Forged Weapon

Kieran had no idea where they were going, and his knowledge of his surroundings wasn't becoming much clearer.

The dense miasma covering the Wild Lands permeated its every region like an infectious and intractable disease.

Come to think of it, the miasma could be conceived as a sickness. It did terrifying things to the creatures bearing the misfortune of roaming these unforgiving lands.

'And yet… I'm roaming them now.'

Kieran sighed.

However, he was also grateful for the Flame's convenience. The longer he ventured amidst this noxious land, the more negligible the deathly miasma became. Granted, that did nothing for the rancid smell of rot that seeped into his nose and the pungent taste lingering on his tongue.

There were often times Kieran felt like hurling from the nauseating stenches but held himself back.

'This must be what an aftermath of war smells like. All that death leads to inevitable rot, which has an atrocious smell.'