When Painter rode into the dense forest, he was shocked to realize that he was not surprised at all. The messenger took the lead, followed by the dwarves, followed by Kaixi and Jet. They crossed dirt roads and thorn bushes and stopped in front of a clearing paved with sharp rocks.
It was getting late at this time, the pines and cypresses were green, and there were many shadows. The full, bright moon ring is divided by slanting branches, and the cracks on the surface are the buds and leaves of dead wood branches.
Since leaving the Greenbrier City, the temperature has dropped back to winter. Painter knew this was not the bottom yet, for the darkest night was far from coming. At that time, the Ice Territory could be considered a real frost hell.
But Maurice's ice does not melt in the flaming moon. Dressed in snow, it stands on the edge of Binya Io. It treats visitors with far more indifference than the Venetians treat Paladins, as if it wants to insert an exposed spear tip into every gap in its body. The closer it gets, the more painful it becomes.
"Tonight is the Broken Moon," Jet said.
"Every night."
"But today it's round."
The dwarf looked up. Sure enough, Bai Yue's edges were perfect, with fine cracks all over her belly.
Knox's moon has always been incomplete, its completeness is only relative. The cracks are clearest during the full moon, but very shiny during the crescent moon. There are two full moons and two lunar eclipses in a year, starting from the full moon.
The moon is now as big as a wheel, without any shadow, and cannot be more round. This means the end of the Fire Moon. The dwarf was confused: "It should be a few days later."
"The newspaper said that due to the collapse of the Angmar Tunnel, the Frost Moon will be earlier this year, and the corresponding Harvest Moon will also be earlier."
"What nonsense are you talking about?" the dwarf retorted, "What does the collapse of the mountain have to do with the moon? We still use the moon to calculate days, and the advance of the frost moon is just a way of saying. How can the moon follow the climate of Binya Io? Change?"
"Because of the Black Moon Tide." The messenger suddenly stood up and dismounted. He walked low in the sky, with soft snow beneath his boots. The mercenaries didn't know what he wanted to do, so they had no choice but to follow him.
As soon as the dwarf raised his feet, the fur leggings were covered with snow foam. "The people in that river sang this from beginning to end, the rising tide of the Black Moon River, the capsized boats in the heavy rain."
"Those people are part of the real projection."
"Sir Conley told me that sailing on the Black Moon River is a terrible thing." Goldenbeard took off his hat, shook the snowflakes off it, and put it on his head again. "One of his gray mice was lost and died in the water."
"The boatman is really good at business."
"Don't interrupt, Jett. I'm thinking about the legend of the Black Moon River. The mystery is always related to its history." Kaixi glanced at his team members, "In the ancient Greenbrier City, people thought that the Black Moon River leads to The Broken Moon. Because every time the moon breaks, the Black Moon River will rise. But during a cargo transportation, a big accident occurred in the Black Moon River. That was the Black Moon Tide."
"I still don't see any noteworthy connection between the two," the dwarf muttered.
"You must know more about this knowledge, Lord Messenger." Kaixi ignored him and asked the young man.
For mystics like adventurers, who mostly come from ordinary backgrounds, occult knowledge is of extraordinary value. What they ignited did not rely on the accumulation of mysterious knowledge, and their career choices were even more luck-based.
"The Black Moon Tide is not the rising tide of the Black Moon River." The messenger said. It was as if he didn't understand the hurdles involved at all, or perhaps he thought that this level of knowledge was not worth concealing.
"It's the tidal phenomenon of the Broken Moon."
"Moon changes cause Black Moon River tides?"
"It's a mysterious tide." The young man raised his neck slightly, as if he was staring at the night sky. "Whenever late winter comes and autumn comes, the mystery of the moon will pull a wave of magic that sweeps across Knox. The darkness grows, the mystery awakens, and it turns the entire Peniaio into a mysterious place. This is the Black Moon Tide."
"I heard somewhere that witches worshiped the Broken Moon." The dwarf didn't know about the Black Moon Tide, but he felt that he had heard of the magic wave. Is it in the cave in his hometown, or on the mural of an adventure?
"Yes. Witches call this day the 'Day of Blessing'. They put opals and black pearls into the rivers affected by the moon phases." The messenger was not very sure, "There seems to be spices made by Wu Yedong."
"The apprentice is also more likely to light the fire on the day of blessing," the dwarf added. I know a lot more than you humans. He couldn't help but feel a little proud.
Jett marveled. "Witches believe in the Broken Moon?"
"Werewolves and some undead also believe in her. However, the former will lose their minds when the moon breaks, and the latter has a better choice. The goddess of mourning, Suviliya, has a higher status and is more orthodox than the moon." The messenger followed. A wildly carved path leads forward.
There were broken branches and fallen leaves on the path, and there were faint footprints. I don’t know if it was the Paladins or the Wheel Gang who didn’t have time to clean up the traces.
Or York and Uriel? Painter didn't expect them to have such good luck.
"In fact, witches' belief in Broken Moon is also limited. Their power comes from fate, and Otto is the witch's true source of belief. Therefore, the power of these wallflowers is not worth mentioning, compared to the true power of the Silent School. The wizard is not even close." The dwarf suspected that this statement was only a relative term.
In the occult field, it is generally believed that witches have powers beyond the limits of mystery and can do all kinds of strange and unreasonable things. You must know that there are traces of magic, but their abilities are unique and full of weirdness. Not to mention, they are not required to learn the profession of witch. "Only werewolves, they are the original believers of the moon."
"Is Broken Moon a god?" Kaixi asked.
"Chloe has no relevant records."
He suddenly stopped and said, "There is someone in front."
The mercenaries immediately fell silent. No matter how curious Painter was, he had to keep his mouth shut. The woods in front of him were quiet and dark, and the air he breathed was mixed with the cold sweet scent of fresh walnuts and pine resin, but he had no time to pay attention as he fought against the cold. Mysterious creatures can use magic, and ordinary low temperatures are nothing. However, this is where the Morris Mountains got their name.
The three adventurers were all wearing thick fur and hooded cloaks. Only the messenger was wearing light leather armor, and his standing body gradually disappeared in the moonlight. Footprints appeared in the snow, moving forward from the messenger's footing. Golden Beard waved his hand and motioned for the mercenaries to follow.
They moved slowly, avoiding crispy dead branches. The snow swallowed up the sound of footsteps, protecting the adventurers as they crossed a low slope.
Fine snow began to fall from the sky. Behind the low slope is a circular open space with a long extinguished torch in the corner. Anyone can spot the man-made traces here at a glance. It appeared to be a small campsite with a few tents scattered around but no fences between long torches.
Spending the night in the snow is not an option, and only desperate climbers do this. Hunters and adventurers would retreat to their huts early to keep warm, rather than living in the dangerous woods with stiff blankets, sleeping bags, and kettles that couldn't boil. Especially the last one, Painter knew how annoying wet wood that couldn't be lit was.
There was no light in the camp, and it was even colder than in the forest. The snowflakes covered the soil, leaving very few footprints. The dwarf noticed that there was a mutilated tit on the fire, and there was no short-billed crow coming to eat.
So far, there are no signs of any living people, but when the envoy's footsteps stopped, the adventurers hibernated on the spot full of doubts.
After waiting for a long time, Painter heard some vague noise. Soon a bunch of heather began to shake, and a shirtless man with a string of strange silver nails on his arms swept away the leaves and walked to the center of the camp.
He looks as ferocious as the rumors say, with rough black skin and a broad chest. In one of his hands he held a handful of dry blades of grass, and in the other he held the beast's internal organs, and the blood was frozen. The dwarf noticed that he had a wheel tattooed on his body and knew immediately who he was.
Quillen, the leader of the Wheel Gang. He was originally a commoner and had no surname. After all, even if he became the underground overlord of Dongcheng District, in the eyes of the nobles, he would not be as noble as the slaves around him.
The adventurers looked at each other and realized that they had found Uriel and York's target first. It seems that their luck is not good enough, or it may be because they have a messenger on their side to lead the way.
The abilities of mysterious creatures will increase as the mystery deepens, and the ring level obviously cannot be compared with the empty realm.
Quillen was alone and his men were separated from him?
Whatever the reason, now is a good time to pounce. Painter put his hand on the handle of the hammer and calmed down. Although it was a bit regretful that the two Yorks were not here, they did not let go of the group of jackals in front of them.
But when the dwarf was considering whether to rush to close combat first or use magic to test, he saw that the young man was motionless. He turned his head slightly and met Jet's confused gaze.
In the camp, Quillen was lighting torches from near to far. Painter looked left and right, but couldn't find anything unusual, let alone the people from the Wheel Gang. But not having it now doesn’t mean it won’t happen in the future.
Taking advantage of Quillen's opportunity to reach the other end of the clearing, he couldn't help but ask in a low voice: "What are we waiting for?"
"Wait until he finishes setting up." the messenger replied.
Golden Beard also said: "There is only one person, and there is no movement in the camp. He may be preparing something."
Can you see this too? Painter just turned the words around in his mouth, but didn't spit them out at all. He mobilized his magic power to see more clearly, but the gang leader was still lighting the torch, and the shadows had been dispersed in large areas.
"He is also a mysterious person." Jet reminded, "But I didn't see him using magic to keep out the cold."
"This only shows that he is very resistant to freezing." Painter said firmly, "I think we should not miss this opportunity-"
At this time, the abnormality finally became apparent. Quillen lit all the torches, and the bright flames formed a ring of fire around the camp. He kicked down the fire in the center and the tit head rolled far away. Quillen threw the frozen entrails into the pile of blackened charcoal in the center, crushed the grass blades, squeezed out the last bit of juice, and applied it to the exposed skin.
Painter couldn't help but wonder if this was the source of his frost resistance.
"Five-leaf winter." Golden Beard whispered, "its juice is poisonous and can paralyze people. Magic plants are not everywhere in the Morris Mountains."
Jet smacked his tongue: "Did he make his body not feel the cold?" It was clear from one look that he and Painter were thinking of each other.
It's just that the dwarf doesn't think that this guess can be established after learning such information. He simply stared at Quillen without blinking, trying to find the dull look on the man's face. If that's the case, it's worth waiting for.
But the leader of the Wheel Gang looked pale. He fumbled for a knife from his pocket, and then knelt on the spot. The dwarf saw him slit his arm open with his knife and pick out the long spike that was driven deep into it. Painter could almost hear the soft hissing sound as the hot blood dripped onto the snow.
A slender round silver nail, two inches long, separated from the flesh.
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