The environment of the Midnight Marsh was harsh, and ordinary creatures could hardly survive there. This place was the home of magical plants and magical beasts. It could be said that every grass and tree you encounter here, or even an insect that inadvertently flies by, could have a special ability.
Silently, the mercenaries traversed the grasslands and shrubbery. The Midnight Marsh was just a general term, as its range was vast, with its depths unexplored and the terrain not limited to just swamps.
Old John led the way, his muddy eyes sharp and clear like a hawk's, scanning every inch of the ground around him. It was almost evening, and if they didn't find anything valuable soon, their efforts would have been in vain today.
Simon and Sage walked at the rear, responsible for keeping watch behind and in the distance. Just as Simon was about to be blinded by the monotonous scenery before him, he suddenly heard Old John whisper, "Found it! Get the shovels!"
The others immediately approached, and Old John marked an area with a tree branch, signaling Simon and the others to start digging. He spoke very little throughout the journey and kept his orders brief to avoid attracting dangerous magical beasts. In front of them was just an ordinary grassland, and Simon hadn't noticed any "prey," but trusting Old John, he had taken a shovel from his backpack and started digging.
The mercenaries worked quickly, and soon a large pit, big enough to hold seven or eight people and half a person deep, appeared before them. While the others were digging, Old John used a fishing net to reinforce a patch of turf, just the right size to cover the pit.
With everything prepared, Old John cautiously crouched next to an ordinary-looking grass, holding a wide-mouthed bottle filled with a transparent liquid. He poured the liquid onto the grass's roots, and within a few seconds, the tightly closed flower bud on the grass burst open, looking like a blooming sun with golden light on its petals, swaying softly in the dark marsh.
Old John placed the wide-mouthed bottle over the flower and deftly used small silver scissors to cut it off. Instead of falling, the flower floated upward, entering the glass bottle perfectly. With swift movements, he covered the bottle and, without hesitation, jumped into the deep pit nearby.
The mercenaries, who had been hiding in the pit, immediately spread the turf, and everything went pitch-black before their eyes. No one spoke, and amidst the deathly silence, the rustling sounds gradually approached, like sandpaper grinding against metal or the friction of wings rubbing against each other.
The mercenaries held their breath, not daring to make a sound. The blooming Starmoon flowers would attract swarms of serrated locusts, which could become a person to bones in an instant. The best way to deal with them was to hide in a dug pit. The mercenaries heard the locusts beginning to nibble on the grass above their heads, and even though they knew that the fishing net and grassroots would be enough to secure their life they couldn't help but feel their hearts race.
Their legs went numb from squatting in the pit, and the sounds above their heads slowly disappeared. Sage shifted with difficulty, his foot stepping into a hole, nearly spraining his ankle. He complained in a low voice, "Simon, what kind of pit did you dig? There's a big hole under my foot!"
Simon immediately retorted, "Impossible! The pit I dug is so smooth that you could build the Helen Palace directly on top of it."
Old John frowned and lifted a corner of the turf, letting the light in. He saw the fresh slime on Sage's shoe, which he had just pulled out of the hole, "…Fresh slime, not good. Run!" The mercenary team scrambled out of the pit, not forgetting to throw the camouflaging turf back into the pit.
Luckily, the locust swarm had just passed, and the area looked like it had been plowed. The bushes and vines that had hindered the mercenaries' escape had all disappeared, clearing many obstacles on their escape route.
A roar from far to near came from behind them, and Sage couldn't help but look back while running. The oblique-scaled python, topped with grass, rushed towards them, raising a cloud of dust.
At times like this, Angus was always the one running at the front. Despite his constant sullen face and nonsense babbling, Simon and the others never believed he didn't want to live.
The closer they got to the critical life-or-death moments, the more Sage couldn't control his loose mouth. "Doesn't it look like a bride in a veil chasing her runaway fiancé?"
Old John snorted coldly, "If you're willing to sacrifice yourself, we'd be more than happy to hold a wedding ceremony for you."
The group ran desperately, eventually losing sight of the oblique-scaled python behind them. However, this did not mean they could let their guard down; the python could reappear suddenly, or it could have left because this area was the territory of another high-level magical beast.
The group panted heavily, shivering occasionally. Simon's head was steaming, the recent run had caused him to heat up. He looked at his companions oddly, "Are you guys cold? I'm sweating all over."
The only dwarf in the mercenary group, Wally, wrapped his clothes tightly around himself, "I'm sweating cold sweat. Now I'm wet and sticky. We need to find a place to shelter from the wind, or we'll definitely get sick." The temperature in the Midnight Marsh was far from friendly, especially now that night was approaching, and the damp, cold air was penetrating everywhere.
Melancholic Angus spoke in his elusive tone, "Stealing your health is the first step for the devil to break your will." Only Old John glanced at the energetic Simon and quietly asked, "Did you advance?" Simon repeatedly denied, "No way, I'm still a Tier 3 warrior!"
Old John also felt it was unlikely that Simon had advanced, as he had been a Tier 4 warrior for nearly ten years and still felt a faint chill. Even if Simon had advanced, his condition would not be better than Old John's. So what could be the reason?
Simon was just as puzzled, but the heat spreading from his abdomen to his limbs reminded him of a familiar sensation—eating boiled fish! The kind of feeling that made his forehead sweat, his mouth numb, and his entire body heat up!
The idea was too preposterous, and after hesitating for a long time, Simon still did not reveal this outlandish reason. It was just a plate of fish fillets, how could it have such a magical effect?
If he could see his character attributes, he would notice a buff: [Cold Resistance +30, Countdown 22:37:13]
Having escaped from the python's pursuit, the mercenaries did not rest for long before they resumed their journey. They wanted to reach the Midnight Marsh's mercenary camp before night fell completely, which was where all the mercenaries would rest for the night.
The camp had just started, with only a scattered handful of four or five squads. In less than a month, however, the place would be packed at night, with conflicts often breaking out over sleeping spots.
It was Simon's turn to cook that night. He took out the smoked meat strips and hard bread from his package, trying to break them into smaller pieces. Although it was called cooking, it was just a matter of boiling the salty smoked meat in hot water and then dipping the bread in the meat broth. This was already considered a relatively good meal in the Midnight Marsh. Most of the time, they could only eat the smoked meat strips dry. The marsh was too damp, making it difficult to start a fire, and the boiling broth could easily attract wild beasts. Only at the camp would they dare to occasionally have a meal like this. That was also one of the reasons why the mercenaries unanimously agreed to establish a temporary camp back then; with strength in numbers, the wild beasts would think twice before attacking.
Simon threw the chunks of meat into the nearly boiling water, stirred it casually, and quickly put the lid back on without waiting for the scent of the meat to emerge. The dwarf Wally stared intently at the pot, complaining, "Hana's bread is getting harder and harder. Eating it is like swallowing a hedgehog whole. My throat is going to develop calluses."
Old John shared a joke, "There used to be a mercenary nicknamed 'Screaming Dylan'. After he took a mission in the Midnight Marsh, we changed his name to 'The Lip Reader'."
Despite Hana's bakery being a Business great, the people of Misty Town didn't buy their bread there. Many families had their bread ovens at home, producing sweet, soft bread.
But Hana's bread had irreplaceable advantages: it was hard to spoil and had no aroma. At most, mercenaries would stay in the marsh for over ten days, and only hard bread and smoked meat could be preserved in such a damp environment. The aroma was also a major consideration for them when choosing food, as having fragrant food in their backpacks was like telling all the predators in the Midnight Marsh, "I'm here."
The soup pot began to boil, and Sage started handing out bowls to everyone. Their backpacks were already full of tools and food they carried with them, so the wooden bowls everyone was holding actually came from a plant called Wood Bowl Flower. By pinching off the central pistil, the hard petals would naturally form an airtight bowl shape.
This method was suitable for mercenaries only. If you didn't eat as fast as they did, the soup would soon leak from the softened petals onto your body.
Simon quickly filled a large bowl of hot soup for each person, adding a handful of broken bread pieces. The cold, hard bread softened in the soup, and the temperature of the broth also decreased. The mercenaries slurped the soup, the scalding liquid warming their entire bodies, relaxing their furrowed brows from the cold.
Simon took a sip of the soup from his bowl. It was only salty, the smoked meat a bit dry, and the soaked bread was not as hard but not particularly pleasant in texture either. His mind wandered as he remembered the boiled fish he had eaten the night before at the Dragonflame restaurant. The smooth, tender fish fillets slid down his throat without much chewing, the rich flavors layered on one another, and even the side dishes soaked in the broth had their unique taste.
The melancholic Angus, sitting nearby, reminded him in a faint voice, "There are many meaningless things in life, like eating and sleeping. But we have no choice, how sad."
Seeing Simon still daydreaming, he had to switch to a more straightforward approach: "Your bowl is about to get soaked and ruined."
Simon hurriedly lowered his head, drank the soup in his bowl, and decided that he would have to eat boiled fish again once they returned to town.