Hazuki had been walking for more than an hour.
The further he went, the heavier the gravity pressed down.
The air itself felt thicker. The trees leaned strangely, warped by invisible force. The ground pulsed with faint mana disruption, the telltale shimmer of an unstable magic zone spreading wider with every step.
Ridan floated silently, watching from above.
His usual smirking presence was still there—but his thoughts had gone quiet.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, memories stirred.
A thousand years ago.
He had walked this same path.
Back when he was alive.
Back when he led a full seven-man party.
Even then—with all their preparation, with the strongest frontliners of their era, a top-tier tank and dual-wield swordmaster, an archer that never missed, a high priest blessed by the gods themselves—they had struggled just to move.
The gravity here wasn't natural.
It crushed mana flow.
It bent spell circles.
It scrambled minds and limbs alike.
