novelraw Chapter 221: The Cursed Place
Chapter 221: The Cursed Place
"Huh!"
A deep groan escaped from Thoren’s lips as he struggled to open his eyes. When his eyes finally parted, darkness greeted him from every direction.
He blinked twice, trying to adjust his vision, but nothing changed.
"Where is this place?" he muttered softly.
His gaze wandered around, yet everywhere he looked was swallowed by complete darkness.
The last thing he remembered was being dragged downward by a powerful suction force.
The pull had been so overwhelming that he had no chance to resist.
At some point during the fall, he had lost consciousness entirely.
Taking a slow and careful breath, Thoren felt pain spread across every part of his body.
His muscles ached deeply, and his bones felt as though they had been crushed. Still, that was not his greatest concern at the moment.
He extended his hand and tried to push himself up, but a sharp pain shot through his arm.
"Ah!"
He gritted his teeth tightly.
"That hurts," he whispered under his breath.
Slowly and with great effort, he forced himself to stand. His movements were stiff and unsteady, but he refused to remain on the ground.
He had never experienced such intense pain before.
He knew that if he had been an ordinary person, the fall alone would have killed him.
Although he had no idea how far he had fallen, he was certain that it had been a great distance.
"Where are my undead servants?" he asked quietly.
Without hesitation, he released his mental power and spread it outward into the darkness. His perception expanded, searching for familiar presences.
Soon, he found them.
The Undead Elite Jackal Beastman was buried beneath the sand, with only a portion of its jackal head visible above the surface.
Suddenly, the faint soul fire within its eye sockets flickered brightly. The flames intensified as if responding to Thoren’s call.
The undead twitched slightly before beginning to rise. Sand cascaded off its body as it stood upright and turned toward its master.
In another direction, the Undead Storm Tyrant also began to move.
It pushed itself up from the ground, its massive form steady and imposing.
The yellow soul fire burning within its eyes glowed vividly in the darkness.
A few steps away, the Undead Royalty Stonewall approached as well. Each heavy step echoed faintly through the empty space, creating a dull and hollow sound.
Seeing his undead servants gather around him, Thoren felt a sense of relief.
"Now I can explore this cursed place," he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.
From his inventory, he retrieved a healing potion and drank it in one steady motion. Afterward, he remained still and waited for the potion to take effect.
With his body in such a fragile state, rushing forward recklessly would only lead to disaster. That was something he clearly understood.
After a few minutes passed, he felt the effects begin to settle in. The pain gradually faded, and the soreness in his body diminished.
His muscles loosened, and his breathing became more stable.
When the discomfort finally disappeared, Thoren exhaled slowly through his nose.
He then began to carefully examine his surroundings. This time, he moved with caution, ensuring that he missed no detail.
However, to his surprise, he saw nothing.
His perception extended outward, covering a radius of ten meters. Yet within that range, the only thing he detected was sand.
He repeated the process several times, but the result remained the same.
Despite this, he refused to give up.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed his perception further. A low grunt escaped his throat as he strained his mind.
Sweat began to gather on his forehead, but he paid no attention to it. His entire focus was fixed on searching the darkness.
Just as he was about to withdraw his perception, something moved.
It made no sound.
It appeared for a brief moment, then vanished just as quickly.
Thoren narrowed his eyes slightly.
He held his breath and remained still, waiting for any sign of movement. Several seconds passed in silence.
Then he stepped forward.
He walked toward the direction where he had sensed the disturbance. Each step caused his foot to sink slightly into the sand, leaving deep imprints behind.
The faint sound of shifting grains echoed in the quiet surroundings.
Though the noise was subtle, the stillness of the environment made it seem unusually loud.
However, Thoren ignored it completely. His undead servants surrounded him from all sides, ready to react to any threat. That alone gave him confidence to proceed.
When he reached the location, he discovered something unexpected.
A stone stood before him.
The stone was nearly three meters tall, with edges that were smooth and unnaturally clean. It stood out sharply against the surrounding sand.
Thoren frowned slightly.
"How can such a clean stone exist here?" he wondered aloud.
Curiosity filled his mind as he reached out and touched its surface. The texture felt precise and deliberate, as though it had been cut with great care.
For a brief moment, a thought crossed his mind.
It looked as though the stone had been cleaved by a single, powerful strike.
He paused and considered the possibility.
What kind of strength would be required to cut through solid stone so cleanly? The thought lingered for a moment before he shook his head.
This was not the time to dwell on such mysteries. His priority was to find a way out of this place.
Turning away from the stone, he noticed another one a few meters ahead.
This time, the stone was split completely in two. Parts of it were shattered, as if struck by an overwhelming force.
Thoren moved forward, following the trail of stones. As he continued, he realized that there were more of them scattered throughout the area.
The number of stone pillars increased gradually, deepening his confusion.
Still, he pressed on.
As he walked further, something changed.
The sand beneath his feet slowly disappeared.
Without realizing it, he had stepped onto solid ground.
The transition was subtle, but undeniable. The loose and shifting texture of the desert sand was gone, replaced by something firm and unyielding.
A strange tension filled the air.
In the oppressive silence, Thoren could hear his own heartbeat.
It pounded loudly in his chest, steady and forceful like the rhythm of a war drum.
He frowned slightly.
He did not understand why his heart was racing. There was no visible danger, yet his instincts were screaming at him.
He inhaled slowly through his nose, then exhaled in an attempt to calm himself. However, the uneasy feeling refused to fade.
Instead, it grew stronger.
A cold sensation crept up his spine and he stopped walking.
His eyes scanned the darkness carefully, searching for any sign of movement. His undead servants stood silently around him, their presence unwavering.
Even so, the feeling remained.
It was as though something unseen was watching him.
Not from a distance, but from very close.
His expression darkened slightly.
"Hmm... Why do I feel like I am being watched?" he whispered quietly.
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