Meanwhile…
Simley and his company walked in silence through the land covered in darkness, each of them releasing their spiritual sense to its fullest.
"Is this truly the Dark Zone they spoke so much about?" asked a man with long, fiery red hair. "We've carved our way here with ease, and it was far too simple."
Another cultivator nodded, his tone skeptical. "Indeed, the journey has been smooth. Perhaps it was prearranged, or the authorities spread false tales to keep others away. Maybe there is something hidden here they don't want us to uncover."
The others chuckled at his words, their confidence swelling. Their pace had been effortless, without hindrance, and they began to doubt the grim stories told of this land.
They looked at the trees that covered the region. At first glance, they seemed no different from the forests they had visited before—but their strange curves set them apart. Most of the trees were short and twisted, with only a few tall ones rising among them like crooked sentinels.
The structure resembled forests outside the Dark Zone, and still, a question remained in their minds: what truly made this land different and unique?
"We are nearing the end of the outer section." Mander suddenly reminded them. "As I said earlier, the young master will not go any further."
He knew all too well that if the young master were slain, the blame would fall squarely upon him—and his family wouldn't be spared.
"Why are you so peevish throughout the journey?" Carly finally snapped, her patience running thin. "You should have stayed at home if you weren't prepared for the task. The location is just ahead."
Carly said nothing more, knowing that if she pushed him too far, Mander might lose his composure and abandon the mission altogether. She needed him and had no intention of letting that happen—her aim for this venture was deeper than the others perceived.
"This isn't the first time you've said that." Mander refuted ruefully. "We will not go further." He stood still, fixing his gaze on her.
Simley grew restless as time passed, the tension between Mander and Carly was so sharp it seemed they might strike at one another in the next second. His gaze wandered uneasily, going from one corner to the next.
By his calculations, they should have reached the place already—it had not seemed so far, the last time they ventured here.
"Look!" Simley exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. "Isn't that the herb? It has really grown." He quickened his pace toward a glow shimmering in the distance.
It has advanced into a grade‑four herb! He thought.
The others exchanged glances before following closely. The radiant light acted as a beacon, drawing them forward.
They ran eagerly, hearts pounding. For most of them, this was the first time they had ever laid eyes upon a plant of the fourth grade—a treasure spoken of as legendary throughout Sand‑Scale City and its surrounding territories.
Nonetheless, had they been more observant, they might have noticed the tall grasses around the Sharp‑Hind Grass trembling ever so slightly.
___
Blood arrived at the location described by the scar‑faced man. He scrutinized the surroundings carefully, ensuring no traps were hidden, and moved silently toward the place.
Before him shone a brimful white light, emitting from the herb. It was a sign it had just advanced. This glow was the sign of plants, which would last for several days before fading.
The light acted as a lure, drawing beasts toward the herb. If it was left unharvested, the glow would eventually vanish, and the plant would become dormant, beginning its next advancement phase toward the fifth grade.
Blood was just fifteen meters away when he sensed movement in the distance. It was not the tread of a lone explorer—several figures were approaching, and they were moving directly toward him. He suddenly hesitated, faced between seizing the herb and retreating.
A grade‑four herb was no trivial matter. Even though he didn't know its exact worth, he understood it was precious enough to drive entire groups to slaughter one another for its possession.
Still, any attempt to move closer risked discovery, and the energy radiating from the newcomers was oppressive, breaking his determination. He was not prepared for another clash.
Without delay, Blood slipped into hiding, crouching low behind the tall grasses. He steadied his breath, waiting in silence for whatever would unfold.
___
Simley and his company advanced toward the herb, its subtle glint shimmering in the gloom, unaware of the figure lurking silently behind the grasses. His eyes were flashing and brimming with joy.
The Sharp‑Hind Grass was truly sitting there, waiting to be harvested. Simley released a relieved sigh; by his calculations, he was ninety percent certain they wouldn't meet the herb once they arrived.
With rapid steps, he closed the distance to the herb.
"Quickly, Charles, bring out the tools. I will harvest the herb myself." he declared to the man at his side. Such a precious herb couldn't be entrusted to careless hands.
Even blacksmiths could manage simple tasks like this. However, Simley knew that harvesting demanded precision, knowledge, and the careful application of specific technique. A single misstep could cause the plant's energy to deteriorate, reducing its grade or halting its advancement.
Plants, like cultivators, were graded according to their strength. A grade‑1 or grade‑2 plant corresponded to the first or second realm of cultivation. Within each grade, plants possessed three inner stages—low, mid, and peak.
While human cultivation realms stretched from stage one to stage nine, plants advanced differently, climbing only through those three stages within each grade.
Simley wore his gloves and handled the plant with care, using a standard‑grade sickle alongside other support tools.
But it appeared fate had other plans.
Just as he was an inch from cutting the final root, which could have been pulled easily by hand without harming the plant—a gruesome interruption struck.
A blue streak blazed toward the group, making no attempt to conceal its presence. The two top cultivators among the group were always vigilant and reacted instantly, drawing their weapons midair to intercept the threat.
From the shadows emerged a beast of ghastly appearance: a blue‑skinned ant nearly two meters long, its carapace was gleaming like polished fluorite. Its deep blue eyes were also burning with agitation.
It had stumbled upon this group by chance, but its fury was unmistakable. Steel met the likes as their weapons clashed against its massive pincer‑like limb.
A blue mist was seeping from its body as it swung its middle limb toward Carly. She quickly performed a sidestep with a stern glare, believing she had evaded the strike—only to be caught by another limb that slammed into her stomach, lifting her violently into the air.
Realizing the beast's strength, Mander instantly retreated a short distance. He recognized at one glance that they were in the same realm and stage. His expression became hardened as claws extended from his hands—directly using his most powerful weapon on the go.
He lunged at it, his speed surging, and swiped at the beast. The swipe carved a long trail through the air, shifting the darkness for a fleeting moment, however, the beast didn't move, just shielding itself with its head before countering with its forelimb.
The Blade Ant's pincers clamped onto Mander's thigh, dragging him through the air.
Mander remained helpless as his blood boiled, his claws raking again and again, but only faint marks marred the beast's armored body.
Mander was furious as frustration boiled within him. How powerful was this beast?
His mind raced and was on the edge of losing control, nearly consumed by berserk rage.
Blood grimaced at the sight, watching from the distance. The tales of the Dark Zone were true—every one of them. Their attacks could not even scratch the ant's shell, let alone wound it.
Killing the beast was impossible!
The Blade Ant tightened its grip, instantly severing Mander's thigh cleanly before hurling him aside with a brutal slap. Then, with astonishing speed, it moved toward the others, who by now were frozen in fear.
Its speed had reached the peak of the Bronze Realm, even though it was only at the fifth stage.
The group was tense, caught between shock and helplessness. Their strongest leaders had been defeated in less than a minute. Against such a gruesome beast, they stood no chance; its strength was unfathomable.
Panic seized them, and they fled, abandoning one another in desperation.
But the beast didn't allow any escape. Its breakneck speed carried it between them, cutting them down one after another. No matter how hard they tried, none could slip its grasp.
The surrounding trees were dyed red as the beast painted the forest with blood.
Blood's chest heaved where he crouched. He couldn't breathe as trepidation besieged him. His legs refused to obey his will, locked in terror. He nearly lost control of himself; his mind looked to be slowly slipping away.
At last, with great effort, he forced his legs to move with the support of his hands when the beast had gone farther away. He stumbled, his body tingling, and rolled across the ground toward the opening.
He saw the imprudent woman lying there, unconscious from a single strike. The beast's power was undeniable.
Blood chose survival. His family needed him. He would not die here!
But as he stepped forward, his foot pressed against something. Looking down, he realized it was the very cause of all this chaos—the Sharp‑Hind Grass.
He finally understood: this group had likely been the one that slaughtered the scar‑faced man's company for the herb. Without hesitation, he plucked the last root hastily and bolted in the opposite direction.
He had once thought the respected kid carried treasures that might turn the tide, but he had clearly seen it—the beast had cleaved his head in a single strike.
He was out of here!