With the mirage demon’s disappearance, the last trace of that eerie energy finally faded from the valley.
Only then did the survivors dare to slowly open their eyes, lowering their hands from their ears.
As they took in the desolate and real scenery around them, the memory of what they had just endured felt almost like a dream from another lifetime.
Several injured guards collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, their faces pale with lingering terror.
Margaret approached Dustin, worry shining in her eyes. “Dustin, are you all right?”
He shook his head, gazing in the direction where the mirage had fled. “I’m fine. Just a bit drained in spirit. She’s wounded—she won’t dare show herself again anytime soon.”
Qingzhu clutched her chest, still shaken. “That was terrifying. That illusion was impossible to defend against! If Master Dustin hadn’t found her weakness at the end, we’d all be dead here.”
Dustin nodded slightly. “Penglai Island is filled with hidden dangers. The more beautiful something appears, the deadlier it’s likely to be. After this ordeal, everyone must guard their hearts carefully. Don’t be swayed by appearances.”
Everyone nodded solemnly. After surviving the “Mirror Mirage Valley,” their reverence—and fear—of this so-called immortal island had reached new heights.
After a brief rest, the team set out again, moving toward the far end of the valley—toward the unknown path ahead.
Yet the mirage’s departure did not bring true relief. The air still carried traces of that same seductive, deathly aura—a chilling reminder of what they had just faced.
A heavy sense of exhaustion hung over the group, mixed with deeper confusion and dread about what lay ahead.
Some of the guards, injured or mentally shaken from the illusion, could barely walk without help, and the party’s pace slowed drastically.
As they went deeper, the cliffs on either side grew steeper and the rocks took on a disturbing dark-red hue—like they’d been scorched by fire, or steeped in dried blood.
The air grew thick with the stench of sulfur, sharp enough to sting their noses.
“Miss, this smell… it’s making me dizzy,” Qingzhu said, covering her mouth and nose, frowning deeply.
Margaret felt waves of nausea and tightness in her chest. She circulated her inner energy to resist it—only to find that her spiritual energy was draining faster than it had in the fog region.
“Everyone, be careful. This air is poisonous. Hold your breath as best you can and use your energy to resist,” she warned.
But inner strength was not limitless.
After the battles, the mist, the illusions, and now this poison, their energy reserves were running dangerously low.
One wounded guard finally stumbled, collapsing to the ground. His face turned ashen, his lips a dark purple.
“Captain! Awu’s down!” another shouted in alarm.
The captain knelt to check—and after a brief moment, shook his head grimly. “The poison’s entered his core. His inner energy’s gone. There’s no saving him.”
Despair rippled silently through the ranks.
How long had they even been on Penglai Island? Yet nearly half their number was already gone—and the so-called Immortal Elixir was still nowhere to be found.
“All this… just for that phantom Immortal Pill. How many more must die?”
The whisper was low, filled with resentment. It faded quickly, but the seed of doubt had been planted in more than one heart.
Margaret heard it, her body tensing slightly, but she didn’t turn to reprimand them.
She understood—the guards had followed her through life and death. In this hopeless place, bitterness was only natural.
But when she thought of her father’s worsening illness, she could only swallow that bitterness and push onward.
Dustin also noticed the shift in the group’s mood but said nothing.
Some knots of the heart couldn’t be untied with words.
His sharp gaze swept over the increasingly rugged path ahead, divine sense fanning out like an invisible net, wary of any lurking danger.
After several more li, they reached a fork in the road.
One path continued deeper into the valley, while the other led toward a narrow fissure in the rock. From that crack came a faint breeze—carrying a trace of moisture, utterly different from the sulfuric air outside.
“This way,” Dustin said without hesitation, pointing toward the fissure.
He could sense it—the breeze carried a thread of pure spiritual energy, faint but genuine, completely out of place in this cursed island.
Inside, the passage was dark and damp, the floor slick with moss. The group had to move in a single line, treading carefully.
After half a stick of incense’s time, the path opened up.
Before them lay a hidden pool, tucked behind the cliff—a quiet, secluded spring.
The water was crystal clear, its sandy bottom gleaming pale beneath the ripples. A few silver fish drifted lazily about.
At the center, a small spring bubbled softly, releasing a gentle aura of purity that refreshed the mind.
Compared to the poisonous air outside, this place felt like paradise.
“Water! Finally!” one of the parched guards cried, about to rush forward.
“Wait.” Dustin’s voice stopped him cold. “This place is strange. Don’t be careless.”
He approached the pool, crouched down, and studied the water. Then he scooped a handful into his palm, focusing his senses.
The water was cold to the touch, carrying a faint vitality—no sign of poison.
“The water should be safe,” he said after a pause, “but don’t drink too much. The aura here is pure but thin—it won’t restore our energy.”
Following his instructions, the team took turns drinking small sips and washing their wounds.
The cool spring water refreshed their bodies and spirits; their fatigue eased slightly.
Those with injuries looked much better after cleaning and bandaging. This hidden spring was like an oasis in the desert, giving the weary group a moment’s respite.
However—just as they began to relax, something changed. - Marinien
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