They drifted downstream for over ten hours before coming ashore, guided by an old Firevenom map passed down through generations. Darulunina led the way, while Orson guarded the rear.
On the road they met plenty of low-level beasts, but these tribal youths were born hunters. Traps, teamwork, and quick blades—none of the creatures posed a threat. They skinned and butchered their prey with practiced ease, roasted the meat, and ate it all before moving on.
After days of climbing snowcapped ridges, the mountains suddenly opened up. Before them stretched a plain scarred by smoke and ruin. Several large towns smoldered, reduced to rubble.
"Beasts?" Darulunina asked.
"No," Orson frowned, eyes narrowing. He could feel the remnants of unleashed elemental energy clinging to the air. "This is magic. Wide-area, destructive spells. To do this much damage, you'd need at least a thousand-man battle regiment, or one King-ranked mage casting multiple S-class spells in succession."
