The method to make the repellant ointment was simple.
One merely had to cut open the thick, spined leaves of the Coil Spine Aloe and scrape out the clear, gelatinous flesh within. This was then mixed with a small measure of pungent mint oil—another herb found in nearby patches.
The resulting paste had a sharp, nose-stinging smell that most bugs detested. Even mortals could prepare it without difficulty, and in fact, the task was handed to anyone with a free pair of hands.
Some disciples worked in groups, collecting the aloe leaves and carrying them in large woven baskets. Others sat on low stools or overturned crates, knives in hand, steadily scooping out the aloe gel into clay jars.
The mint oil was added in measured amounts, and the mixture was stirred until it formed a smooth, glossy paste. Then, it was ladled into small, lidded containers for easy carrying.
Han Yu found the task almost relaxing compared to brewing medicinal pills. There was no delicate balancing of temperatures, no waiting for condensation, no risk of ruining the entire batch with a slight mistake.
It was a task of rhythm and repetition: cut, scrape, mix, seal. The kind of work that let the mind drift without losing focus.
Still, he remained alert to his surroundings. The marsh had a way of springing surprises—no one could afford to relax too much. Occasionally, the faint hiss of something slithering through the reeds or the distant ripple of water would break the monotony, reminding everyone why the elders had doubled the strength of the camp's barriers.
By the end of the day, the camp smelled sharply of mint and aloe, the scent heavy in the warm, damp air. Disciples applied the paste liberally to their arms, legs, and necks before sleeping, confident that the cloud of scent would keep even the boldest of marsh insects at bay.
The next day passed without incident, and then another. The once-sick disciples were now back on their feet, eager to make up for lost time. A few still had lingering weakness, but nothing serious enough to keep them from traveling.
With their numbers fully restored, the expedition finally pushed forward again. They had lost time, yes, but they still had a clear path ahead. And now, equipped with fresh ointments and a more confident mindset, they moved with more energy than they had in weeks.
When the sun dipped low on the third day, they crossed the final stretch of the outer ring and stepped into the middle ring of the Southern Marshes.
The difference was immediate.
The air here was heavier, denser—not just with humidity but with the faint tang of spiritual energy. The marsh water took on a darker hue, with streaks of reddish-brown and deep green swirling lazily beneath the surface.
The plant life grew taller, thicker, and more tangled, creating natural tunnels of moss and vines that swallowed the light. Some trees had roots that rose higher than a man's head, their gnarled forms twisted into shapes that almost seemed like grimacing faces.
Even the sounds changed. The constant buzzing of insects faded into the background, replaced by a more subdued chorus of croaks, splashes, and low, echoing calls from unseen creatures. Occasionally, a ripple would disturb the still waters, but no one could see what caused it.
The elders called a halt just past the boundary. According to their calculations, it would take at least three weeks—possibly longer—to traverse the middle ring and reach the inner ring where their true objective lay.
The terrain here was more treacherous, and while the middle ring lacked the sheer numbers of biting insects that plagued the outer ring, it made up for it with larger predators and more unpredictable environmental hazards.
Han Yu adjusted the strap of his satchel and looked out over the dark, winding waterways ahead. The marsh had already tested them with sickness and exhaustion. Now, it was about to show its other face—the one filled with creatures that had survived in this place for centuries by being stronger, faster, and more cunning than their prey.
The week of sickness was over, but the real challenges had only just begun.
The Middle Ring of the Southern Marshes welcomed them with an oppressive stillness that spoke louder than any warning could. The humidity was thicker here, almost syrupy, clinging to every breath and weighing down every movement.
The air reeked faintly of stagnant water, rotting vegetation, and the faint, metallic tang of beast blood—both fresh and old. If the outer ring had been a slow introduction to the dangers of the marsh, the middle ring was an unflinching statement: You do not belong here.
The elders had warned everyone to be on constant alert.
Here, even the plants could be dangerous—roots that moved, vines that constricted, and flowers that spat corrosive pollen.
But it wasn't the plants that came first.
The ground beneath them trembled before anyone saw the threat.
A faint, rhythmic thudding echoed through the marsh, at first seeming distant and scattered, but rapidly swelling into a pounding chorus that made the muddy ground quake. It came from multiple directions.
Han Yu's grip tightened on his hybrid halberd.
He scanned the mist, his senses straining against the thick curtain of marsh fog.Through the shifting gray, dark shapes emerged—first one, then another, then dozens, until the tree line ahead shuddered with the weight of hundreds of advancing beasts.
The first wave broke through: hulking, swamp-coated crocodilians with ridged spines and eyes that glowed faintly yellow in the dim light.
Each one was the size of a wagon, their scales marked with streaks of algae and scar tissue.They were followed by snake-bodied lizards, low to the ground but incredibly fast, their flickering tongues tasting the air for prey.
Larger shadows moved deeper in the mist—towering marsh crabs with chitinous shells thicker than steel plates, and something else… something that let out a guttural, gurgling roar that vibrated in Han Yu's bones.
"Everyone at full alert! Follow the strategies!"
The elders barked orders.