Zheng Qing carried the charm gun, cautiously navigating through the depths of the uninhabited forest.

The night was deep, the moonlight and starlight mingling as they fell, casting mottled shadows among the trees. The surroundings were silent, with no roars of wild animals in the distance, no bird calls from the trees, no insects chirping in the bushes, and even the leaves seemed to freeze in the wind, unable to produce a rustling sound.

This oppressive atmosphere made Zheng Qing hold his breath, as if even the slightest intake or release of air would alert some unknown presence deep within the forest.

This silence also heightened his senses.

Soon, his ears caught a distant, deep, and unfamiliar sound, its accent peculiar, not quite human, yet carrying a rhythm akin to a chant.

Just hearing this sound instilled a vague and tense unease in Zheng Qing, giving rise to a conflicted emotion of wanting to escape from a giant beast but also eager to take a look.

The anti-evil charm on his body showed no reaction, and the Haha Beads on his wrist transformed into thumb-sized little figures, darting about the surrounding bushes and at his feet, scouting the surroundings for him.

Soon, one of the Haha Beads returned with news.

Zheng Qing followed it to the edge of the forest, where in the clearing stood over a dozen bird stands—not with hawks on them, but with several dead ravens hanging. They surrounded a pile of azure bonfire, evenly forming a large circle. In the center of the bonfire was a giant head of a Black Mountain Goat—almost the size of a small elephant’s head—its fur preserved intact in the flames, the wound on its neck cut very neatly, and its two eyes gleaming, exuding a burning and crimson aura like charcoal.

In many magic rituals, goats symbolize sacrifice and magic power.

In the clearing between the bonfire and the stands, a large group of wizards in tattered robes were twisting their bodies, silently leaping in a dance of worship around the goat’s head. The blue firelight shone on their bare skin, emitting an eerily twisted aura like a starry sky.

Zheng Qing immediately concluded that this was the legendary cultists and their prayer ritual.

The lead wizard’s face was hidden under a broad hood, and he was the most neatly dressed among the cultists. The deep, unfamiliar sound Zheng Qing had heard earlier was emanating from him. At each step he took, a long, shrill bray sounding somewhere between a donkey and a bull resonated in his chest, and the bonfire leapt in response.

With each circuit he danced around the bonfire, a blue tongue of flame would suddenly reach out, drawing one of the wizards in tattered robes into the flames.

Then the fire would grow even fierier.

And its devotees, as if frightened, writhed and leapt even more fervently. The blue firelight cast upon their faces made it difficult for Zheng Qing to discern whether their expressions belonged to joy, fear, or numbness.

At the First University, there’s a saying—The beauty of knowledge lies in leaving one completely confused—roughly a jab at the complexity of university-level magical knowledge.

But at this moment, Zheng Qing truly felt utterly confused.

Not only because he couldn’t comprehend the specific meaning within the cultists’ movements and shouts, but also because what was unfolding before him was entirely different from many black magic rituals he knew of.

Indeed, he had heard that cultists’ minds were often abnormal, but no matter how chaotic and twisted, he found it difficult to reconcile with the act of sacrificing life to some mysterious existence. In his impression, even those black magic rituals that worshipped flesh sacrifices rarely sacrificed their most pious followers. To any existence, devoted believers are invaluable resources.

The sacrifice in the forest clearing didn’t pause due to the observer’s puzzlement.

Circle after circle.

Until there was no one left behind the lead wizard, all the cultists swallowed by the bonfire. Then he stopped, rubbed his sore shoulder, raised his hand to wave towards the sky, as if greeting someone.

The next moment.

A giant, slime-dripping claw broke through the clouds, descended into the bonfire, grabbed the massive goat’s head, and quickly retreated into the pitch-black night.

The sticky sound of chewing came from above, occasionally joined by one or two angry growls.

"Disgusting."

An indescribably harsh voice came from behind the clouds. Although he couldn’t understand the words, Zheng Qing was surprised to find he understood its meaning, and unexpectedly, he detected a trace of sulkiness in its tone?

"Spit!"

A large mass of darkness fell from the sky, landing heavily in the forest, still burning with spots of blue flame. Simultaneously, along with the irritated voice: "... the blood and flesh of these cultists are too polluted, no good for me at all!... Where are those ogre tribes?"

"There are few small tribes around that meet hunting requirements," the wizard in the forest replied, looking up.

The clouds roiled for a moment, finally forming a vague and distorted giant face.

"Then choose others...," it surveyed the land below, its expression indifferent, contrasting sharply with its harsh voice: "We won’t stay here too long."

"Anyone?" Its servant seemed a bit surprised.

The blurred face was silent for a moment, finally answering: "Not a true wizard... Who’s there!"

It looked angrily towards where Zheng Qing was, who then grabbed a Haha Bead that had just caught a corpse-eating beetle for him, and sprinted away. Behind him, the evil mage in the clearing turned his head at the same time, revealing a twitching face under the hood, mixed with fear and joy.

Zheng Qing recognized that face.

It belonged to his former magical zoology teacher, Gan Ning.

"Who’s there?!"

Whoosh!

Zheng Qing abruptly sat up from his bed, his heart pounding wildly, cold sweat pouring.

He turned to look out the window.

The sky had yet to lighten, and the night was still deep.

Reality spread around him like a tide.

The thoughts surfacing in his mind resembled dark rocks protruding from the tide, clear and sudden—a lucid dream he had just experienced, yet was it witnessing a crime scene again, or merely a nightmare?

He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, fatigue from the depths of his soul washing over him again, quickly engulfing the newly awakened young wizard. Groggily, he groped for the Nightmare Doll under his pillow, none of them had detached heads.

"Not a nightmare."

He murmured—the phrase "false alarm" is the best idiom in the world, far surpassing terms like refreshing, matchless under heaven, delightful, flawless, and so on—his heart’s tension suddenly dissipated, and with a nod, Zheng Qing soon fell back into a deep sleep.