After finally calming their nerves, the two began examining their new surroundings.
The stone chamber looked similar to the previous one, but the suffocating heat had vanished, replaced by a refreshing coolness. The crack they'd crawled through had sealed completely, as if two massive rocks had been forcefully glued together. Stalactites and strange rock formations dotted the room, and a cave-like opening in the ceiling let in faint light. Though cool, the chamber held no water—all the lake's water must have been blocked on the other side of the crack, making this feel like a separate dimension.
"We're safe—we made it!" Rick exclaimed, his taut nerves finally relaxing.
"Don't celebrate yet. We still don't know where we are," Moya cautioned.
"Ugh, just be glad we're alive." Rick flopped onto the cool floor, idly flipping through his booklet. The embossed letters on the binding felt familiar—they spelled his name.
"Look! This name is the same as mine, right?"
"Could this be the elder's relic?" Moya snatched the booklet, gasping. "This is priceless—worth ten thousand silver! Why did the big-eyed receptionist give this to you?"
Rick reclaimed the booklet, amazed. "The Association must have lousy management, but it means I'm destined for this."
"Rick, think—he must have approached Hell's Corridor multiple times to draw that map. Why risk his life here? For money? Fame?"
"With his status, he wouldn't care. There's only one possibility..." Rick murmured. "Maybe for a precious insect egg."
"Only to be killed by insects." Moya frowned. "We should stay put—there might be horrors outside."
"But the deadlier the insect, the pricier the egg."
"You want to..." Moya gaped at Rick.
"We're already here. Besides, we can't go back now."
"True..." Moya sighed, but his eyes lit up. "Wealth comes from risk—let's do this!"
"You're too weak. I'll go first." Rick activated the serrations on his right arm and eyed the ten-meter-high ceiling. Leaping up, he sank his claws into a stalactite crevice, climbing nimbly.
"Hurry, Rick!" Moya called from below.
"Easy for you to say..." Reaching the ceiling, Rick found the opening too narrow. "Can't fit—this hole's too small."
"Idiot! Break it open—what's that arm for?"
Rick scowled, slashing at the rock. A dull thud was followed by cracking; rubble rained down, letting in a shaft of light. Wincing, he hauled himself out and collapsed.
"Hey, what about me?" Moya yelled excitedly.
Rick tossed down a handful of gravel. "Aah!"
By the round lake, Lant led two dozen men searching relentlessly. Even after the smoke cleared, no trace remained.
"Boss, where'd they go? Moya signaled here."
"Beats me." Lant stroked his stubble. "Moya must have chased them to the lake—it's a dead end."
"Did they swim across?"
" Impossible. The water's scalding, with constant vortices. No one survives."
"Then..."
"Maybe we were tricked. Moya's probably dead—he lured us here while escaping to Terry County via the trade route." Lant crushed his dying insect-herb cigar. "The trade route takes two months. We can still catch up."
"Two months? Boss, is it worth it for one kid?" a companion complained.
"Quit if you want. Moya was my man. I'll hunt his killer to the ends of the earth." Lant's gaze pierced the forest, whose rustling seemed to cower from his killing intent.
Ten kilometers away, at the forefront of Hell's Corridor, Rick helped Moya out of the crack. After a brief rest, they entered the so-called "forbidden zone," torn between fear and excitement. Contrary to legend, Hell's Corridor wasn't lifeless. While not as forested as Kester's outskirts, it teemed with vegetation. Waist-high grasses carpeted the vast expanse, stretching to the horizon.
"This is Hell's Corridor? Did we misread the map again?" Rick gaped.
"Don't question my expertise! I'm an elite scout—only half-baked hunters like you mix up maps." Moya snapped, though he still checked his map. Secretly, he too wondered if they'd gone astray.
After studying for a long time, Moya stood up and looked at the ground.
The soil underfoot was full of iron iron-sand-like granules, extremely hard. It was hard to believe such land could support grass.
"This must be Hell's Corridor—only here has soil like iron sand," Moya concluded.
"Isn't this a 'forbidden zone of life'? Where did these grasses come from?"
"Pfft. Few people worldwide have visited Hell's Corridor. The guild's map was drawn ages ago from aerial sketches. Anyone seeing this iron sand would assume no vegetation."
"But there is vegetation, so..."
"Thus, there must be insects."
The two cheered, their fear replaced by excitement at discovering new insects. They couldn't wait to search for traces.
"Look, a shell—must be from a sickle insect's molt," Moya yelled, holding a keratinized husk in the tall grass.
"Idiot! I have a sickle insect too—do you think I can fight an adult?" Rick swatted the shell away, pointing. "Check that."
Moya saw grass crushed irregularly, with smash marks. He yanked up a weed, roots pulling up clumps of black gravel. Sniffing, he said: "Not fresh, but proves giant insects have been here."
"Giant insect!" Rick gasped at the footprints. "Huge, with many legs—at least 20 meters long! What insect is this?"
"If I'm right, an Iron-Ridge Centipede."
"Iron-Ridge Centipede? What rank?"
"Among the six ranks—Celestial, Mystic, Illusion, Demon, Royal, Soldier—it's a high-powered Royal-Rank insect."
"Royal-Rank!"
Rick's excited expression froze. He realized an Iron-Ridge Centipede's egg was precious but deadly to him.
"Finally woke up? Too scared to fight a sickle insect, yet eyeing a centipede," Moya scoffed.
Rick refused to be belittled. "Stealing eggs doesn't require killing the adult. Maybe we'll get lucky."
"Your luck won't hold."
"Never know unless we try."
Goaded by Moya, Rick followed the centipede's trail. After ten minutes, he found a sunken patch of grass with broken stems, like a battlefield.
"What's this..." At his feet lay a familiar insect limb. Rick paled: "Sickle insect!"
"This must be the molting sickle insect—unlucky enough to meet a hungry centipede," Moya emerged from the grass behind.
"Why'd you follow?"
"I... " Moya almost said he was scared, but changed it. "I have experience—more than a half-baked hunter like you."
"Think carefully: if we meet that giant insect, we're dead. The grass is too tall to run."
"Remember, I'm a guide. Finding a safe path is just a matter of time—if you don't target the centipede, rookie."
"Right!" Rick grinned. "How do you scout anyway? I always wondered—don't dung beetles only like feces? Haha, am I right?"
"Idiot! My scent sensitivity surpasses other hunters." Moya snapped. "Stop calling it a dung beetle—it's been modified to a Detection Insect."
"Then detect! Which way is safe?"
Moya shook his arm, two thin antennae extending from his wrist, waving aimlessly.
"Gross—why do Detection Insects have antennae?" Rick sneered.
"Modified, obviously. Should I roll dung balls?" Moya scanned, frowning.
"Found something?" Rick noticed Moya's premonition.
"Insect scent in the mist, getting stronger..." Moya stared ahead.
"Dammit, trouble follows you!" Rick tensed, serrations spreading up his arms, dark green carapace covering his shoulders.
"Oh! You've reached Soldier Insect Rank 3—fast!"
"Of course, I'm a genius."
"Geniuses don't charge a centipede with rusty sickles..." Moya took off running.
"Hey! Traitor!" Seeing the grass part like a wave, Rick fled after him.
WHOOSH!
A massive black head burst from the grass as Rick turned. Broken grass flew like arrows, a murderous aura making even tall grass cower.
"I... holy shit..."
All color drained from Rick's face as he stole a glance back. The rookie hunter had never seen such a horror. Compared to the Iron-Ridge Centipede rearing ten meters tall, its black carapace as hard as steel, and mandibles over a meter long, the adult leech he'd killed in Kester City was like a harmless earthworm.
"Run! Faster!"
Rick pumped his arms wildly, legs moving so fast they blurred. The landscape raced backward, his vision blurring. With a whoosh, he rocketed past Moya, vanishing in an instant.
Moya gaped. He never expected Rick to flee so fast. Glancing at Rick's disappearing figure and the centipede charging like a train, Moya ran until his throat tasted of blood, too terrified to cry.
"Ass... hole... leaving me behind..." Gasping, Moya felt the centipede at his heels, its stench overwhelming. "I don't want to die! I haven't even become a real hunter..." Sobbing, his legs grew leaden, breath ragged.
Suddenly, exhausted, he tripped and fell face-first. A black shadow whooshed over his scalp, slamming into the iron sand ahead. Shrapnel sprayed, shredding his clothes.
"Ow! Ow!" Moya scrambled up, rubbing bruises. But the clatter of carapace and blocked light petrified him. He stared at the giant shadow on the ground, watching its grim shadow open its terrible mandibles.
The shadow reared up, swinging its head like a coiled spring, lunging at the frozen Moya.
Trembling, Moya squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting death.
SMACK! SMACK!
No tearing pain came—only the clash of metal.
"Not eating me?" Moya peeked. The shadow had turned away. He looked up: the centipede faced away, rocks the size of fists pinging off its carapace.
"What are you waiting for, idiot? Run!"
A familiar voice rang out. To Moya's shock, Rick had returned, distracting the centipede.
"Bro!" Overwhelmed, Moya choked back tears, dragging his weak legs toward a rocky outcrop.
The centipede, drawn by Rick's carnivorous insect scent, ignored Moya. Sensing a minor threat, it decided to crush this tiny "sickle insect" first. It reared, waving spiked legs, green eyes the size of washbasins gleaming with murderous intent.
No one could fathom the terror of facing such a killing machine without witnessing it.
A bead of sweat dripped from Rick's chin. Pale and drenched in cold sweat, he felt the centipede's oppressive stillness—one lapse, and those fangs would pierce him.
"Maybe I can outrun it..." Rick stepped back.
Suddenly, the centipede moved. Its speed was unimaginable for such a beast. One blink, and its fangs were before him.
"So fast..."
Rick cursed his miscalculation. If it moved this quickly, escape was impossible. Gritting his teeth, he swung both scythes, slamming into the fangs.
Sparks flew. The blow didn't break the fangs, but deflected the charge. The fangs tore past his chest, ripping his shirt and leaving a long gash.
The centipede smashed the iron sand behind Rick, the impact making him stumble. Instinctively, he kicked off, flying backward like an arrow, rolling as he landed. The dodge from the guild textbook flowed perfectly—when he rose, he'd escaped the attack radius.
"Yes!" Hope flared. But a terrified scream from the rocks crushed his spirit.
A bedraggled figure stumbled from the rocks, running toward him, pursued by a massive gray-furred spider bounding over the stones with ease.
"Jinx..." Rick was speechless. Facing one giant insect was bad enough—now another, no weaker, charged in.
Even the hardiest soul would despair at this sight.