Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A Path Too Narrow

I found a decent hideout near the crater's rim and stashed my backpack along with most of my weapons. My plan was simple: to run faster than humanly possible across that precarious stone bridge, carrying only my artifacts—like Hazeveil. Ever since it was damaged in that earlier fight, the cloak had begun to shift its alignment on its own, ensuring it never tangled itself in my movements. It was subtle, but I noticed how it always readjusted before I dodged or struck. It felt perfect for what I had in mind.

At first, I considered waiting for night, believing the darkness would give me some cover. But the thought of night beasts prowling this chasm unsettled me too deeply. I resolved to try it by day, relying on speed to avoid direct combat as much as possible.

Once I returned to the bridge's start, I paused, taking a long look across the massive hole. The opposite side was lost in rolling mist. Looking down again, I saw that the mana appeared denser below, almost a swirling haze that devoured the light. Maybe something deep in that abyss drew in mana like a vortex, creating a perfect lair for horrors.

But I remembered how many people depended on me to find an artifact that could ease their hunger. Turning back was no longer an option. This path—narrow, treacherous, and teeming with danger was my only route toward District 4. So I ran. Mustering all my enhanced strength, I sprinted across the stone bridge with leaps and bounds. Hazeveil clung to me, shifting with each stride, its runes faintly shimmering.

No sooner had I started than the beasts noticed my presence. I sensed a disturbance from below and reflexively jumped high, narrowly avoiding the slimy tongues of two shoggoths. Their tongues slapped wetly against the underside of the bridge, missing me by a fraction. But my desperate leap carried me out into the open air.

That was when I spotted them: Threxids.

Countless Threxids drifted through the foggy skies—an amalgam of insect, crustacean, and some worm-like abomination. Their chitinous shells rippled under the dim light, and tiny, fast-beating wings held them aloft. Each Threxid's body seemed asymmetrical, its six segmented legs protruding at odd angles for midair stability, and two powerful crustacean arms functioning like deadly scythes. They had no eyes, only thick, segmented antennae on top of their heads, sensing every vibration. With me suspended in mid-leap, I was the perfect prey.

They converged on me in those few seconds I was airborne. Thanks to Hazeveil's subtle redirection, I twisted away, barely avoiding the pincers of the nearest Threxid. Its arms clamped shut, slicing through the fog with a sharp crack. But in dodging, I realized too late that I was drifting away from the bridge—helplessly falling deeper into District 3's immense hole.

My heart lurched as I stared down. Even with Hazeveil, I could not alter my trajectory enough to get back onto the narrow bridge. Panic fluttered in my chest, but I forced it down and activated my Shardbound Bracers. The runic engravings flared around my wrists, and the obsidianhide material vanished from my arms, re-forming below me as a small shield-like platform.

Kara had warned me that controlling the platform's exact placement would be tricky, so I needed Hazeveil's guidance to angle my fall. My cloak shifted again, tugging me just enough that I landed on the obsidianhide pad. The shield would only last three seconds, so I moved fast—kicking off with all my might. The platform vanished behind me, returning to my bracers, leaving them temporarily inactive for about five minutes.

The momentum sent me upward at a steep angle, but it was just enough to let me catch the edge of the bridge. My arms ached as I clung there, pulling myself back onto the stone bridge. Winded, I glanced around, seeing that I had barely advanced a handful of meters from the start of the bridge.

Meanwhile, the hole below me boiled with activity. Shoggoths launched more tongues in my direction, thick with slime. I heard the guttural screeches of other underground beasts stirring in hidden caverns, drawn by the commotion. Overhead, the Threxids whirled in a frenzied cluster, some still searching for me. I scrambled onto the bridge, dodging acid splatters that hissed ominously against the stone. One slip and I'd tumble again and this time, I had no quick platform to save me.

Realizing how pointless it was to continue at that moment, I dashed back to the starting point. My artifact needed time to recharge, and the beasts were too agitated to ignore me if I tried another charge. Within moments of my retreat, many of the beasts turned on each other again, presumably continuing their endless skirmishes for dominance in the chasm. It was an unnerving sight, lethal creatures forgetting my presence the instant I was gone, resuming their constant, savage conflict in the fog.

Panting, I stared at the bridge. Its simple, unblemished stone stretched across a gulf shrouded in gray haze. Truly an ominous path, unguarded and open to attacks from every angle. There was no doubt in my mind that this bridge stretched for many kilometers—perhaps even reaching the end of District 3. And at its farthest point, my goal might be waiting.

Yet, it could also be where my journey ends. If I fall, I may never be able to climb back up. And even if I do, by the time I return, there might be no family left waiting for me in District 98.

…

I was not any more successful on my second attempt. I almost lost my neck to a Threxid's snapping pincers before the onset of night forced me to abandon the idea. When the sun's faint glow vanished, Gloomwings and other dark-suited, winged predators took over the skies.

Hoping stealth might serve me better, I waited for the darkest part of the night. The fog's natural glow still illuminated the stone bridge, and above, the moon—a wan mirror of the sun—shone through the fog, its brightness partially devoured by the murk. But no structures stood nearby to cast protective shadows. There was only me, the narrow path, and beasts locked in their unending battles around the massive hole that was once District 3.

The pit itself lay in almost total darkness. I could barely make out movement below—occasional silhouettes scuttling among cave entrances or Gloomwings emerging with prey. Some other flying creatures, apparently too slow or frail for the night's brutal hunts, had already died.

The beasts ruling the dark hours were mostly onyx core or stronger. I even glimpsed a few Crimson Core monstrosities—Tier 3. Their presence dwarfed that of the onyx core predators, who stood no chance against these apex killers. It reminded me again how the power gap between tiers was immense, as though each stage of this strange survival law created a chasm of strength.

Whatever this second rule of life and death was, it had to be something truly significant to create such a profound leap. And I could only assume that this pattern extended even further across the higher tiers.

But that wasn't the only problem. Even the ebony core beasts that hunted at night seemed to be on the verge of fully grasping the first rule and harnessing the power it provided. They stood at the peak of their core. Together, they posed a fearsome threat.

Furthermore, the abyss that was District 3 seemed even more restless at night. From time to time, the entire land shook and trembled from whatever battles raged below, and even the mana felt denser.

Yet I clung to a sliver of optimism. Thicker mana of the night meant these creatures might have reduced visibility, possibly giving me a chance to slip by. In truth, I was out of options. My only hope was a miracle of timing or cunning that would get me across the bridge.

So, when the moon hung highest, I decided to move. I faced the bridge again, now engulfed by thicker fog, with only faint moonlight to guide my steps. Without further hesitation, I ran—this time trying to keep my footfalls soft, each breath tight in my chest.

But stealth proved wishful thinking.

The beasts here were masters of the dark. They honed in on me the moment I ventured onto the bridge. Never before, in all my time in the fog, had I sensed such intense, focused killing intent. From below, shards or spines of some sort whistled upward—along with a giant arrow, nearly the size of a man—while above, I heard a chorus of shrill screeches as Gloomwings closed in, their nails extended to tear me apart.

I dodged the first giant arrowlike projectile, but several smaller shards embedded themselves in my arms and legs. Pain flared, only to be abruptly suppressed by my mind library's uncanny mechanism. My healing factor sparked, knitting the wounds at the cost of my dwindling mana reserves.

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One of the Gloomwings, converging from overhead, took a direct hit from the next colossal arrow, skewered clean through and flung aside by its momentum. It was instantly dead. But at least five others still circled the bridge, their nails flashing in the dim moonlight, raking at me from different angles with terrifying precision.

All around me, the chasm roiled with activity. More potshots came from hidden beasts below—acid spat onto the bridge, sizzling against the stone, which fortunately withstood the corrosive liquid. I, however, had to keep my feet from landing in it. The Gloomwings pressed their advantage, slashing in unison. I parried as best I could, using nails that resembled those of the Gloomwings. But the unrelenting assault bled me, staining the bridge and making each step dangerously slick.

The darkness erupted with chaos on all sides. Below, monstrous silhouettes clambered along the crater walls, joining the fray. A large arrow soared past me again, so precise that I only sidestepped by a hair. Another Gloomwing lunged, and the arrow skewered it instead, sending the body tumbling away into the pit. The close call nearly knocked me off balance, and I realized the bridge offered almost no room to maneuver. Every dodge left me either stumbling forward or retreating. Wounds multiplied. My blood loss slowed my reactions.

Finally, another volley of acid splashed near my feet, forcing me back. My entire left foot burned fiercely, and I nearly cried out, though the pain was dulled by my mind library. More arrows, more shrieks from beasts dying or feasting. My bracers' barrier flared at the last moment to stop yet another arrow, saving me from instant death but almost blowing me off the bridge with the gust of displaced air. One quick glance downward revealed a black void of hungry eyes, waiting for me to slip.

Meanwhile, the Gloomwings that hadn't been killed by friendly fire or stray arrows were now tangling with the horde of underground monsters pouring onto the bridge from the cavern entrances below. It looked like an all-out war, with no space for me to keep running. I had no choice but to turn back, again.

Shoving past a cluster of half-wounded creatures, I activated the Gauntlets of the Starving Maw. The runic constructs flared around my fists, and I unleashed a furious blow. The impact tore a path through the melee, hurling a few beasts off the bridge to vanish into the darkness below. I sprinted the short distance I had covered, retreating to safety. My body was racked with pain, though the worst of it felt remote thanks to my healing. Yet I knew I was nearly out of mana and blood.

Once more, I had barely made it fifty or a hundred meters onto that bridge, and it supposedly stretched for kilometers. If I had somehow gotten farther, I would have had no retreat at all—pinned between enemies with no route back. Maybe I was lucky to fail at the start.

Maybe it was a signal, but if so, it was one I refused to accept.

…

"Any ideas?" I asked that night, leaning against the cool stone wall of my makeshift hideout. It wasn't much—just the gutted remains of a small building near the crater's edge, but it was sturdy enough to shelter me from random acid splashes or wandering beasts. The tremors from the hole still rattled the ground every so often, a reminder of how close I was to the epicenter of chaos. Still, it was comfortable enough, and I had time to cook my food as I waited for daylight to return.

[Kara]

[Analyzing Battle…]

Kara's response came with a pause—longer than usual, which told me she was sifting through countless possibilities. Eventually, her calm, measured voice broke the silence.

[Kara]

[The stone bridge appears to possess a self-repair quality that withstands acid and similar attacks. Whoever created it factored in that annoyance. However, the material is actually normal stone, albeit in a flawless state.]

She spoke as if this statement solved all my problems. I blinked in confusion, trying to piece it together. Kara had a habit of nudging me toward the answer rather than delivering it outright—Elina had also always stressed that I should train my mind.

I let my thoughts wander. The biggest issue on the bridge wasn't really the beasts. Sure, they could kill me, but I would always eventually return, death was never truly the end for me. Moreover, my artifacts wouldn't attract most monsters, except for rare cases like Markus, so I was unlikely to lose them either.

Falling was the real threat. The pit below was likely home to creatures far beyond even the Crimson Core beasts at the surface. If I plunged down, I might spend decades or centuries locked in repeated long sleeps, never making it back up. Meanwhile, everyone I cared about would grow old or perish, and District 98 might starve or succumb to new calamities.

On that narrow stone bridge, my mobility was severely constrained. I could only move forward or back—no space for lateral dodging. Attempting leaps in mid-combat was risky because while Hazeveil gave me slight aerial control, it wasn't enough to reliably land me back on the bridge. My Shardbound Bracers could rescue me from a single fall, but then I would have to wait five minutes for them to recharge. Impossible if I was swarmed.

Suddenly, a thought lit up in my mind. If my greatest fear was falling, maybe the solution was to anchor myself physically to the bridge so that, even if I lost my footing, I wouldn't plummet into the abyss.

I mulled it over: building some sturdy anchors from beast bones infused with mana, hammering them into the stone, and using tough leather tethers to secure myself each time I advanced. That way, if I slipped, the tether would keep me attached until I climbed back.

Of course, I also worried about what would happen during the times I inevitably lost consciousness in a long sleep, or if beasts tried dragging my limp body away. So the tether had to be embedded in my back, not just loosely tied around my waist or chest. That way, it wouldn't slip free while the rest of me was battered or devoured.

Yes, I thought, heart thumping faster. This could work.

…

I spent an entire week preparing for this plan. Every day, I roamed the fog in search of large, mana-rich bones from the fallen beasts, carefully carving them into thick hooks and snap shackles. My butchering and crafting skills came in handy. Meanwhile, I tanned and treated the strongest leather I had for the tether that would attach me to the anchors. I had a small hammer in my backpack—heavy enough to drive bone hooks into dense stone, though it would definitely make plenty of noise.

When I finished, I had an array of specialized gear: hooks for anchoring, tethers for securing, plus a system of snap shackles that Kara had designed after analyzing knowledge of "sailing equipment." Allegedly, in ancient times, humans traversed seas in massive floating vessels, using similar contraptions to quickly secure and release sails or rigging lines as needed.

It was a simple but genius concept, each tether attached to my back with a bone clasp. A secondary cord along the tether connected to the snap shackle's release pin. By pulling the cord, I could detach the tether from the anchor, even under tension. I worried it might accidentally release during combat, but the mechanism was stronger than it looked. Testing had shown it could endure heavy strain without failing.

Finally, the day arrived. I strapped the tether to my back, the hooks rattling inside a crude quiver of sorts, and headed to the start of the bridge. It was early morning—daylight in this region was still dim, but certainly better than night's madness. The moment I hammered the first anchor into the stone at the start of the bridge, the ringing echoed across the chasm. As expected, it attracted unwelcome attention. I retreated immediately, letting any curious monsters prowl around in vain before returning an hour later.

The second anchor was the same routine. Hammer, noise, possible confrontation, then back off and wait. By the time I had three anchors placed—spaced about twenty-five meters apart—I started to encounter real resistance. Going beyond fifty meters proved difficult, but I inched forward, anchor by anchor, placing each one while fending off beasts that slithered up from below or swooped down from above.

The most perilous moments were those when I had to move from one anchor to the next. In that brief interval, I was tethered to nothing. So I added a second tether on my back. I would attach the second tether to the new anchor first, then detach the old tether from behind me with a quick pull of the cord. It felt clumsy under pressure, especially if a beast attacked mid-transfer, but it was the best solution I had devised.

Bit by bit, I progressed. Within three days, I'd managed to install anchors all the way to the five-hundred-meter mark of the bridge. I lost count of how many times I fell or was knocked off the edge, only to be jerked back by the tether. Each time, I scrambled back onto the stone, battered but still alive, healing from my growing injuries. The fights became more brutal the farther I went, so I frequently returned to my hideout to recover and wait for the next day.

Eventually, though, I got stuck at the five-hundred-meter point. No matter how carefully I planned, the cluster of beasts near the six-hundred-meter mark was too dense. They bombarded me every time I tried to place the next anchor. Unwilling to give up, I pushed harder, even letting myself endure injuries while hammering.

That was how it happened. On one of my attempts, I advanced to the six-hundred-meter anchor site but took a devastating blow—a barbed spike from a hidden beast—straight into my core. My heart and internal organs shredded. No chance for healing. Darkness closed in almost instantly, yet my mind lingered in that uncanny awareness that sometimes accompanies a mortal wound.

I plummeted off the bridge, limbs going slack, the tether taut attached to my back. My consciousness remained, though I couldn't move a muscle. Everything felt distant, dreamlike. So this is it, I thought, a dull resignation sinking in. I guess I will enter the sleep again…

But I didn't fall far because the tether held. My body dangled in midair, swinging slowly. The beasts, though, would not simply leave me be. They came swarming from the cavern mouths, from the top of the bridge, from every direction, eager to feast on my tier 2 body or to consume my onyx core. Even in that paralyzed state, I saw them in the corner of my vision—shoggoths, Threxids, gloom-feeding monstrosities—fighting among themselves for the right to tear me apart.

I hung there helpless. In some cruel twist, a few of the subterranean monsters dragged me onto the stone bridge, seeking a better angle to rip at my flesh. More beasts slipped or were shoved into the abyss, howling as they vanished below. All the while, I remained aware of the violent feeding frenzy, though the pain no longer reached me. My nerves had already begun shutting down, replaced by that eerie numbness that heralded a long sleep.

Gradually, my vision started to cloud. It reminded me of how the fog enveloped everything in a dim haze. Yet something else stirred—a subtle shift in the air, an odd resonance crawling over my skin and across the battered remains of my body. I sensed it for the first time: ongoing corruption.