In a quiet clearing deep within the forest, Leon stood over his creation. The air was thick with anticipation as he took in the intricate magic patterns and runes he had carefully carved into the earth. His hands were caked with dried mud, but his heart beat in sync with the guiding voice of the girl, which echoed in his mind. Every step he had taken, every line he had etched, had been under her patient instruction. It had taken hours of work, with countless revisions and adjustments, but now, the magical Circle was finally complete.
The clearing was wide and open, with just enough space for the sprawling ritual. As the girl had directed, Leon had embedded small pieces of rocks and minerals into the grooves of the magic array, each one placed with exact precision. The minerals glittered faintly in the twilight, casting a strange, otherworldly glow across the muddy floor. The ground green stone powder he used to fill the rune indentations shimmered softly, giving the entire formation an ethereal quality, as if it pulsed with life.
The magic ritual was complex, made up of two distinct layers. The inner layer was a tightly woven core of interlocking symbols, that would serve as the ritual's heart. The outer circle formed the boundary, marking the extent of the magic's reach. According to the girl, the ritual circle size was critical for success, the larger it was, the more efficient the capture would be. Ideally, Leon would have liked to make it even bigger and more intricate, but the materials at hand were meager, and there was no skilled wizard to oversee the ceremony. The ten-meter diameter was the largest he could manage under such conditions, and even that had stretched his resources to their limit.
Carefully, Leon stepped between the delicate patterns, making sure his boots didn't disturb the fragile grooves. Each step was precise, as he made his way to the center of the formation. Once there, he paused, glancing back to ensure that his path had left no marks or footprints that might disrupt the integrity of the ritual. Satisfied, he exhaled slowly.
Earlier, Leon had asked the girl if the formation, etched so crudely into the mud, was at risk of being easily destroyed. Her answer had been blunt; yes. A seasoned magician would have used a far more stable method to engrave the formation, making it resilient to outside interference. But Leon was no such magician, and for now, this improvised approach would have to suffice.
"Don't worry," the girl's voice had reassured him. "Once the ceremony begins, I will draw upon the chaotic energy to stabilize the formation. It won't be so fragile then. Even if someone steps on it, it will hold."
That had given Leon some comfort. Though she warned that a skilled spellcaster could still easily break through the temporary reinforcement, the threats they faced tonight weren't the work of cunning sorcerers. Their enemies were far more primal, brainless spirits, an enraged demon, and the possessed Liam. None of them had the knowledge or subtlety to unravel the magic that bound the formation.
Standing at the formation's center, Leon called out to his companion, Brandon, who had been watching from the edge of the clearing. Brandon approached cautiously, his eyes wide with amazement at the sprawling network of runes and symbols. The patterns were beautiful in their complexity, the lines flowing like rivers of magic across the ground. He stepped carefully over the designs, mindful not to disturb the fragile work, and finally reached Leon's side, handing over a small wooden cage.
Leon took the cage, inspecting the object inside with a mixture of pride and frustration. The so-called "Earth Spirit Lamp" wasn't exactly the grand artifact its name suggested. It was a crude thing, cobbled together with whatever materials they had been able to scavenge from the surrounding forest. The design had been the girl's, but the execution had been all Leon's, his hands rough and unskilled in such delicate crafting.
He recalled the process: they had found a special ore near the foot of the mountain, which he used as the core of the lamp. He had wrapped it in wet clay, painstakingly engraving tiny runes into its soft surface. The clay shell was then housed in a wooden cage, crudely constructed from the branches of a specific tree the girl had told him about. The final product looked more like a child's mud pie than a mystical tool, but for all its humble appearance, Leon knew it held power.
The Earth Spirit Lamp was not meant to be impressive. It was a simple tool, its beauty lying not in its appearance but in its function. With this lamp, and the magic that would soon flood the formation, they might just have a chance to complete the ritual and bind the chaotic forces that threatened them.
"Ready?" Leon asked, his voice steady despite the tension thrumming through his veins.
Brandon nodded, his eyes flickering between Leon and the magic formation. "Ready as I'll ever be."
Leon gave a small smile. "Then let's hope this works."
With the lamp in hand, and the ritual prepared, there was no turning back now.
Before it was imbued with magic, the object was nothing more than a worthless heap of stones, dirt, and branches, completely useless. It lacked the essential element needed to transform it into a "wayfinder," something capable of guiding them through the treacherous, cursed land. What it needed was the soul of an intelligent being, a spark, a wick, to bring it to life.
Leon crouched down and carefully placed the spirit lamp, a crude yet intricate artifact connected to the earth's veins, into a pit at the heart of the ritual circle. His hands, dirty from hours of work, moved with precision despite the weight of the task ahead. He ripped a small patch from his already tattered linen trousers, the fabric fraying easily in his grasp. He laid the cloth over the top of the lamp, taking care to protect the delicate runes inscribed on its surface from the encroaching mud. Satisfied with his makeshift solution, he began filling the pit with soil, pressing it down firmly.
Straightening up, Leon's gaze flickered nervously between the knife in his hand and the faintly glowing formation beneath his feet. He borrowed the blade from Brandon, his companion, a trusted friend who watched from a few feet away, his face unreadable but his stance tense.
Leon hesitated, the dagger resting on his open palm. His voice, tinged with discomfort, broke the silence. "I know this sounds ridiculous, but… do I really have to cut my palm open? Can't I just prick a finger? It seems excessive."
He swallowed hard, feeling a twinge of embarrassment for even asking. The thought of slicing into his own flesh made him cringe, he could handle many things, but this kind of self-inflicted pain was a different matter altogether.
A soft, almost teasing chuckle came from the girl's voice, disembodied yet familiar. "If you were skilled in magic, you wouldn't need blood at all. But since you aren't, I'm afraid you do. Don't worry~ I'll stop the bleeding when it's done."
Brandon, who had been silently observing, couldn't contain his concern any longer, as he saw his companions struggle. He stepped forward and offered quietly, "If blood is what's needed, you can use mine. You don't have to do this."
Leon looked at him, forcing a weak smile. "It has to be my blood. The bond needs to be personal."
The ritual required more than just formations and spells; it demanded a direct connection between Leon and the magic circle. His blood was the bridge that would link his body to the energy of the cursed land. Through this sacrifice, the ancient force would tap into the chaotic magic that lingered in the atmosphere, allowing him to control it, at least for a time.
Gritting his teeth, Leon steeled himself. *It's just a cut,* he told himself. *A man can survive worse. If I can face death, I can face this.*
With a sudden, determined motion, Leon dragged the dagger across his palm. At first, there was only a cold, sharp sensation, but within seconds, heat flooded the wound as the pain bloomed violently. His mind screamed with the intensity of it *Pain! Pain! Pain!* as though every nerve in his hand had caught fire.
Hissing through clenched teeth, Leon tossed the dagger back to Brandon. Blood poured from his hand, the crimson stream glistening as it dripped onto the earth. It splashed onto the core of the formation, staining the ancient symbols beneath his feet.
Ignoring the throbbing ache, Leon raised his head, took a deep breath, and began chanting the words of the summoning ritual, his voice strong despite the burning in his hand:
"**Gulorelite! In the name of Yinne, obey the laws of the eternally frozen Dead Sea!**"
Unlike the rehearsals, where the words had felt empty, hollow repetitions, this time the incantation surged with life. As Leon spoke, he could feel something stirring within him, an unfamiliar force, moving like a current, flowing out from his wound and seeping into the ground. It was as though the blood was carrying more than just his essence; it carried power, ancient and wild, linking him to the very earth beneath his feet.
The ritual had begun.
The strange sensation that flowed through Leon felt eerily familiar, much like the time he had unleashed the Arrow of Isa. However, this time it was not as overwhelming, not so intense that it threatened to drain him of strength or leave him unconscious.
"**(Guluolet) All spirits and shadows, heed my command. After passing through the sleepless dust, return here swiftly!**" Leon's voice echoed across the clearing, each word dripping with power.
As he continued chanting, the circular magic Circle beneath him, ten meters in diameter and carved with intricate patterns, began to come alive. Tiny mineral fragments embedded in the soil around the Circle started to glow faintly, one after another, as if ignited by some ancient and invisible force. The light followed a hidden logic, a rhythm known only to the mystics of old. At each node of the formation, a crisp crackling sound echoed, like the gentle shattering of crystals.
Brandon stood nearby, his eyes wide with amazement. He had read about such magic in dusty old books, but to witness it firsthand was an entirely different experience. The faint glow of the runes, the sounds of the arcane energy stirring, he could hardly believe it. Before meeting Leon, magic had been little more than an abstract concept. Now, it unfolded before him, dazzling and mysterious.
Leon's voice rose again, deeper, more solemn, "**(Guluolet) I use my body and spirit as a beacon to summon the wandering souls. I offer you freedom from your chaotic bonds, and I grant your spirits a place to rest in peace.**"
At the center of the ritual circle, where the earth vein spirit lamp had been buried, the blood that Leon had sacrificed began to surge with new intensity. The crimson light flowed through the grooves of the arcane symbols, tracing them with a fierce glow. Slowly, the entire Circle was illuminated by this blood-red radiance, until it bathed the ground in an eerie, pulsating light.
Then, from nowhere, an unnatural wind rose, stirring the treetops of the forest. The branches swayed wildly, as if agitated by some unseen presence. Brandon, standing just a few feet away, shuddered as the temperature dropped sharply. It was as though a cold hand had reached into his bones. The air grew frigid, so much so that his breath misted in the darkening night. He couldn't help but wrap his arms around himself, feeling as if he had suddenly been plunged into an ice-cold cellar.
As Leon's chanting slowed, the red light from the magic circle dimmed, fading back into the soil. He exhaled a long, weary breath, relaxing his tense body. The energy in the air seemed to settle, though the cold lingered.
The girl's voice, which had guided him thus far, was silent now. She had warned him that her remaining strength would be spent maintaining the ritual. From this point on, Leon knew he was on his own.
"Is it done?" Brandon asked, his voice tight with nerves, his hand gripping the hilt of his long dagger.
Leon nodded, still catching his breath. "Yes, I think so. Now we just need to wait and hope we can lure the demon that's possessing Liam here." His words were steady, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty. He had no idea where their friend, now a vessel for the demon, might be lurking. All they could do now was wait and hope.
Leon bent down to retrieve the makeshift wooden spear he had crafted earlier. It was rough, nowhere near the sturdiness of the pitchfork he had discarded in his flight from the village. His grip tightened around the splintered wood, and he couldn't help but miss his old weapon.
The night deepened, and the two companions settled into a tense, watchful silence. Time passed in a blur, the chill in the air growing sharper, the forest unnervingly still. Every rustle of leaves, every distant sound made their hearts race.
Then, suddenly, the silence was broken. A faint rustling came from the underbrush nearby, and both men immediately tensed, their senses snapping to full alertness. The sound was soft at first, barely noticeable, but it grew louder, more deliberate.
Leon rose to his feet, gripping his spear with both hands, his body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance. His pulse quickened, and even the pain in his wounded hand, now hastily wrapped in cloth, seemed to dull under the weight of his fear and anticipation.
Both men turned toward the sound, eyes scanning the darkened forest. Whatever was coming, they had to be ready.
Brandon gripped his dagger tightly, taking a cautious step back from Leon. His eyes scanned the bushes, his body tense and ready to strike at a moment's notice. The two of them had fought side by side before, and they had learned how to move in sync, but nothing could prepare them for what emerged from the undergrowth.
Through the swaying grass and tangled branches, a figure finally came into view. Both of them squinted, hearts pounding, but it wasn't Liam. Their hopes fell, replaced by a growing dread as the creature came fully into the open.
It was a massive, decaying canine, its body twisted and grotesque. This wasn't a wolf, Leon recognized that immediately. Its snout was wide and ferocious, more akin to a Rottweiler from his past life on Earth, but its size was far more intimidating, at least twice as large as any dog he had ever seen.
The creature's skin was bare, its once-thick fur long since fallen away, revealing a skeletal frame draped in shriveled, taut skin. Muscles, though dried and decayed, still rippled beneath its surface. Its nose was sunken deep into a pit of bone, and from its hollow, blackened eye sockets, an eerie dark red glow emanated, like flickering embers trapped in a dead fire.
The sight of the undead hound sent a chill down Leon's spine. Every instinct in his body screamed danger. Despite its withered appearance, this warhound still looked more deadly than any living wolf he had ever encountered.
"*Duwana War Dog?!*" Brandon's voice broke through the tension, filled with alarm. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. "Leon, these dogs were bred for battle, they could bite through armor like it was nothing! At least… when they were alive." He swallowed hard, his eyes not leaving the monstrous canine for a second.
Leon's heart sank further. The Duwana War Dog was a fearsome beast, prized by the Rahman family from the western reaches of the Kingdom of Orland. They were as valuable as warhorses and so vicious that it often took two or three soldiers just to control one. When it attacked, it could tear a person apart in mere moments.
And now, this one was undead, driven by something darker and more dangerous than hunger.
Leon's grip tightened on the crude wooden spear in his hand. It was a poor excuse for a weapon, but it was all he had. He couldn't look away from the rotting war dog for even a second. The girl's voice had warned him that zombie-like undead might not retain their intelligence, but here, in this cursed land, their power could still be terrifying.
Leon quickly made a decision. "We can't fight this thing head-on. Back off, slowly. We'll lead it into the trap," he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on the war dog.
Just as he finished speaking, the zombie war dog bared its rotting teeth. The stench of decay hit them like a wave. It tried to let out a roar, a sound that in life would have sent shivers down the spine of any enemy. But now, its throat was nothing but a dried husk, and all that came out was a hollow, raspy hiss, like air forced through a broken bellows. The noise was unsettling, a reminder of the monstrous thing this creature had become.
Leon and Brandon separated, moving cautiously toward the two concealed pits they had prepared in the magic circle. Each of them knew that one wrong move could be fatal.
But the undead war dog had no intention of testing its prey. It snarled, crouched low, and then, with terrifying speed, lunged toward Leon. Its decayed limbs propelled it forward faster than Leon had anticipated. He barely had time to react, bracing himself for the impact of the monstrous beast.
Time seemed to slow as Leon saw the undead hound's eyes lock onto him, its skeletal jaws wide open, ready to tear him apart.