Chapter 307

The team withdrew from the ruin.

Previously, they had imagined they might encounter a fierce battle, something that would shatter their understanding—but there was nothing here, truly just an empty shell.

The discarded eggshell, its embryo fallen within, soaked in the remains of the clan that once dwelled here. The contents did coalesce into one, hatching that thing—but whatever emerged from the shell had nothing to do with yolk or albumen.

Before leaving, Kraft chipped off a small sample from the special-material Shi Zhu and kept it. To be honest, he was curious how these had "died."

They returned to the boat unharmed, the vanished things having become a tangible weight pressing against their fragile nerves.

The embryo's formation required nutritional support, but now it seemed formation was far from the end—it still needed to grow, and the dwindling clan underground clearly failed to meet the demand; and if anywhere could meet that demand...

Everyone simultaneously thought of it: right above them, an entire city trembled in vibration.

The boat left shore; fuel consumption was more optimistic than expected, allowing further exploration inward, with return planned only after consuming over one-third of the total.

The remaining two-thirds accounted for detours, getting lost, and possible scenarios requiring waiting for rescue on the spot.

After escaping the shallows and reefs, the torches went out; oil lamp flames became the sole source of illumination.

Adjusting course, their target was the base of another, larger Shi Zhu, deeper within the lake.

The lighthouse's glow behind them had nearly vanished, shrunk to a faint pinprick, laboriously piercing the thick, cloth-like fog—already spent. Fortunately, the visible silhouette of the Shi Zhu served as another navigational marker, offering directional reference.

The mist grew thicker; the fog obscuring vision did not dissipate with time but instead increased in density, becoming leaden water enveloping the senses, dulling perception of the surroundings.

Even conversing felt a slight delay—watching lips move, yet needing time to grasp meaning.

A chill landed on Kraft's hand; he wiped it, and the sensation became a small patch. Team members gradually emitted soft "hmm?" sounds, bringing their unprotected skin close to the light to inspect.

Ordinary water droplets. The air's moisture had thickened to the point of condensing and falling from the ceiling, forming a strange phenomenon resembling rain.

For a moment, they truly felt they had returned to the surface, rowing on the Tem River or some other body of water on a rainy day, where a slight turn of the boat could bring them back to shore.

But the truth was, the waters within the fog were endless, and the "rain" grew heavier.

Cold droplets seeped through their cloaks, pierced chainmail, soaked their linings, draining warmth from their bodies.

They had taken no rain precautions; no one had imagined rain could fall through dozens or hundreds of meters of rock.

The Dunling people, long accustomed to mild climates, still endured; the only northerner who understood the misery of freezing rain had already begun searching for shelter.

Kraft tore open the outer waterproof wrapping of some spare gear, spread it out, and had everyone huddle beneath. The waxed cloth or paper skin was passable—enough to serve as a makeshift rain cape, shielding most drops and preventing a batch of hypothermia within half an hour.

This was no exaggeration; for outdoor activities, rain could sometimes be more troublesome than snow alone.

"I don't understand how those people survived." The lake's temperature was so low it chilled them to the bone, the worst kind of damp cold—his hands gripping the rain cape felt his marrow cooling.

Kraft, with decent cold tolerance, remained stable; several cultivators who hadn't even considered insulation were already shivering, stifling breaths through nose and mouth to avoid making noise.

Low, faint hums followed the boat's advance; once they found a new breathing rhythm, they even developed a beat.

High and low, rhythmic hums intertwined—a symphony of allergic rhinitis and post-abortion sneezes.

Someone, in the extreme dullness of the air, had found their own melody; unnoticed, the sound had grown musical, repeating in a cyclical pattern, as if humming a tune.

Sometimes a familiar fragment could be heard—a phrase echoing from a tavern poet begging for coins, an old villager's cracked lips, or a church choir's performance—then instantly veering into unfamiliar territory.

The melody was crude, yet it stirred resonance, like a widely circulated, broken lullaby, carrying the familiarity of infancy, stirring the urge to hum along with its familiar fragments.

Yet when attempting to isolate the exact tune beyond instinct, it became impossible to distinguish from the other sounds—just ordinary hums, exhaled through damp, cold nasal membranes, mere coincidence.

The feeling was deeply unsettling, like a fly buzzing around the ear, audible only in half-sleep.

Finally, someone had had enough; they noticed subtle impatience on their own and others' faces.

"Stop. Don't hum anymore." The cultivator's gaze lingered briefly on every face, including the two oarsmen, but found no culprit.

Everyone looked innocent and confused, shook their heads, then lowered them again, retreating into their rain capes.

Only a moment later, they realized the humming had ignored the command, continuing faintly and persistently.

Green frowned; the damp, cold discomfort already made him irritable, and this behavior only made it worse.

"Stop humming!"

He warned, certain everyone on the boat could hear. All held their breath, terrified their own sound might be mistaken for the offender.

Even the oarsmen paused their strokes.

"......" The crude melody, faint and heavy, crawled over their earlobes. It had not stopped.

Perhaps psychological, the air grew colder—so cold the clothing's warmth felt useless, mist silently dampened their garments, icy droplets condensing on skin, sliding down necks into collars.

Kraft emerged from the rain cape, shoved the hesitant oarsmen back into the boat, lowered his body, and scanned the surrounding water.

Simultaneously, the priest signaled to the cultivators, grabbed the untouched waterproof bundle, extracted its contents, stepped on the pedal to stretch the linen-and-metal-wire string, nocked an arrow, braced it against his shoulder, and waited for the signal.

The humming was nearly drowned out by the hurried preparations inside the hull, though its location had always been elusive.

Like an aerogel dissolved in fog—it could be beside the ear, or anywhere.

Where?

Kraft saw Green make exaggerated lip movements, but his eyes caught nothing beyond the gunwale.

The water in the air and beneath the boat merged, thick and murky, obscuring vision; only that same unknown dim light outlined distant silhouettes, while nearby details vanished entirely.

Cold sweat trickled from his forehead, over his eyelashes, into his eyes, stinging his corneas. Something had been near them for a long time.

【When?】

Since entering the freezing rain? Or since they huddled under the rain capes?

The mist writhed like a living thing, slow and silent, weaving layered curtains that disguised ripples on the water, raindrop ripples, and bubbles as suspicious shapes, concealing true changes.

He closed his eyes, facing away from the others.