Chapter 838: Unbearable
As Brown spoke, Kempes—who'd just been kicking Kance with the casual cruelty of a bored executioner—abruptly stopped. Something flickered in his eyes, the faintest glimmer of interest. He slid back behind the table, lifted his wine glass, and drank, as if he hadn't just been doling out violence for sport.
"Viperfog Valley?"
Brown nodded hurriedly.
"Yes, Viperfog Valley. That guy's been haunting the place lately—sometimes even heading deep inside, though he never lingers long. For someone like you, Lord Kempes, that kind of environment's a gift-wrapped kill. Honestly, it'd be almost unfair..."
Kempes tore off a chunk of meat and stuffed it in his mouth, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Viperfog Valley? What could possibly lure an Auckland mage to that cesspit? Weren't they supposed to have given up poking around years ago?
When it comes to understanding that place, who could compare to the Caucasus Battlemages? After every other faction stopped researching Viperfog Valley, only the Caucasus Battlemages kept exploring it.
Anyone else who went in could barely make it a thousand meters before they had to turn back. If you weren't a Title Archmage, staying inside for more than five minutes meant certain death. Only the Caucasus Battlemages could last for a long time in there—sometimes even pushing deeper, albeit slowly, but at least making progress.
Other mage factions probably haven't explored more than a thousand meters in there, if that. And what is there at a thousand meters? Nothing but rocks. Not a single thing moves—not to mention anything of value...
Now, someone's actually scheming around Viperfog Valley. Kempes felt a twisted sort of curiosity stir.
After a moment's thought, Kempes nodded.
"Alright, I'll bite. But my price? I want one of the Charlotte Family's plane coordinates—the Goldspire Realm. Don't bother haggling."
Brown's face changed dramatically at those words.
The Goldspire Realm was the Charlotte Family's main source for developing metal materials—the backbone of their weapons and materials business.
The Goldspire Realm was basically barren, with almost no plants—just endless stretches of stone. But the mineral veins there were outrageously rich, with nearly half exposed right on the surface, making mining absurdly easy.
And the variety of mineral resources in the Goldspire Realm was staggering. Over thirty percent of the veins were rich in magical ore. The rest—ordinary veins—were still incredibly abundant, and even those could yield rare magical minerals.
Just recently, a routine dig in a massive iron mine turned up a Heart of Steel—the pinnacle of metal ores. Forge a weapon from it, and a Sword Saint’s strength jumps a whole tier. Use it for an Essence Relic—the kind with a sentient spirit—and you’re looking at the very top of the magical food chain. Its toughness is absurd: even a Sword Saint’s direct blow wouldn’t leave so much as a scratch.
The Charlotte Family's rapid growth these past years was directly tied to their aggressive development of the Goldspire Realm. The plane coordinate for the Goldspire Realm was one of their deepest secrets. Every person sent there was carefully vetted—even a regular miner had to pass three rounds of verification.
Giving up the coordinate to a place like that? Might as well carve off a slab of flesh from the Charlotte Family—one deep enough to hit bone and leave them limping.
Brown’s face cycled through every shade of panic as he scrambled for a polite refusal, but Kance—wiping the blood from his mouth—just shot Kempes a vicious grin and agreed, like he couldn’t wait to make trouble.
"Deal. You take out Matthew Merlin, and I'll hand over the coordinate. Simple as that."
A glint flickered in Kance's eyes as he sneered inwardly.
Just a coordinate, nothing more. If Kempes manages to kill Matthew Merlin, telling him won't cost me a thing. The family won't have a clue I was the leak—plenty of people know it, and scapegoats are a dime a dozen.
Even if Kempes gets the coordinate, it's useless. The Goldspire Realm is guarded by the family's elite troops. If Kempes tries to go, the mage legion will just drive him back—no real loss.
Kempes didn't care what Kance was thinking; he just sneered.
"Good. It's a deal. If I kill Matthew Merlin and you try to stiff me, you'll learn firsthand why nobody survives owing a debt to a Caucasus Battlemage."
Kance barely blinked. He wasn't planning to cross Kempes—trying would only drag him into a deeper mess. Besides, leaking the coordinate? Nobody would ever pin it on him.
"I'll have someone deliver a portrait of Matthew Merlin to you..."
Kempes waved his hand dismissively.
"Save yourself the trouble. I'll just slaughter anyone who walks into Viperfog Valley in the next few days. Aside from Matthew Merlin, the rest are yours—consider it a bonus."
With the deal sealed, Kance and Brown left the camp, flanked by a squad of Caucasus Battlemages. Brown wore the look of a man walking to his own execution, while Kance practically skipped along, unbothered by the fresh bruises Kempes had left on him.
His rune shield had been shredded like parchment—something only a Caucasus Battlemage could pull off. Ordinary mages would be lucky to die quickly. That bastard Matthew Merlin would probably get the same treatment: shield torn apart, neck snapped like a twig...
Kance's little errand to the Caucasus Battlemages was a mystery to Leon, who was holed up in a borrowed Black Tower alchemy lab, burning the midnight oil over those Viperfog Valley herbs.
Two days later, Leon finally wrangled an antidote out of those stubborn, weed-like herbs. With a swallow, you could wander Viperfog Valley at leisure, the infamous toxins nothing but a bad memory.
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With Hubert, Reina, the alchemical golem, and Anderson in tow, Leon returned to Viperfog Valley. Before entering, he made sure everyone drank a vial of the antidote—even the Arcane Wheel and the alchemical golem were coated in it, and Anderson actually took a bath in the stuff.
Last time, Leon noticed that the poison mist was highly corrosive—not just to living things, but even to magical artifacts and alchemical golems. If they hadn’t left in time, Anderson and the golem’s mana sources would’ve been contaminated.
This time, everyone could feel it—the poison mist was stopped outside their bodies, unable to corrode them at all. The Arcane Wheel and the alchemical golem were completely unaffected.
After trekking several kilometers through the barren valley, the first living thing finally appeared.
It was a pitch-black giant python, over ten meters long and half a meter thick. When it spotted Leon and his companions, it was still dozens of meters away, but it immediately opened its bloody maw. Two thick, exposed fangs jutted out, and twin jets of venom shot from them, crossing the distance in an instant.
With a wet hiss, the venom slammed into a boulder three or four meters tall, instantly boring twin, pitch-black holes straight through the rock.
From those holes, black, oily foam bubbled up, devouring the stone in seconds and leaving a gaping pit more than a meter wide. A stream of stinking black oil oozed down the rock, corroding everything it touched—stone, dirt, even the air seemed to sizzle.
The sight sent a chill crawling down everyone’s spine. Antidote or not, nobody wanted to test that venom head-on. The stench alone was torture—burning nostrils, itching deep inside, and that was with the antidote.
"Everyone be careful. Don't get hit by the venom."
Leon warned in a low voice, but didn't make a move. The python was only rank thirty—aside from its terrifying venom, it wasn't anything special.
Hubert hefted Slaughter, baring his teeth as he charged forward. Each stride covered over ten meters, his speed astonishing. Every step landed like a cannon blast, blowing a crater over a meter wide into the ground.
In just a couple seconds, Hubert was in front of the black python. The serpent spat venom again, but Hubert dodged it with ease and appeared at its flank.
The python lunged, jaws wide, but Hubert just gave a cold, toothy sneer. He didn't bother dodging—just swung Slaughter with the kind of brutal glee that made onlookers wince.
"You thick-skulled beast—spitting venom at Lord Hubert? Slaughter's been starving for a taste of blood, and today's the feast!"
Slaughter had been reinforced by Leon once again. There were no special effects—just new materials added, making it harder and heavier. It now weighed nearly ten thousand pounds, enough to make most low-level Sword Saints balk, let alone wield it as a weapon.
There was also a weight-increasing array carved into Slaughter. A casual swing could carry tens of thousands of pounds.
Hubert had survived brutal battles in the pocket world, always emerging battered and relying on his monstrous physique to recover. After returning, he spent his days sleeping with a pile of potions—and getting stronger faster. He’d even arm-wrestled Thorne Merlin and easily crushed both of Thorne’s hands with one of his own. He was a one-man monster.
As Hubert swung Slaughter at the python’s skull, the air erupted in a chain of sonic booms—not speed, but brute, monstrous force tearing the atmosphere apart.
Slaughter crashed into the python’s skull with bone-shattering force. Its head burst open like a rotten melon, blood mist detonating sideways under the sheer violence. Not a drop touched Hubert—he stood spotless amid the carnage.