Whispers of the Dead: A Mage’s Desperate Flight Through the Cursed Wasteland

A gray, overcast sky. A gray, deathly aura of twilight blanketed the sky, obscuring vision. Black, scorched earth. Black, decaying wood. Rolling hills and mountains. Occasional remnants of war-torn ruins. This is the wasteland of the dead. In the gloom, a dense scattering of eerie, green flames flickered and danced – the soul fires of the undead. A massive horde of undead was in a frenzied pursuit, kicking up clouds of dust. A black-robed figure sped through the air at low altitude, veering left and right to dodge incoming arrows. His name was Dag, a student who had foolishly stirred up trouble and was now being hunted. … Times had changed. This was the era of the Great Alliance. After such a long period of peace, there were few mages skilled in combat. Dag was no exception. He discovered that his theoretical knowledge was useless in actual combat. As an eighth-tier archmage, his only proficient spell was "Wind Flight," a skill he had mastered during his "low cultivation" days while working part-time delivering food.Fortunately, he had a knack for escape and survival in critical moments. Ahead lay another small hill. Dag made an emergency landing, pulled out a magic recovery potion, and gulped it down. He closed his eyes, instantly entering a meditative state to absorb the potion's magical energy. Opening his eyes, he grabbed a dry piece of bread with his left hand and formed a string of water droplets with his right, swallowing them both. Having recovered some magic and stamina, Dag turned to assess the situation. The pursuing army of thousands of undead had reached the hillside. The flickering, green undead flames indicated low-level undead, ranging from first to third tier, lacking intelligence. The scattered, orange-red undead flames signified fourth to sixth-tier undead, possessing some awareness and capable of directing the others. Two white, incandescent undead flames marked the seventh and eighth-tier undead lords. This place was once the sacred Silvermoon Forest of the Elven race, their ancestral home. Most of these undead were transformed from the corpses of the forest elves. The forest elves were masters of archery. As they closed in, a dense barrage of arrows whistled through the air. Dag frantically raised his hands, conjuring a water shield to barely deflect the incoming arrows. Thankfully, the pursuing undead lords lacked proper bows, and their attack methods were limited. Though the arrows were numerous, they couldn't penetrate an eighth-tier archmage's defensive spells. This chase had been ongoing for two days. Dag, driven by greed, had foolishly ventured in to find necromantic essence, a substance that fetched a high price. Being a novice, he didn't know the way, only having a general sense of direction. He had no idea when this desperate escape would end. After a round of arrows, the water shield dissipated. Dag turned and used Wind Flight to continue his escape. At the foot of the hill were scattered, dilapidated houses. Another Elven village, destroyed in the war at the end of the Third Era. Once, the Silvermoon Forest; now, the wasteland of the dead. Based on his escape experience, he knew to avoid villages. The pursuing undead horde wasn't initially this large. Dag, inexperienced, failed to notice that each village ruin he passed added to the number of pursuers, stacking up to the current massive force. "Huh?" Through the dead mist, he glimpsed what appeared to be intact buildings. Dag cast Eagle Eye, focusing his gaze to see a green palace. A nature temple? And living plants? This was unusual. Since he was already overwhelmed by the number of pursuers, one more village wouldn't make much difference. He decided to investigate. Dag accelerated, approaching quickly. He soon neared it. A small nature temple. With Eagle Eye, he saw that the necromantic energy was blocked by an invisible force, and the ivy growing outside the temple was thriving, a rare sight of green in the desolate wasteland. Approaching further, he landed on the temple's roof and inspected it. He quickly determined that it was the power of some magic runes, concluding that this was an ancient nature temple built during the Second Elven Era. Dag lightly touched the ground and descended to the temple's main entrance. Thirteen steps led to the entrance. Inside, there should be a statue of the nature goddess. The pursuing undead army was closing in. Dag turned back warily, only to see the vast horde stopping at a distance. The undead, transformed from forest elves, seemed to retain an instinctive reverence for the nature temple. As if sensing something, the two stone doors of the temple emitted a green glow, pulsating with natural magic. The approaching undead horde became even more fearful, retreating. "Such advanced nature magic!" Dag looked around, amazed. After pausing at the entrance to confirm the undead's hesitation, he ascended the steps and examined the stone doors. The thorn-like runes were made of mithril, coated with beryl powder, and had three thumb-sized oval moonstones as magic nodes. "Wow, I'm rich!" Dag's eyes lit up. He glanced back at the distant undead army and decided to postpone removing the gems and scraping off the mithril runes. "The temple might contain treasures left by the original forest elf tribe." Dag thought, gently pushing the stone doors open. The temple was empty and spotless. Looking back, he saw the distant undead army becoming restless but still hesitant to approach. At the far end of the temple was a seven-meter-tall statue of the nature goddess. Carved from ordinary stone, its painted layers were peeling and mottled due to years of neglect. The statue's eyes were made of jade, low-grade materials with minimal magic properties, and worthless. The statue's raised right hand held a "staff of nature," a symbol of natural authority, made of some ordinary, decaying wood. Its left hand held a "book of nature," a symbol of natural order. Dag cast a simple levitation spell, floating up to the statue, and picked up the book of nature. It was heavy, cast entirely from bronze in the form of a "book," a solid lump of bronze, rusted over time. The book's surface had seven uneven slots where gems had once been. The size of the book of nature was disproportionate, only the size of a regular book, clashing with the seven-meter-tall statue. "Were the forest elves of the Third Era so poor that they couldn't even properly furnish the nature goddess's statue?" Dag searched the temple, disappointed. The walls and floors were made of high-quality materials, but that was all. Unless he could move the entire temple, they were worthless. Apart from the doors, there were no other valuable relics to excavate. "The nature goddess disappeared, the Elven Empire, deprived of divine protection, collapsed, ending the Second Era. Historical records state that the elves living in the Silvermoon Forest during the Third Era were impoverished. It seems true, as the maintenance of the goddess's temple was neglected…" "It was just a small village. The entire village's wealth must have been spent on the masterful runes of the two doors." Tales of adventurers striking it rich overnight were mostly fabricated legends. Dag shook his head, his mood slightly improving. At least this trip had yielded some gains. He returned to the entrance, cast Eagle Eye again, and looked out. The green undead flames were extinguishing in patches, turning into piles of scattered bones. This was the undead's dormant recovery state. After two days of pursuit, Dag was exhausted, and so was the undead army, especially the low-tier undead, which needed to absorb necromantic energy to recover. Dag flipped his hand. Fireball. A head-sized fireball shot out. Unfortunately, it missed again, grazing past an undead lord and exploding in the distance. Patches of green undead flames lit up, and the low-tier undead, which had just lain down, rose again. Many raised their bows but then lowered them. This was the nature temple, and the elves' reverence for the nature goddess was deeply ingrained in their bones; they dared not attack rashly. "Phew! Looks like it's safe. Finally, I can get some sleep." Dag sighed in relief and returned to the temple. He didn't rush to rest but squatted down, tapping and examining each floor tile. He was desperately short of money and needed a large sum. Otherwise, he wouldn't have accepted this life-threatening mission from the mercenary guild to find necromantic essence in the wasteland of the dead. His strength was insufficient, so the necromantic essence was out of the question. Dag now held onto a sliver of hope: perhaps this temple held hidden treasures? Tap, tap, tap… In front of the nature goddess statue, a floor tile did indeed sound different! It was hollow underneath! A secret passage? A hidden chamber? It must contain something! After some searching, he found no mechanism; it seemed it could be lifted directly. Dag flipped his hand, and a dagger appeared. He tried to pry the tile along the seam. It worked! The stone tile lifted, revealing a small, sloping passage, designed for the petite elves, too narrow for humans. Dag hesitated, then decided to inch his way down. The passage below widened, making it easier to navigate. He lowered his feet first, managing to squeeze his waist through, but his shoulders got stuck, just a little more, and he couldn't budge. "A bit hasty. I'll have to pry off the tiles on both sides to widen the opening." Dag grumbled, pushing with his feet to climb out, when he suddenly sensed a deadly danger. It came from above. He instinctively looked up. The bronze "book of nature" held by the nature goddess statue's left hand was sliding down, heading straight for his head. "Is this… a trap?"