The Serranocha State convergence zone.
This convergence zone had seen very little development. In truth, the zones with high levels of development across the Federation were all clustered around the five major states and their nearby center cities; everywhere else was virtually unmanageable.
Major corporations, cults, and numerous laboratories steadily extracted resources and wealth from it, but even so, they had only tamed a tiny fraction.
The root cause lay in just how vast the convergence zones truly were. Moreover, living organisms reproduced at an extraordinary rate. Whenever a new area was cleared, just a month or two without maintenance would see it completely swallowed by dense overgrowth once more.
After entering the convergence zone, Puppet and his group checked their bearings under the elderly man's guidance, then spurred their mounts forward at a gallop.
Dense forests were scarce here, but landmarks were plentiful. Back during the founding era of the Federation, many had journeyed through and drawn maps, which allowed them to accurately trace a path deep inside.
Because Shell Laboratory had targeted this objective for a long time and begun preparations early, they maintained a secure stronghold deep within the convergence zone stocked with various vehicles and equipment.
Having traveled through the daylight hours, the Blood Staff Mercenary Group arrived at this outpost. Some split off to hunt, while others cleared away the creeping vines and foliage clinging to the structure. After taking a brief rest, they cautiously began smearing various concoctions over their bodies.
This was done to ward off the mutated creatures of the convergence zone—their true adversaries. The mutated fauna and flora here were exceedingly diverse and intricate, posing a threat not only to ordinary people but even to martial artists, demanding utmost vigilance.
Yet the most troublesome aspect was the night. Once darkness fell, any martial artist lacking sufficient strength could not move about freely.
Perhaps the sole saving grace was that many mutated creatures tasted genuinely delicious. Prepared through specialized culinary methods, they could supply immense nutrients that promoted the growth of internal mutated tissues; even implants stood to benefit from the rich nourishment.
Watching the broth bubbling furiously in the pot, a mercenary ladled out a mouthful to taste. "Almost there. Give it five more minutes."
Bored, Brother Xuan asked casually, "Since you took photos of these places, you've been here before, right?"
The old man was busy recording in a notebook. Even though recording tools were available, he still insisted on writing by hand.
Hearing the question, he penned the final few strokes and tucked the book away. Stretching his stiff fingers toward the hot pot for warmth, he said, "Before the lab broke off as an independent entity, our upper benefactors mounted several expeditions. The earliest was funded by the government. Though we didn't achieve major breakthroughs back then, we did collect a great deal of valuable mutated flora. And that thing was discovered during that period. We brought a sample back, which led to the realization of its extraordinary research value."
Brother Xuan chuckled gloatingly. "Old man, sounds like you took quite a beating. Was it here?"
The elderly man did not shy away from the topic. "Not here. In Arantawa State. When the expedition was retreating, we were hunted down by an immense swarm of those blood-men. Out of a two-hundred-man party, only a handful managed to escape. To be frank, it was wise of you to avoid that place. Back then, we encountered more than just one trans-limit creature, so the martial artists in our ranks couldn't protect many people. The sites in other regions weren't nearly as tough to tackle."
Brother Xuan glared at him. "You old bastard, you really are wicked! You couldn't have warned us beforehand?"
The old man sneered. "Mr. Blood Staff possesses formidable strength. To him, which site we visit makes no difference. It only makes a difference to the rest of you."
"Hey! You old geezer!"
The bald woman asked, "Old sir, how long ago was the expedition you mentioned?"
"The most recent one took place seventeen years ago. Everything I know was compiled in the dossiers. Beyond that, I don't know much more than you do."
Another member asked curiously, "That long ago? Who knows if the place is even still there?"
The old man replied, "Those were tribes that had existed for centuries, and the sacred ritual tree cannot uproot itself. There is no need to worry about that."
After they chatted a while longer, a rich aroma wafted from the simmering pot, the broth turning a milky white. A mercenary immediately stepped up to scoop out the meat, dishing it into bowls and handing them out to everyone.
All of them buried their heads and ate, slurping down the soup. There was no other reason than sheer deliciousness: one bite offered a springy, toothsome chew that gradually grew tender with mastication. The savory blend of meat juices and rich broth was intensely flavorful, making one reluctant to swallow.
After finishing one bowl, they dished out another. The enormous pot was emptied in no time, not even a drop of broth left behind. In the end, everyone leaned back in profound satisfaction, as though they had imbibed mellow, fine wine. A warm glow spread through their bodies, lulling them into deep relaxation.
Fighting against the urge to doze off, the old man murmured, "Rest up. We set out at dawn." With that final remark, a soft snore escaped him.
Puppet made a gesture, prompting someone to carry the old man to a bed.
The bald woman glanced at her watch, then peered outside before reporting back, "Boss, night has fallen."
Puppet said, "Go get some rest, all of you. I'll take the night watch."
"Understood, Boss."
Once the members had all gone to rest, Puppet remained sitting there alone. He no longer needed sleep; with only minor adjustments, sheer spiritual energy was enough to maintain his peak condition.
While they rested, the contingent from the Primitive Sect had also caught up. Tracking the trail left behind by Puppet's group, they pursued closely. The pursuit had gone smoothly at first, but by sheer misfortune—perhaps drawn by the scent lingering on the handsome young man—a particularly troublesome trans-limit creature was lured in.
This entity was composed of countless tiny organisms, the collective evolution of an entire swarm endowed with extraordinary reproductive vitality. It proved extremely difficult to eradicate, causing them to be delayed for some time.
By the time he dispatched the monstrosity and resumed their march, night was already falling.
Although the handsome youth had no fear of the dark, his subordinates were powerless against it. Moreover, Primitive Sect doctrine dictated that rites had to be performed within the convergence zone at night.
Thus, they halted there, scattering ceremonial materials into a bonfire along with the mangled remains of the slaughtered mutated creatures.
Several Primitive Sect cultists dropped to their knees and began chanting in raw, guttural tones that closely mirrored the ritual music of the First People.
When their chanting concluded, they slathered black oil over themselves. As night descended, they froze into motionless statues.
The handsome youth stood alone. At that moment, the surrounding creatures seemed to come alive; bizarre sounds even seemed to arise across the sky, while countless dark silhouettes appeared to crawl toward them.
Yet the moment those shadows touched the illumination of the bonfire, they vanished without a trace. Wisps of polychromatic smoke rose from the flames, and the handsome youth inhaled deeply, drawing it all into his lungs.
After the night passed and the bonfire died out, the black oil coating the Primitive Sect members flaked away onto the ground like brittle eggshells, and life seemed to return to them.
Rising from a tree stump, the handsome youth said, "Move out."
On Puppet's side, they set out from the stronghold at first light. Traveling by day and resting by night, after two days of trekking, they finally reached the location shown in the photographs.
"Right there."
The elderly man pointed toward a cluster of hills ahead.
In truth, there was no need for him to point. Everyone could already see bizarre structures perched on the mounds, all constructed from bone. The skeletons were grotesque—some skulls resembled human heads, yet were joined to lower limbs shaped like avian talons.
Dozens upon dozens of crimson humanoid creatures hung upside down from the structures, numbering at least two to three hundred.
"What kind of freakish things are these?"
Even having seen the pictures, the mercenaries still felt a wave of revulsion upon laying eyes on them in the flesh.
The old man, however, grew excited. "The presence of these things proves we came to the right place! The sacred ritual tree should be hidden inside a cavern somewhere in these hills."
Puppet said, "Wait here for me."
"Yes, sir."
Carrying his blood staff, Puppet strode up alone. Before long, the mercenaries saw the crimson silhouettes get startled by something, dropping down like falling rain, followed immediately by thundering crashes.
The clamor raged for about half a minute before Puppet emerged, dragging a crimson beast over three meters long, which he tossed heavily onto the ground.
The old man hurried over and said in astonishment, "To think there was a trans-limit creature here as well." He looked up at Puppet. "Blood Staff truly lives up to the name."
Puppet replied, "The thing you want is behind it. I saw it, and I've already cleared the surroundings. Go find it yourself."
His spirits buoyed, the old man nodded and scurried forward.
Puppet gave a hand signal, and with the exception of the lookout, the remaining mercenaries followed after him. This old man was their client and paying patron; nothing could be allowed to happen to him.
After they departed, Puppet suddenly heard a whistle—the lookout had spotted something. Walking over, he peered into the distance to see a group emerging from the woods, all clad in matching garb.
The handsome youth in their midst radiated an immense sense of threat.
With a single glance, Puppet told the lookout, "They're coming for us. Head back and alert everyone to stay sharp."
The mercenary nodded and hurried back, but right then, he involuntarily pinched his nose. "What is that smell? It reeks!"
Just as the words left his mouth, Puppet reached out to snatch something from the air. With a crisp crack, a cloud of pulverized dust and light exploded from his palm.
He had caught an incoming stone fragment, yet the impact not only punched clean through the spiritual fire shielding his hand, but fractured the metacarpal bones in his palm.
Chapter 1272