abnabooks Chapter 140: Breathless Climbing
Chapter 140: Breathless Climbing
Chapter 140: Breathless ClimbingThe slope gradually steepened, the low grasses giving way to gray rockslides and bare patches of earth battered by wind. The barely visible trail wound between eroded granite boulders that stood like silent sentinels.
Maggie led the way, her gaze scanning the ground with hawk-like intensity, evaluating each foothold, each shadow cast by the rocks. There was no more walking in a straight line: they had to weave between unstable zones, loose stones, steep inclines where a single misstep could be fatal.
Élisa, just behind, had become their living compass. She no longer walked, but floated a few centimeters off the ground, her body tilted forward slightly, carried by her spear pointed like a rudder. Her eyes were half-closed, and her sigil pulsed with a steady, almost peaceful emerald light.
She perceived the world differently now that she had awakened. Her elven senses had sharpened somewhat, and all the training she’d undergone before becoming a hunter now proved very useful.
"Left," she said softly, with a small hand motion. Maggie immediately veered, skirting a large slab of shale that appeared solid. As they passed, Dylan nudged a small pebble that rolled onto the slab. It wobbled ever so slightly, revealing a dark void underneath. A natural, hidden trap.
Higher up, the wind turned sharper, carrying the scent of cold dust and mountain lichen. The path narrowed between two steep walls—a tight corridor where echoes rang strangely. Élisa slowed, a faint crease on her forehead. Her spear vibrated almost imperceptibly.
"Let’s stop," she murmured, her voice carried along the narrow wind. "Up ahead... it’s faint, but... better stay alert."
Three pairs of eyes scanned the overhanging ridges. Nothing stirred among the jagged rocks. Yet tension settled like a fog. Maggie pointed with her chin toward a partial landslide on their right—a longer detour, but out of sight from above.
Without a word, they left the corridor, carefully stepping over unstable stones and melting into the shadows of the wall. Dylan, at the rear, kept watch behind them, Jian held low but ready, posture relaxed but alert. No jokes from him this time—none came to mind. His focus was absolute.
They continued in cautious spurts for nearly an hour. Élisa guided their detours: a tight turn to avoid a zone where the air crackled with static energy, invisible but tangible to her; a wide arc through a grassy hollow to avoid the acrid, metallic scent of a hidden den; a swift crossing of a windswept plateau where the ground rang hollow, betraying underground cavities.
Fatigue returned—dull, but different. Not as crushing as after the boar fight, but more like a slow wear on nerves and muscles stretched too far. Eventually, Maggie picked a spot for a short rest: a small rocky niche overlooking both the path behind and the way ahead, shielded on three sides.
"Take a breather," she said simply, leaning against the cool stone, eyes still scanning the slopes below. No fire this time—too exposed.
Élisa gently lowered her spear to the ground and sat on it like an invisible stool, eyes closed, immersing herself in pure concentration. Her sigil glowed faintly, sketching energy patterns across her skin. She was mentally mapping the flows nearby,
Ahead, the slope leveled abruptly. The last jagged peaks lay behind. And spreading out before their squinting eyes, bathed in the slanting morning light beyond the final ridge...
The mountain was no longer as harsh as before.
But truth be told... that wasn’t reassuring in the slightest.
It wasn’t the end of danger — just a change of shape. A kind of molting. The stone had stopped wounding them. But now it felt more like it was watching.
Farther down, the ground grew softer, yes, the slopes gentler, yes... but beneath their feet, the earth pulsed strangely. As if it were breathing in reverse. As if this world was just waiting for an excuse to vomit up whatever it had buried.
Shapes flickered between the twisted trees from time to time, green and greasy glows seeping between the branches. Sounds too wet to be leaves. Too dry to be footsteps.
And it wasn’t just one. Or two.
It was... swarming.