The fog was like milk diluted with water, lingering amongst the trees. Looking up, the tops of the trees seem to touch the low lying clouds, covering up the sky and light, making it impossible to distinguish the direction of sunrise or the curtain of sunset.
Sturdy fir trees stood like giant pillars piercing into the clouds, their numbers infinite. Occasionally, an indescribable strange sound would rise abruptly from the top of the trees, in the deepest part of the fog. The sound was like a lover's intimate whisper, or a woman's nocturnal cry, melancholy and mournful, echoing through the woods.
...
A hand-sized "Purple Night Moth" was sucking the juice of the massive fir tree trunk. The fir trees in the Foggy Forest were different from their counterparts outside, their juice possessing a slight amount of toxicity. However, the Purple Night Moth could accumulate these toxins from the tree juice on the scales of its wings, using a unique organ in its belly.
When the Purple Night Moth took flight, the wings' edges would glow with a faint purple light, scattering a shower of luminescent particles. Animals breathing these particles would experience spasms in their respiratory muscles, leading to death by suffocation, making very few animals or magical beasts dare to provoke this beautiful creature adorned with purple patterns.
However, there are exceptions to everything.
All of a sudden, a pair of small claws swiftly grabbed the feeding Purple Night Moth. The owner of the claws was a small springtail mouse. The mouse's respiration was not carried out by its respiratory muscles, so it didn't trigger spasms, which was a kind of indirect immunity to the toxin.
The body of the springtail mouse wasn't much bigger than the Purple Night Moth. The moth was struggling fiercely. The faint purple luminescence filled the surrounding air, appearing incredibly striking. The mouse gripped the moth's body with its claws, bit off the moth's head, and spit it onto the ground. With the prey quiet, the predator began to enjoy the fruits of victory.
After a few bites, the mouse suddenly stopped. Its large eyes looked towards the misty distance. Then, as if startled, it took its prey and ran deeper into the fog.
In the distance, a group of vague figures moved and twisted through the fog as if they were ghosts. The figures drew closer, the fog roiling and being torn apart. Five humanoids of differing heights and weights emerged from the mist.
One walked in the middle of the group; a human male wearing a brown robe with pale golden patterns asked his companions, "Tell me, what's the most robust, fiercest liquor you've ever had?"
Leading the group was an imposing Norde Barbarian, his brow covered in tattoos. He glanced back at the people behind him using his peripheral vision but chose not to speak, instead carefully monitoring his surroundings.
With the long sword in his hand, he cut through a "dead branch" that had fallen from the fir tree. Upon hitting the ground, the "dead branch" screamed piercingly and ran into the fog, leaving behind a puddle of green liquid. He stabbed and killed a frog much smaller than a bunny hiding in a thicket, collecting its dead body into his leather bag. He then carefully avoided a cluster of blooming spore mushrooms and signaled others not to step on them.
"Drinking?" A half-elf in the group expressed surprise after moving around the mushroom cluster. "I thought mages didn't drink, and you've never had liquor in front of us before. I can't even begin to imagine what a drunken mage would look like. That being said, it would definitely be amusing."
"And dangerous," the Barbarian at the front added.
"Exactly!" The half-elf nodded earnestly. "An ordinary mage is already formidable. A drunken mage is scarier than a dragon whose treasure hoard's been stolen. If the President of the Magic Association gets drunk, can you imagine? Ha, will the second Gods' War start then?"
"Although the President is great, he is still far from the likes of Mage Talasha. Known as the founder of the Magic Empire, the legendary among legendary mages, the one who tore the Magicnet, the reshaper of magic, the GodsSlayer, the beacon of humanity's progress, the Eye of Wisdom of the Multiverse, dear Mage Talasha is the greatest." The robed man spoke.
"You can remember such a long title?" exclaimed the half-elf.
The Barbarian adventurer walked up to a fir tree, swung his sword and split open the tree's bark, looked at the crack, and then changed direction and kept moving forward.
Following the Barbarian adventurer, the robed man laughed and said, "Although the title is long, it's nothing compared to the more tongue-twisting magic incantations and the confusing array symbols. Oh, wait. What was I going to say earlier?"
"Drinking," the half-elven reminded.
"Yes, drinking! In fact, mages are not teetotalers, but they rarely allow themselves to get heavily drunk. They need full and sharp mental power at all times to learn profound magic knowledge. They spend a lot of time meditating to replenish and increase their magic power, and they must complete tasks within the association to earn internal points. So, time is very precious to them. Many low-ranking mages even squeeze the most out of their sleep time, let alone getting hungover."
It was somewhat bizarre for the barbarian adventurer that a mage was referring to the group of mages as 'they' instead of 'we'.
The man in brown robes paused momentarily upon saying this. Adhering to the barbarian adventurer's hint, he plucked a thick leaf from a peculiar tree beside him and put it in his mouth, just as the rest of the group did.
"Hmm, not bad!" Full, minty juice revitalized the man in the robe, prompting him to resume, "But above all, mages dislike the disorder, the uncontrollable feelings. Trust me, order always takes precedence in the beliefs of mages. This order also includes control of their own body and consciousness."
"The juice from these leaves suddenly makes me want to smoke a pipe. There's no issue with smoking here, right?" He asked the leading barbarian adventurer.
Upon receiving an affirmative response, the man in the brown robe took out his pipe and lit it, drawing a deep puff, then exhaled it into the mist. The two sorts of vapors swirled joyously, merging together.
He continued on the topic, "Even though mages rarely drink, it does not mean they abstain entirely. They usually liven up their vitality potions with a bit of sweet plum wine to neutralize the peculiar taste of the potion. Estelle, as you know, the strange flavor of a vitality potion isn't exactly pleasant."
The half-elven nodded without refuting, showing that the odd taste indeed lingered in the mouth.
"My colleagues, they drink vitality potions so frequently that the City-State of Muya purchases a large quantity of sweet plum wine every year to transport to the Floating City of Arle Safir. However, for me, sweet plum wine is too bland. The taste of fruit wine resembles juice rather than wine."
"Fruit wines can also have a high alcohol content," said the half-elven, "In the Elf Holy Land, Loso Loralin, there is a type of fruit wine made from currants and juice of magic vine. It's slightly sour and sweet, doesn't seem strong, but one small cup can get you drunk for three days!"
"No, no, no, my dear Estelle, the purpose of drinking is not to get drunk!" The man in the robe chuckled, "It's about savoring the wonderful sensation of the wine blossoming in your mouth. I used to favor adding a type of Norde's special fiery red liquor known as 'Spicy liquor' to my vitality potion. Have you heard of 'Spicy liquor'? Our good guide, Mr. Bartlett." He asked the Norde leading the way.
I'm not sir, Bartlett muttered to himself. As a Norde, how could I not know 'Spicy liquor'? But Norde people prefer calling it 'Orc's Blood'. Rather than engaging in this conversation about liquor, I prefer to stay vigilant of the surroundings.
"Yes," he simply answered.
At that point, the barbarian adventurer, Vulgar Novel, and his party had already spent over half a day in the Foggy Forest. Beyond their initial discomfort due to the drastic decrease in visibility caused by the fog, Old Will and the others quickly acclimatized to the peculiar environment of the forest. After all, they were a formidable adventuring team with strong adaptability to different conditions.
To be honest, Bartlett wasn't too fond of this lighthearted adventure atmosphere. But firstly, he categorized himself as a hired mercenary earning a wage, and since the other party was not clueless newcomers, he did not want to interfere too much into Vulgar Novel's adventuring habits; secondly, they were still walking along the outer periphery of the Foggy Forest, and it was unlikely for accidents to occur.
Under normal circumstances, the first two or three days of journeying farther into the Foggy Forest are considerably safe. The Golden Clover Knight Corps from the Mist Castle would carry out wide-scale exterminations of magical beasts and monsters in this vicinity periodically. Doing so not only ensured the safety of the Mist Castle, but also collected various valuable resources from nearby.
If adventurers sought gain, apart from counting on a windfall of "gold raining from the sky", their only option was to venture deeper into the Foggy Forest.
...