Campfires were now ringed with ash circles infused with insect-repelling herbs prepared by the alchemy disciples. Even Han Yu had set up a lot of the circles, as he had been unaffected for the most part unlike the others.
Despite all this, no one was allowed to sleep alone.
The marsh was wearing them down.
And they still had weeks to go.
As the sun dipped behind a curtain of misty trees that day, Han Yu found himself staring at the water again—silent, reflective, and nacing.
There were no signs of the owl.
But ever since that encounter, he had begun to see this world differently. Not everything followed the rules of cultivation, of rank and realm. So dangers could not be overco with power alone.
He rembered the owl’s voice, cold and clear in his mind.
"There are more malevolent things in this forest than your sect fears."
Han Yu believed it now.
The beasts were only the beginning.
The marsh’s oppressive humidity had long since seeped into every robe, every boot, and every bone of the traveling party. It had been a week since they had first waded into the dense wetlands, and the toll on the disciples was impossible to ignore.
What had once been a slow but steady advance through knee-deep, murky waters had now beco an exhausting crawl.
By now, nearly ten percent of the disciples had fallen ill—either bedridden with fever, delirious from venom, or weakened to the point that they could barely walk. The elders could no longer justify pushing forward at their current pace. The sick were not just slowing them down—they were endangering the entire expedition.
After a terse eting between the expedition’s leading elders, the decision was made. They would find a suitable location to establish a semi-permanent camp, one that could serve as a recovery point before attempting to press deeper into the marsh.
It took the better part of a morning to locate such a place.
The marshlands offered few areas of stable ground, but eventually, they ca upon a small, elevated mound surrounded by a sluggish bend of dark water. The place had just enough space for several large tents, was ringed by thick reed walls that could conceal them from the larger beasts, and—most importantly—was far enough above the waterline to avoid being overrun during the nightly tide surges.
The mont they arrived, the elders wasted no ti in ordering defensive asures. This ti, the barriers were not the light defensive wards they had used before. The formations were layered and overlapping, their shimring boundaries forming a faint do of faint blue light over the camp.
"These will keep the larger creatures at bay and prevent even the smallest insects from getting through," An Elder explained to the gathered disciples, his voice firm but not unkind. "Do not wander outside unless you are ordered to. Even the most harmless-looking things here can kill you."
The Support Division and Logistics Division sprang into action the mont the wards went up. Within the hour, the camp was alive with activity—alchemy furnaces being unpacked, herb bundles being sorted, clean water being boiled, and the sick being carried into the makeshift infirmary tent.
Han Yu found himself quickly pulled into the heart of this effort. His reputation as a new alchemist had already grown decently in the Alchemy Peak and the elders knew he could do well and as such the elders wasted no ti assigning him to the task.
He was stationed in one of the smaller side tents, its interior already lined with three portable pill furnaces and two large mixing tables. Around him, other disciples worked quickly and efficiently, their hands stained with the vivid colors of marsh herbs—deep green leaf juice, rusty orange root pulp, and thin streams of dark purple resin.
Han Yu’s task was straightforward compared to so of the others: he was to prepare several large batches of an ointnt designed to counteract the itch, swelling, and slow venom of marsh insect bites.
It wasn’t a cure for fever or a solution for the blood-draining leeches, but it would provide relief and prevent infections—especially vital in the damp, unhygienic environnt of the marsh.
The sect had clearly anticipated this exact scenario. Thick parchnt recipe sheets lay weighted down on the table beside each alchemy station, the ink still crisp from the printing presses. Next to them sat crates containing pre-gathered bundles of the required herbs, neatly labeled in both common script and alchemical notation.
The recipe itself was rcifully simple compared to high-tier pills. All Han Yu had to do was grind together marsh pennyroot, long bronze leaf paste, and a dash of powdered stone mint before simring the mixture over low heat in a thick ceramic pot. Once it had cooled, the result would be a pale green ointnt with a sharp, cooling scent.
Han Yu worked with steady hands, crushing the pennyroot stalks in a mortar until the fibrous strands released their watery sap. The long bronze leaf paste was already partially prepared, needing only a brief stir to soften it, while the powdered stone mint was stored in a sealed jar to keep its potency.
The only real skill required was knowing the exact point when the mixture was fully blended without overcooking it, as overheating would ruin the mint’s numbing effect.
He found the rhythm almost ditative. Scoop, grind, stir, heat, cool—again and again, in small batches that quickly began to pile up in neat clay jars.
Outside the tent, he could hear the muffled sounds of the camp—discussions between elders, the occasional cough or groan from the sick, and the ever-present background chorus of marsh wildlife beyond the wards.
When he finally stepped out for a short break, the sight of the infirmary tent drew his attention. Inside, feverish disciples lay under thin blankets, their skin pale or blotched from venom. Several Alchemy Peak disciples were moving between them with trays of steaming pills, carefully helping the sick swallow the dicine.
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