Chapter Seventy-Nine: Will-o’-the-Wisps in the Forest

As night faded, Autumn Chill awoke from his meditative trance at dawn. Rising, he dusted off his robes, and after sweeping his spiritual sense across the surroundings, he strode thoughtfully deeper into the marsh.

By noon, he reached a broad, level grassland. Not far ahead, his spiritual sense revealed a vast forest, scattered with towering ancient trees standing at intervals, their lush canopies reaching skyward.

Gazing at the forest, Autumn Chill lowered his head in contemplation, his caution heightened as he proceeded forward. Within, an uncanny silence reigned; not even the faintest song of bird or beast could be heard. Entering the woods, Autumn Chill noticed the mist here thinned considerably, allowing his vision to stretch wide.

As he advanced, he suddenly lifted his gaze to the low sky ahead, where several clusters of pale blue flames flickered in and out of sight. He paused, pressing his brow in thought, then reached for the pouch at his waist. Turning his palm upward, he clasped several talisman slips and continued onward.

Soon, he arrived at the place where the flames had appeared, only to find nothing but emptiness. He looked around, his spiritual sense expanding to cover everything within a hundred yards. After a moment, he withdrew his sense and shook his head.

Aside from a few scattered trees and withered grass, there was nothing else. Autumn Chill turned to move on, but as he did, in the low air behind him by a tree, a pale blue flame the size of a conical hat slowly coalesced from nothing. The fire swayed, and from its sides, a pair of arms emerged, extending to nearly three feet, ending in long, sharp claws.

The flame stretched its fiery claws, drifting silently toward Autumn Chill’s back. When it was just three yards behind him, he suddenly spun around, unleashing an ice arrow spell with blinding speed, striking the floating fire directly.

The arrow vanished within the flame, leaving it unharmed. Instead, the flame surged forward with renewed speed, its claws slashing toward Autumn Chill.

He darted back several yards, then raised his right hand. Instantly, a blade of wind formed in the air, slicing toward the advancing flame. Unable to dodge, the fire was cleaved in two, drifting apart in the air.

Staring at the flame, Autumn Chill uttered, “Ghostfire Claw!”

This pale blue flame was a spectral entity, born from the souls of cultivators and beasts who had perished in the Misty Marsh, their lingering resentment condensed over the years. Such spirits spelled certain death for ordinary mortals, but Autumn Chill, at the peak of his cultivation, faced little threat from these lesser ghostfires unless they gathered in great numbers.

The two halves of flame hovered for a moment, then merged anew, reforming their previous shape. Witnessing this, Autumn Chill’s pupils contracted. He flipped his right hand, conjuring a small white fireball. With a flick, he sent it soaring into the air, where it burst apart, transforming into a firebird nearly ten feet long that swooped toward the ghostfire claw.

Sensing Autumn Chill’s mastery over fire, the ghostfire claw halted abruptly. Its long claws shrank rapidly, and the flame itself vanished from sight. Seeing this sudden disappearance, Autumn Chill stood still, eyes half-closed, spiritual sense extending to blanket the area. The firebird circled, searching.

After a brief search, no trace of the ghostfire claw remained. Autumn Chill sighed, then reached out, summoning the firebird back toward him. But just then, beneath his feet, a pair of long, blue flaming claws formed, lunging upward for his head.

When the ghostfire claws were barely a foot from his neck, they seemed to strike an invisible barrier and could not advance further. At their tips, a white light shield appeared, enveloping Autumn Chill.

The ghostfire trembled and withdrew its claws, but it was too late. The firebird, instead of returning to Autumn Chill’s hand, exploded in midair, unleashing a torrent of flame that swept past him and engulfed the ghostfire claw.

A shrill, agonized cry echoed from within the blaze, then faded away. Autumn Chill’s lips curled into a cold smile. Turning, he walked deeper into the forest.

Yet, scarcely a quarter hour had passed when, ahead in the sky, a large cluster of blue ghostfire suddenly appeared. At once, flames erupted to his left, right, behind—all around. Each blue flame stretched long claws, swaying in the air, encircling Autumn Chill tightly.

Estimating their number, he counted several hundred. Activating multiple defensive talismans, he layered protections around himself. Then, channeling his fire mastery, he split his spell into several streams, conjuring firebirds a few feet tall that attacked the ghostfire claws from all sides.

Unable to evade, the ghostfire claws were devoured by the firebirds, their numbers halved in an instant. The remaining ghostfires fused together, forming nearly twenty massive claws to battle the firebirds.

The struggle stalemated. Though Autumn Chill’s mastery gave his firebirds the upper hand, the ghostfire claws outnumbered them severalfold, barely maintaining an equilibrium.

As the contest dragged on for almost half an hour, sweat began to bead on Autumn Chill’s brow. Though his firebirds held their own, he knew all too well that if this continued, defeat was inevitable. In just half an hour, nearly a third of his spiritual energy had been spent. If this persisted, exhaustion would soon follow—inviting real danger.

With this in mind, Autumn Chill swiftly formed a series of hand seals. The firebirds in the air withdrew and collided, merging into a single, enormous blue firebird nearly thirty feet in length.