On the northern outskirts of Mordu, Soralin led her squad into an abandoned village.
Thick dust lay everywhere, cobwebs trembled under the eaves in the wind, but the wooden houses’ structures were mostly still intact.
After all, the villagers had only left in the past few months.
With the rise of the new city, the nearby villages were the first to be relocated — whole villages moved out, leaving empty houses to quietly decay.
According to the blacksmith’s clue about the “northern ruins,” this place fit the description.
Places farther away that matched the clue were distances an ordinary person couldn’t reach in a day on foot.
The team searched the whole village carefully, but found nothing.
This place really had been abandoned; there were no traces of recent activity.
The cellars they found were just the villagers’ old grain cellars, long emptied when the villagers moved.
It seemed another fruitless search.
The team had expected this possibility — after all, the clue came from a drunken remark the blacksmith heard; it wasn’t even certain the missing had ever been here. Not finding anything was the common outcome.
Still, Soralin dutifully checked every cellar herself.
Just as the team was about to leave, she suddenly raised her hand to halt them, turned, and slipped back into one of the cellars.
Standing in that seemingly ordinary underground room, Soralin felt that something was off.
When she noticed a single, solitary mushroom in the corner she suddenly understood: “Mushrooms! Right! This place has been abandoned so long — why haven’t mushrooms grown everywhere like in the other cellars? Why is there only this one?”
She inspected every corner carefully, confirmed there was no hidden Mycelium Carpet, and at last stopped hesitating.
“Whoever passed leaves traces!”
With that, she activated [Truth Sight], and her pupils were dyed a sliver of silver.
What met her eyes were scattered footprints all over the floor, and a ritual array in deep blue — faded, but still identifiable!
Soralin immediately called over the assistant sent by Fahl: “Report to Fahl. I need reinforcements. I’ll also request support from the Church.”
“Soralin — what did you find?” the assistant asked.
“This color I’ve seen before. It’s a cult,” she said gravely. “Hand of Passing.”
……
Elsewhere, seeing Veyra’s four had rushed into the farm first, Aiden and Norris could only hold position for the moment, hidden in the woods on the farm’s perimeter, watching how events unfolded.
Veyra’s team had been hired this time by a tall, thin man named Barton.
Barton and his group had cooperated with Veyra before and it had gone well; this time Barton's side had come to them.
Barton was a friend of the farm’s original owner. He said anxiously to Veyra, “My friend has long dreamed of owning his own farm. Now that he finally achieved it, there’s no reason he’d sell it without suffering losses! I can’t contact him anymore. I tried several times to ask the new owner and was brusquely driven away. Please, go in with me. I just want to ask him in person. I promise I won’t ask you to do anything illegal.”
The job wasn’t difficult, and the pay was good. Since it was an old client requesting it, Veyra had no reason to refuse.
They entered the farm; everything seemed normal.
Many “mushroom farmers” were busy in the fields, carrying harvested mushrooms into the storehouse.
Inside the farmhouse they met a well-dressed middle-aged man — the new farm owner, Gavin.
Gavin kept a stern face and was clearly not welcoming. “What business do you have? We’re busy and don’t receive idle visitors,” he said politely but with an unmistakable hint to send them away.
Barton immediately stepped forward, agitated. “Mr. Gavin! I just want to ask — why did my friend sell the farm? Where is he now? Why can’t I reach him?”
Gavin remained polite. “Mr. Barton, the sale paperwork is all on record with the City Lord’s Office. If you have questions, you can apply to review it yourself. As for where your friend went afterwards, that is nothing to do with me. Please leave.”
While Barton argued with Gavin, the elf Sirian moved quietly closer and whispered to Veyra in a low voice, “Veyra, something’s wrong. The life force in those ‘mushroom farmers’ — it’s definitely beyond normal human levels.”
Veyra scanned the surroundings, thought for a moment, then forced on a resigned expression and pulled the agitated Barton to calm him. “Mr. Barton, see — Mr. Gavin says the papers are in order. Maybe your friend just doesn’t want to be disturbed. It’s not appropriate to keep pressing. Let’s go back for now.”
Gavin added, “Yes, maybe he’s off partying on the isles now? If you pester me instead of going to find him, I’ll be annoyed too.”
Barton, held by Veyra, didn’t catch the look Veyra gave and instead asked, “The isles? Why would he go there?”
“Just an example. I don’t actually know,” Gavin said offhandedly.
Barton suddenly broke free, pointed at Gavin and yelled, “Impossible! He can’t stand sea air — his skin breaks out in red spots if he’s near the sea. He’d never plan to go to the isles! He’s always talking — you must have heard him chat about these things when you bought the farm!”
Veyra: “Ugh…”
After Barton’s outburst, the farm’s atmosphere froze.
There wasn’t solid evidence, but Gavin’s smile had vanished utterly, replaced by a sinister hardness.
He’d seen that Barton wouldn’t give up easily.
“Stirring up trouble, huh? Gentle persuasion won’t work,” Gavin said coldly, stepped back, and made a hand gesture.
The mushroom farmers who had been busy or watching immediately straightened, their gazes turning vicious. They swiftly drew hidden knives and swords from corners with coordinated speed, surrounding Veyra’s four and Barton, cutting off every escape.
Not only that — magical fluctuations emanated from among the farmers. Clearly there were mages among them; they were far from ordinary people.
And Gavin, by some change, had adopted a hooked-claw expression: “Since you won’t leave quietly, let me send you away… forever.”
Barton gaped. He’d expected perhaps a dispute over a forced sale, but the situation far exceeded his imagination. He stood stunned, failing even to dodge as Gavin’s hooked claw slashed toward him.
Veyra yanked Barton behind him; there was no time to complain about the useless employer.
He barked orders quickly: “Fein, cast the buff! Phylline, explosive arrow — collapse this place! Sirian, cover the rear — I’ll break through!”
……
In the distance, Norris, who had detected the outbreak of battle, darted from the trees but stopped short.
After getting the Boss’s permission through the Mycelium Network, he cast aside hesitation and charged in — Aiden joined him.