldn't dare to touch such taboos.

Only after a brief adjustment, the Blood Blade Squad tacitly bypassed the statue, continuing towards the mist.

Not long after they left.

As the mist silently swirled, a pitch-black figure revealed itself in the venue.

Everything that just happened was seen by Xia Nan.

Including, but not limited to, the eerily resilient corpse, Gorg's strike force, and the final fruitless cleaning of the area.

While pondering, he suddenly stepped forward two steps, his sword "Green Pine" already unsheathed.

As he approached the corpse, Xia Nan could feel the temperature at the sword hilt heating up, with a faint red flame glow emanating from the sword edge, distorting the surrounding air, and stirring the white mist.

A flip of his wrist, without exerting force, just lightly set the edge of his wooden sword against the dry corpse's body.

In the next second, the seemingly thin yet incredibly resilient dark purple skin, which even a professional's arrow couldn't penetrate, and required enormous effort from even a powerfully gifted half orc to break.

Instantly softened with the sizzling sound of flame burning, sliced like hot knife through butter.

Xia Nan barely exerted force, simply swayed the sword hilt lightly, cutting down half the dry corpse's arm.

Nodding discreetly, he knew what to do.

Sheathed the sword.

His gaze moved upwards, lingering a moment on the broken statue atop the heavy base.

Then abruptly withdrew his gaze.

Figure disappeared into the mist.