Our Family Has Fallen

Chapter 280: Chapter 216: The Lamenting Banshee_2

Soon, the group encountered remnants of some strange ritual, incomprehensible without knowledge of Mysticism. However, the bloodshed and distortion at the site far exceeded the previous corruption rituals. No matter what it was, if the enemy had set it up, it was definitely beneficial to them, which naturally meant it was detrimental to their side, so it had to be destroyed. With no monsters left guarding the vicinity, Lance casually swung his sword several times to demolish the site. At that moment, an inexplicable breeze blew across the wilderness—whether it was from the sword or something else...

It was then that Lance suddenly halted and looked up at the sky; night had fallen.

”Let’s rest for a bit,” he said.

He himself could certainly keep going, but Reynard and the others had already fought a fierce battle and had been marching rapidly for so long. While physical fatigue could be eliminated, the mental strain still left them in poor condition. Lance didn’t know what special abilities Witches in reality might possess, but from the few creatures of the wilderness, he could affirm that she would definitely use various forms of Sorcery. Such mind-bending Sorcery could easily seize a moment of mental exhaustion to infiltrate and exert great pressure on everyone.

Being experienced Adventurers, they quickly cleared an area nearby for a campsite. The fire they ignited dispelled the darkness, and the aroma of the steaming thick soup in the pot greatly soothed their spirits, alleviating the accumulated stress from their journey. At this time, Lance finally had the opportunity to listen to a detailed account of what had happened in Hamlet after his departure.

The disguised infiltration of the Heretics had been exposed by Reynard, with Dismas going to test and confirm, then returning directly to muster the troops. Initially, the advantage was clearly with them—a few hundred against a dozen or so. It was almost bullying, and they started with the mindset of letting the new soldiers gain some battle experience. That was until one of the Heretics transformed into a monster. Subsequently, after a great battle, everyone suffered injuries to varying degrees. Reynard, in particular, fought until he collapsed from severe wounds, and only after a devastating toll was the monster finally blown to pieces.

”Oh, and there’s this,” Dismas said, taking something out: a crystal and a piece of flesh that had lost all its vitality.

Lance used his Spiritual Vision to observe. He found that the crystal contained an abundance of Spiritual Essence, but the piece of flesh had already started to rot; the Spiritual Essence that might have dwelled within it had evidently dissipated. He tossed the rotten flesh and its container into the campfire, then picked up the crystal and examined it for a moment before drawing a conclusion.

”If I’m not mistaken, this should be a Spiritual Crystal.”

After considering their descriptions and his own assessment, Lance then added, ”You probably didn’t encounter ordinary Ascension Cultists, but rather an out-of-control Heretic.”

From what Lance knew, only those Heretics eroded by Spiritual Essence would retain vitality even when blown to bits, as they were essentially physical manifestations of Spiritual Agglomerates with no obvious weaknesses. However, having fought those Ascension Cultists who implanted the Seed, he knew they didn’t show any heretical symptoms upon death. What could be the reason for this loss of control, then? Could there be another scheme at play?

Lance sank into deep thought, but he couldn’t identify the cause, no matter how he reasoned. The Transcendents were very cautious about this; if possible, those fervent believers would rather die than become Heretics. After all, death to them was merely a return to their Lord’s side.

”You all get some rest; I’ll keep watch,” Lance said, gently petting Wang Cai, who lay beside him. He didn’t voice his worries, choosing not to burden them further, and instead let them rest to recover their strength as quickly as possible.

The others had no objections to this decision; in truth, exhaustion had been continuously tormenting their nerves. Since they had to be ready to take action at any moment, no tents were pitched; they simply lay down around the campfire. Soon, they all fell into a deep sleep, with only Lance left studying by the light of the fire.

The wilderness, deep in the night, was terrifying—its oppressive atmosphere sufficient to drive an ordinary person to madness. In such an environment, only one thing could offer them any consolation: the campfire. The flames leaped up, pushing back the miasma that had settled during the night. With the fire came light and warmth, dispersing the darkness and dispelling fear. The miasma’s influence was so potent that even the chirping of insects had vanished, leaving a silence akin to death, broken only occasionally by the crackling of the campfire. Everything was so serene...

But suddenly, Lance, who was engrossed in his research, seemed to sense something. He frowned and slowly looked up towards the darkness outside, his breathing gradually slowing. Once sure of something, his hands swiftly came together, snapping the book shut. He said slowly, ”It seems something doesn’t want us to rest easy.”

His reaction alerted Wang Cai, who had been lying nearby. The wolf-dog’s eyes shot open, its cold, lupine gaze scanning the surroundings with a wolfish demeanor. It wasn’t just Wang Cai; his reaction had also roused the others. They woke from their sleep, looking around vigilantly.

”What’s happened, Lord?”

”Didn’t you hear it?” Lance asked, his brow furrowed as he described the sound he heard to them.

The three fell silent for a moment, listening intently, but after a while, they still shook their heads.

”Nothing.”

”Could it be the sound of the wind blowing through a tree hollow?”

The group was somewhat baffled. It wasn’t that they were groggy from sleep, but rather that they didn’t understand what their Lord had discovered. There was no sign of a night attack.

Their reactions made Lance pause for a moment, but he didn’t believe he was going mad. He wouldn’t have awoken the others without being sure of what he sensed, especially since his perception, influenced by his equipment and innate traits, far exceeded that of ordinary people.

”That wasn’t the sound of the wind.” Lance withdrew his gaze and turned to the others. ”Are you all rested up?”

The others didn’t speak, but their actions of checking their equipment spoke volumes about their readiness. The few hours of rest they had managed since nightfall had greatly alleviated their fatigue, and they seemed much more refreshed.

When encountering problems, the general tactic is to avoid them, especially when strange things happen in the wilderness like this. But Lance wasn’t like that; he was actually more concerned that he hadn’t found a clue to follow.

After waking the others and quickly packing up, he lit a torch and led the team out of the campfire’s glow, searching for the source of the sound. As they progressed, the sound grew clearer, and they too began to make out something.

It was a low whimper—a hollow, mournful sound laced with anger. It seemed to carry a strange power that made everyone’s skin crawl, sending a chill through their bodies as if a cold wind had pierced their flesh and reached their very souls.

”What the hell is making that noise?” Dismas looked around, his sharp eyes sweeping back and forth, but even his eagle-like vision couldn’t penetrate the darkness that shrouded the world outside the torchlight.

”I’ve heard that people who die miserably can turn into ghosts that come back to claim lives,” Balistan said, gripping his weapon, ready for any ghosts that might appear. ”Who knows how many have died here, and what Sorcery those Witches have used.”

”If it’s out here, it’s likely an enemy,” Reynard drew his Longsword, not allowing any threat—be it ghost or otherwise—to menace Hamlet.

The squad moved swiftly. Directions were hard to discern in the near-identical environment, but led by the sound, their course was clear.

Soon, they discovered something. Although Lance was aware that anything might be found in this land, even he stopped in his tracks at what now appeared before them, truly taken aback.

A ghost. A figure emitting a faint white glow, like a specter, floated above the wilderness. Its form was distinct enough to discern the long dress covering the upper body and a delicate, veiled hat that covered its hair and cascaded down, much like a bridal veil. However, the lower body seemed ethereal, as if fading into the air.

At that moment, the ghost was covering its face, sobbing. Its visage remained unseen, but this was indeed the sound that had drawn them here.