Hadjar pulled his leg out of yet another liquid pit.

“Fucking marsh,” Gustaf swore, voicing their overall mood.

Ordinary people often confused swamps and marshes due to their apparent similarity. However, swamps were just flooded areas of land where moisture-loving plants grew on the bottom. Marshes were also swamps in a way, but in marshes, the land alternated with water, which was hidden under such violently abundant vegetation that it couldn’t be distinguished from this very same land. Due to the constant rotting and release of enzymes, the acrid fog that hurt their eyes never disappeared in this place. Coming from all sorts of spores, mold, and moss, a horrific poison would spread out, causing hallucinations and even a loss of consciousness, or a persistent headache at best.

What was much scarier was the fact that if the land was peat or black soil, it would turn into a kind of quicksand. It would look like dry land at first, but after just a couple of seconds of enduring the weight of a person, it would instantly turn into a viscous goop that would try its best to drag the unsuspecting person to the bottom.

Maybe it would seem strange to a mortal that mighty cultivators would tread the Eglhen marsh with such caution, but this wasn’t just any ordinary region. Anything could be deadly in the Strange Lands. Even the simplest grass was so saturated with magic and energy that the best alchemists of the Empires would’ve been overjoyed to get their hands on it.

So, the half-faced Guy led their group. Armed with a long stick, he would always check the trail ahead thoroughly first and only then take the next step. Nobody really wanted to risk it. Maybe the others would be strong enough to help them get out, but who knew what kind of creatures lived inside marshes, which had once been called the ‘places from which no one returned’ by the ancients.

“I heard that there are ghosts here,” Gustaf whispered.

“You’re like a kid who’s afraid of the dark,” Itia hissed at him irritably. She was annoyed by the fact that they had been walking through seemingly endless marshland without any rest for two days straight.

“Ghosts only live in those places where blood was spilled but the act was not recorded in the Book of Thousands,” Alba-udun threw an apple core somewhere off to the side.

It landed noiselessly on a hummock and slowly sank into it. Hadjar thought he’d seen long fangs protrude from within the hummock, surging out of the moss and quagmire, but perhaps he’d just imagined it. The poisonous mist had enough power to affect even his mind, which had been hardened by numerous trials.

“Then the Eglhen marsh is the most suitable breeding ground for ghosts,” Abraham, who had been silent until now, suddenly joined the conversation. He pulled his straw hat over his eyes as he chewed on a blade of grass he’d previously picked up in the forest. Any sensible cultivator who didn’t want to sit down at the table of their forefathers anytime soon wouldn’t put even the rarest ingredient into their mouth if it grew on these lands. Admittedly, there were some special ingredients that could only be found here and were used for their own, extremely specialized purposes.

“Hey, geezer,” Gustaf always tried to tease someone when he was nervous. “Do you know any stories that we don’t?”

“Hey, boy,” Abraham smiled at him. “It’s easier to list the stories you know than the ones you don’t.”

Gustaf raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, indicating that he didn’t want to argue with the old rogue. Smart guy.

“Death is near.” Guy almost went down together with his stick. Straightening up and finding a turn in the path, he repeated, “Death is near.”

“Well, at least something in this world doesn’t change.” Itia ran her hand through her brown hair, after which she got lost in some thoughts of her own.

“Come on, you old fox, don’t keep it to yourself,” Alba-udun took out another apple from his spatial ring. Had he bought the entire supply of all the dragon merchants or what? “As my great-aunt once said-”

“It happened a long time ago.” Everyone was grateful to Abraham for interrupting Albadurt. “I heard this story in a tavern. A young florist with eyes the color of horse droppings and the face of a seductive god told it.”

His words echoed in Hadjar’s soul.

“The events that that young man told us about were older than the first legends that our mothers’ mothers shared with us and-”

“Shensie, seriously,” with a wave of her whip, Itia cut a mosquito buzzing over her ear in half, “If it weren’t for your obsession with beating your dad in terms of fame, you would be able to earn quite a living as a wandering bard. Can you get to the point already?”

“Shut up, you scary woman.”

“Scary woman? You’re taking advantage of the fact that in order to reach you, I would have to hit Gustaf and Hadjar with my whip as well. And they don’t deserve it today.”

“Hey! What about me? What kind of evil has this worthy dwarf done to you, you scary woman?”

The rest laughed. Abraham’s and Albadurt’s ‘scary’ had completely different meanings. Itia didn’t even think about taking offense at the dwarf’s words. To them, any representative of the human race looked like the personification of ugliness. However, this didn’t work both ways. For example, the dwarven Princess was really beautiful, even by human standards.

“May I continue?”

“Death is near.”

“Thanks for the reminder, buddy. So, if I’m remembering the story that the flower merchant told us correctly, and if at least a third of it has anything to do with the truth, we are currently going through an area where an ancient battle took place.”

Hadjar raised his head and looked at the low sky covered in dark clouds. For some reason, he already knew who this story was going to be about.

“Have you ever heard about the Potter, my friends?”

Hadjar stumbled. For the first time in a long time, his intuition had failed him.