Chapter 632 (2/2)

But these three Wights landed on the island.

“Change of plan. Daskin? Pack us up. One minute. The rest of you? With me. Looks like we are going to break out forcefully.”

Across the island, one of the Wights turned. Its eyes locked with Platton’s. A frown crossed its strange, stiff face. It clearly wasn’t sure what it was seeing.

“Viscous Smog.”

Platton’s spear moved softly, but his powerful image spread rapidly outwards, obscuring them from the Wight’s view. Without waiting a second, Platton rushed forward, following the edge of the fog. The distance to the Wights was small, and in only a few seconds he was there in front of them, hidden by his spreading image.

This was the image that had earned himself a spot as a Sergeant. Even though he had no truly powerful attack Skill, Viscous Smog opened the path for his advancement. It was why he could manage to penetrate so deeply behind enemy lines.

Perhaps the lead Wight sucked in a breath, but it began to cough and vibrate. The smog that Platton produced was thick with poison that would rip through victims’ throats.

After weeks of working together, the group tore apart the three confused Wights in a few brutal seconds of violence. Within thirty seconds, Daskin had the supplies and the group climbed into the thin canoe. Saying a silent prayer, Platton pushed off and started directing the canoe away from the Wight headquarters. The hope was they wouldn’t be noticed in the flood of traffic around them.

They were wrong.

Platton had long suspected that there was an aspect of mental communication to the Wights, but he didn’t know how to test for such a thing. What Platton did know was that the first boat they passed raised the alarm. Without waiting to see whether other’s nearby would join the search, Platton blew as much Stamina as he could to fuel Viscous Smog and keep paddling.

Immediately, the group cut sharply left, off of their original path. In his memory, there was a channel in this direction that led to the Western Edge of the Southern Domain, which was filled with little islands. These were largely controlled by the Wights, but if they could find a single one…

Within the smoke around them, the group paddled for five minutes without incident. If anything, the silence and smog around them made Platton’s feelings sink further. The current seemed to be with them, however, and they seemed to be flying over the surface of the water.

Until they hit aground. Sergeant Platton looked sharply up, cursing as he realized that the boat was badly damaged by smashing upon the rocks of one of the tiny protrusions of rock that were too numerous to name. And this one was completely barren. It was difficult to see through the mist, but there were only a few rocks higher than a man. It was not of the size that they could pivot to hiding here to bypass the search. To think he committed such a rookie sailing mistake at a time like this…!

A figure was abruptly there, looming in front of Sergeant Platton in the fog. He looked sharply up.

A smiling face offered a hand. “Sergeant Platton? We’ve been looking for you. My name is Silo, and we-”

The scream of the pursuing Wights cut off his words mid-sentence.