Chapter 261

  Unforgiven (II)

  I've noticed more changes as we got deeper into the forest.

  The first one was that our lanterns weren't lighting it up nearly as well. Whereas they used to give us a decent enough buffer when we only used one, it was impossible by now; we had to use two, one on each side as we walked.

  It was as though the shadows of the forest swallowed up the light, feeding on it.

  The second one was that the roars were growing more frequent. Whereas before, we'd usually have to wait at least ten or so hours between each one, the frequency now was down to about just three hours now, which meant that we mostly walked all day long, with very little rest in-between.

  The third one, and by far the most terrifying one, was that the corpses weren't just hidden under the patches of moss any longer.

  Some weren't even hidden, period.

  Just now, we came to a bit of a screeching halt as we came upon a tree whose trunk was defaced by a body jutting out rather oddly. The limbs were crooked and bent, almost like branches, with the head hung low, expression still serene even if the eyes were just pitch-black orifices.

  When there is one, there are bound to be more, and before long almost every tree had a corpse jutting out of it.

  Some even had two.

  ... seriously.

  Fuck this place.

  I've piled on many regrets throughout my life, but coming here might legitimately be top two or three, ever.

  Only one thing is certain to top it, but that isn't really saying much.

  This wasn't a forest, not really--it was a horror show the likes of which I never want to experience again.

  A feeling strongly reinforced when I slipped slightly, thinking it was a root, only to look down and see that it was actually a corpse wrangled by a set of roots.

  Even the kids, steel-veined as they were, hardly remained composed.

  "What kind of a place is this?" Dai Xiu grunted. "This is pure evil."

  "Maybe it's... some kind of a graveyard?" Wan Lan supposed, seeming just as uncertain.

  "Whatever it is," Xi Zhao said. "I'm never coming back here again."

  Ah, good to see that even these gremlins have some limits.

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  "AAAAHHHHGGG!!"

  The roar was so loud that it startled all of us, including the old alchemist; it was also so loud that the entire forest quaked for a moment--but only the ground. The trees themselves remained completely still, as though they were a painting rather than actual, existing objects.

  "Let's go," Long Tao's voice drew us out, and, to be honest, his rather nonchalant countenance did help. It meant, at least, whatever this place was... wasn't that terrifying.

  Following his lead, we resumed walking toward the voice, trying our best to ignore the litany of bodies decorating the trunks of the trees, positioned in every imaginable way.

  As the hour wound down, we stopped and realized there wasn't really anywhere to sit--all around us, every inch of it, it felt, was covered with bodies.

  All with the exact same expression of ethereal serenity, regardless of all else. Whether they were embedded upside down, with their limbs broken and bent unnaturally, or if they were jutting out from the ground like little saplings.

  The kids nestled even closer to me as we kept moving, heading north--I think. Honestly, by now, I've completely lost the sense of direction. I roughly just follow wherever Long Tao is pointing, or wherever that roar sounds out from.

  Soon enough, the lanterns were barely lighting up two or three feet around us, and we had to use three. Not only that, but they lasted only half a day now. Forget a month, we'll run out in a few days this way.

  ... is this why the expeditions failed? Lured in by the only oddity in the entire forest, they delve deeper and deeper until they are entirely lost and without any provisions?

  However... my gut feeling wasn't actually one of fear. Well, it was, but not because of being lost or running out of lanterns, but because of the many corpses all around us. My instinct was that... we were close.

  How'd I know that? I didn't.

  My bet is that it's maybe the system's way of telling me? Or am I projecting? I can hardly tell anymore.

  **

  He opened his eyes slowly, a yawn overcoming him for a moment.

  Looking around, he once again woke up in that strange garden, where there was just a singular flower perched amidst the otherwise barren earth. It was lovely, but it wasn't pretty. Withered, old, and dying, really.

  As every day before, there were some fruits and nuts scattered around him; somebody was bringing him food and water every day, though he didn't really know who.

  Not that it mattered.

  He would die here soon enough. It was his calling, his purpose--it was the reason he was born.

  Grabbing some walnuts, he cracked them against the nearby rock and nibbled away until a bit of his hunger went away. Standing up, he did yet another walkaround, though, as every other day, there wasn't anything to see or an obvious way out.

  White mist resided behind the trees that were walls, and they were made of strange magic, perhaps by those mythological cultivators that his grandpa used to tell him stories of. Men and women who could fly through the sky afoot a blade, untethered and unchained.

  For a little while, he'd pray silently in the night that one of those men or women would come and whisk him away, save him from his life. But it was futile. He wasn't important enough to be saved.

  He walked up to the flower and crouched by it; it was the only other thing of color here, drab as it was. It had forty-seven petals, each a slightly darker shade of emerald, and a stem so thin he wondered just how it could hold the weight.

  Once in a while, he'd notice the flower tremble, almost like a man shivering, though what caused it and what it meant, he did not know.

  Growing bored, he went back to his 'bed'--a slight indentation in the ground that he lined with leaves from the nearby trees--and lied down, closing his eyes. Would he sleep? Would he restlessly turn and twist for hours on end? He never knew, and perhaps that was the one fun activity that he had: guessing just how miserable the next few hours would be until he woke up anew and the day was started all over again.

  How long has it been?

  Weeks?

  Months?

  Years?

  He didn't know.

  He didn't want to know.

  He resolutely believed that this was a nightmare, his punishment for pushing Lia into the pond, and that he'd wake up any time now in the room with red doors with the view of a majestic sea from his window.