puff!

There was a deep and short sound of a sharp weapon entering flesh.

The high-level wizard who was surrounded by the crowd for protection and was channeling powerful magic suddenly stiffened, his eyes instantly widened with incredible pain.

He lowered his head with difficulty and saw a peculiarly shaped dagger stuck in his waist.

The kidney was stabbed through!

The violent magic power instantly ran wildly out of control in his body!

"Uh...huh..."

Blood flowed from the mage's mouth, his staff fell from his hand, and the condensed magic power dissipated instantly.

And that shadow, just as abruptly as it appeared, merged into the shadows again the moment the mage fell, as if it had never appeared.

“Mage!!!”

"She...she's here again!"

"It's over... We're done!"

Watching the core output and dispel hope fall down in an instant, watching Monica appearing and disappearing in the darkness like a ghost, watching Mark in the distance like a god of war with a colorful shield and wielding a giant sword.

Add to that the dwarf's furious roar and the elven archer on the totem pole drawing his longbow again...

The remaining adventurers of the Rotten Ivy Alliance finally collapsed completely.

Hit the wall!

And it was a red-hot iron plate covered with spikes!

This time it’s real…it’s over!

After getting rid of this group of greedy adventurers from the Rotten Ivy Alliance, the camp fell into silence again, leaving only the thick smell of blood and the ruins of the destroyed orc tents.

Mark glanced at the battlefield and frowned slightly: "Tsk, by the Holy Light, these hyenas are quite rich in experience, much faster than killing monsters of the same level."

He was keenly aware of the unusual growth in professional experience; it wasn't like their team hadn't killed anyone before.

But it seems that just as Aunt Irene said, the level of professional experience gained in the Lor Swamp is significantly higher than in other places.

Monica had already squatted down, with a barely perceptible halo of light flowing from her fingertips [Ring of Truth (IX)]. Invisible ripples of identification flowed like mercury, carefully sweeping across the remaining traces on the ground.

Deep marks left by heavy objects being dragged, messy but clear footprints, and the faint scent of orcs in the air almost covered by the smell of blood.

"The Witherwood Tribe's evacuation route has been determined," she said, standing up. Her wine-red eyes looked remarkably calm in the dim light. "It's heading northeast, deep into the heart of the Lor Swamp, heading straight for the core of the orc-controlled area. The traces are still fresh, so we should be able to catch up."

"Fuck! Trying to run back to the orc den?!" Enzo wiped the blood splatter on his face, his lava-like breath still not completely subsiding. "Chase! We can't let these greenskins get away with that damn heart! Otherwise, our trip will be in vain, and we'll have to be blackmailed by that old cripple for a map update!"

Anna's emerald eyes flashed with worry. "Going deep into orc territory... is very risky. We're still wearing the Pale Crest, so won't that be a problem?"

"No venture, no gain." Mark's eyes were as sharp as an eagle's. "Holy light guides our way forward, but sometimes we also need to step into the shadows.

"Chase! We must intercept them before they completely retreat back to the Orc Fortress! We must obtain map access!"

The four of them did not delay and did not even glance at the corpses and spoils on the ground.

These common things have no appeal to them.

Mark's team was like four shadows blending into the night, following the trail pointed out by Monica and quickly chasing in the northeast direction where the Deadwood Tribe evacuated.

The only sounds left in the air were Enzo's low roar and the soft sound of Anna's skirt brushing against dead branches.

About half an hour after Mark's team left, the Deadwood Tribe camp, which had just experienced a short and bloody massacre, finally welcomed new visitors.

The first group to arrive was a team of about ten adventurers, equipped with a variety of equipment, and their eyes were a mixture of vigilance and greed.

They cautiously peered out from the woods, and everyone gasped when they saw the scene inside the camp.

The place was in a mess.

Broken tents, collapsed totem poles, and next to the campfire that was not yet completely extinguished... there were more than twenty corpses of human adventurers lying in a mess!

The causes of death varied, some were smashed beyond recognition by huge force, and some had their throats precisely cut by sharp blades.

Some of them even had enchanting dark purple vampire roses strangely "growing" on their bodies, which were slowly withering, and the faces of the dead were still frozen in extreme fear.

"Hiss—this…are these the teams from before? Were they all…destroyed?"

A guy dressed as a thief spoke in a trembling voice.

"Look at the wounds... they don't look like orcs... more like..." The leading warrior squatted down to examine a corpse severely injured in the shape of a cross, his face grim. "Cult heretic! Definitely a tough guy! At least a team of heretics! Damn it, how could such a person accept a mission from the Rotten Ivy Alliance!"

"Still...still chasing? The Witherwood Orcs have already run away, and the team ahead is still a deadly force..."

Someone looked towards the northeast, his eyes full of fear.

The leading soldier spat out a mouthful of thick phlegm and said harshly:

"Chasing for nothing! Are you trying to get yourself killed? I'm not getting involved in this mess anymore! Retreat!"

Without any hesitation, the team turned around quickly like a frightened bird and disappeared into the dense forest whence they came.

No matter how tempting the task is, you have to be alive to get it.

They are hyenas of the Lore Swamp, not fools!

Almost at the same time, three other groups of people arrived at the bloody camp from different directions.

The second group to arrive was small, consisting of only six people.

They wore uniform dark leather armor, moved silently, had a calm demeanor, and had eyes as sharp as eagles.

The leader was a gloomy man with a cross of scars on his face. He looked at the corpses on the ground, especially those strange roses, and his pupils shrank slightly.

He squatted down, picked up a little bit of the soil on the ground that had not yet dried up and carried the residual scent of holy light with his fingers, put it to the tip of his nose and sniffed it, frowning.

"Holy light... mixed with natural magic... such a strange power. The attacker is a tough one, at least a high-ranking priest or paladin, and they are working together with an extremely coordinated team. The Witherwood orcs have gone northeast, and they are chasing them."

He stood up and waved his hand, "Be careful, follow! Stay out of the way. Let them fight the orcs first. We'll wait for the opportunity to strike!"

Like well-trained hounds, this team quietly and cautiously followed the double traces of Mark's team and the Deadwood Tribe.

The third group to arrive was a team of twelve led by Kyle and Ruby.

Ou Ke and others quickly dispersed to guard, their movements were uniform and they had already demonstrated extremely high military qualities.

Ruby looked at the miserable corpses scattered on the ground, covered in blood. A strange look flashed in her wine-red eyes. The hot breath made the air around them slightly distorted. "Kyle, do you feel that this breath is familiar?"

She could tell at a glance that this was the result of an internal struggle among humans, and that the methods used by one of the parties carried a certain weird sense of "blasphemy".

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