The March of Shadows      

Von's expression darkened as he considered the possibility. "That could only be it . . . if they've got an entire army marching to the Cleave, those seven Nix'udjar from before could only be spies. We need to hurry, Horizon!"

They wasted no time, racing back to the Cleave. Von nearly leaped down the steep path, desperate to reach the Amberskins home, while Horizon cast a wary glance back at the fog in the distance.

Just as he had feared, the Nix'udjar were indeed marching in this direction. They were targeting the Cleave in the end.

Horizon rushed to catch up with Von, only to find the Amberskins in complete disarray inside the cave.

"What's going on?" Horizon asked, his voice tense.

"I'm not sure," Von replied, then grabbed an Amberskin by the arm. "Hey, what's happening?"

"It's chaos right now," the Amberskin said, his voice fraught with anxiety. "Vodgo's illness has deteriorated so rapidly that Rysamora was forced to convene an urgent tribal council to name a new leader among the elders — either Tulemo or herself — to prevent Atyan and her upstarts from seizing power."

"Atyan must have heard there plan," the Amberskin continued, "She's already incited the younger warriors, rallying them to disrupt the council and challenge Rysamora's authority."

"For the love of the Elven spirits, we don't have time for this!" Von shouted, shoving his way through the crowd. "Listen to me! Hundreds of Nix'Udjars are headed this way! We need to leave now!"

Suddenly, right in the middle of their interactions with the Amberskins, the sentries outside the cave raise an alarm.

"An attacking force is emerging out of the fog and coming up the cliff!"

Many of the tribe's warriors exit the cave to face whatever came.

Horizon quickly followed them outside.

Under the dim twilight, Horizon saw them — emerging from the fog wall below like a relentless flood of writhing shadows. Hundreds of marauders poured out of the borderlands, their movements a chaotic blend of chittering and slithering as they swarmed up the ramps and clifftops.

By the flickering torchlight, Horizon caught glimpses of the nearest ones, their ghastly forms illuminated just enough to send a chill down his spine.

These were no ordinary dragonkin. They were gaunt, misshapen creatures with grotesquely oversized heads, hollow, soulless eyes, and skin stretched tight like mummified corpses.

Nix'udjar — the undead dragonkin, cursed servants of Brood Nix! Relentless, they climbed toward the cave entrance, their presence a harbinger of the doom that loomed over the Cleave.

Just then, a notification appeared before Horizon's eyes:

[CONGRATULATIONS! Special Mission: Investigate the Seven Nix'udjar is COMPLETED!]

[Rewards!

❶ Gold Chest x1

❷ Silver Chests x2

❸ 100 AP

❹ 1000 gil ]

Horizon wasn't entirely sure how the special mission had been completed, but he had a feeling it was because his instincts were spot-on. Returning to the Cleave just in time had sealed the deal.

Finally, a chest! Horizon exclaimed.

As much as he wanted to crack open the chest and see what treasures it held, Horizon knew it wasn't possible — not while they were on the run.

The thought of treasure gnawed at his mind, refusing to let go. It consumed him, filling his every thought with visions of glittering gold and precious trinkets hidden within those chests.

What unimaginable wealth could be lying in wait? How much gold was there?

Even Horizon was puzzled by this sudden obsession. He had never been one to chase after material things or money.

This wasn't like him at all!

Yet now, the lure of treasure had him ensnared, a slave to the very thing he once dismissed.

But his Beginner's backpack could only hold so much, and it wasn't like those games back on Earth where inventory was limitless.

Here, everything had to be carried by hand or strapped to their backs. Every item they owned, every weapon they wielded, was tangible and burdensome.

The inconvenience was real, but so was the weight of each decision — what to carry, what to leave behind.

In this world, every possession felt like a lifeline, making the struggle all the more intense.

But that also made it feel more real, more authentic.

Horizon pushed the unsettling thoughts out of his mind and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He knew he needed to keep the thoughts at bay, so he drew his sword, readying himself for the oncoming battle.

A bead of sweat trickled down Horizon's face as two groups of five Nix'udjar dragonkin emerged from the shadows, one right after the other. Their skeletal forms, with mummified skin stretched tight over their bones, sent a shiver down his spine. He had never faced so many of these undead dragonkin at once, but he was confident in his ability to defeat them.

"Horizon!" Von shouted, firing bullets toward the Nix'udjar, trying to thin their ranks.

Horizon moved swiftly, his sword slicing through the air as he targeted the runes etched into the foreheads of the dragonkin. Each strike was spot on, shattering the runes and causing the undead to crumble into dust.

Nearby, the Amberskin warriors surged forward to defend their territory, their fierce battle cries echoing through the Cleave as they pushed back the attackers.

The initial skirmish ended in victory, but it came at a heavy cost. Horizon and Von stood amidst the battlefield, breathing heavily as they took in the sight of the fallen. Nearly half of the Amberskin warriors had been killed in the raid, their bodies strewn across the ground. The air was thick with the grief of the dead warriors' families, their mournful cries piercing the silence.

As Horizon surveyed the aftermath, he noticed something . . . strange. The large rune etched into the foreheads of the Nix'udjar was also carved onto the foreheads and chests of each fallen Amberskin. 

When were those appeared onto their bodies?