223 - - The Order of Merit, which is handed down from generation to generation.

The noxious mist that floats in the swamp of ghosts gradually drains the physical and magical strength of those who touch it.

However, this is only in a diluted state, mixed with the normal atmosphere.

It is said that exposure to the witch's breath up close will cause unparalleled damage.

It is even recorded that in the blink of an eye, the witch's body was drained of all power, and she died quietly, unable to move.

Naturally, even though there is still some distance between them and the site, they would not be safe if their entire bodies were immersed in such a thick miasma.

A silence that does not allow for even a moan envelops the surroundings, and a slow death is not brought about.

"From the treetops of the Flame Tree, come..."

A whispered prayer from someone suddenly broke the white silence.

At the same time, a ball of light was produced to illuminate the surroundings, making several figures appear in the fog.

Despite the thick miasma, the shadows moved about without a care in the world.

A ball of light is produced one after the other, and in no time at all, the vision that had been closed to us is restored to clarity.

The second-in-command, who was clutching her spear tightly, breathed a deep sigh of relief at the sight of the shadows.

"It's really amazing, isn't it? It's hard to believe we're in the fog."

"Let's go ............."

Sorrugum, who was holding a two-handed axe, grasps the situation and speaks shortly.

The leader started to move, followed one by one by the nervous-looking youths.

The thunder roar group, which had been standing back, came forward at once, and a considerable number of people gathered on the red log floor.

Perhaps sensing their presence, the giants surrounding the group lifted their heads in unison.

They began to move slowly on the mud.

Sorrugum inhaled the white mist deep into his lungs as he faced the approaching monsters.

He roars like a bull, and rushes forward with his great axe raised.

With a movement so refined that it bears no resemblance to his large stature, he slices off the ankle of the giant on the log in a brilliant motion.

The five following men thrust their spears at the off-balanced monster in a single, unruffled movement.

This time, the giant's waist is gouged out and it easily falls to the ground on its hands.

Normally, the monster would have sucked up the mud under its feet and stood up as if nothing had happened.

But in this situation, cut off from the swamp, that was not the case.

It only struggles to get back on its feet, shaking its body.

Then Sorrugum closes the distance again and swings his two-handed axe down from the top.

Five spears are thrust out in a flowing motion, piercing deeply into the torso of the giant whose head has been shattered.

The axes are swung out again, and the giant stops moving, splattering mud all over the place.

Sorrugum, who lunged first, crushes his opponent, and the spears strike at once into the opening created.

This was the basic battle strategy of the Thunderclaws.

However, their coordination was too well coordinated.

It is one thing to be able to show more strength than usual after all these years, but there is a more obvious reason why the young men are moving so well.

And it was not only the thunder roars that were in good form.

The flame wielders showed no signs of exhaustion even as they unleashed a series of magic moves.

The same goes for the water users who continue to heal their poisoned bodies.

The reason for this was the fog surrounding the sorrugum.

Just by being in contact with this white cold air, one's strength and magic power gushes forth without pause.

The witch's breath, which had so often tormented adventurers challenging the swamps, was now lending a great deal of strength.

The purple-eyed giant smiled slightly inwardly at the irony of this situation.

The image of the dark-haired girl comes to his mind.

--

This unheard of magic technique is said to be able to overturn anything that comes from the monster.

Not just its movements, but even its effects.

And of course, the witch's breath, called corrosive mist, is no exception.

Strengthened beyond belief, the "Bearers of the Burning Flame" and the members of the Thundercrow began to mercilessly reap the mud-poisoning giants that were rushing toward them.

The battle must have lasted an hour.

Already nearly thirty monsters had turned to mud.

The witches spat mist at us several times during the battle, but all of these only served to reinforce the sorrugum.

But, as the lore goes, the witches are not so naive.

Every time their huge bodies shook, new giants were spawned one after another.

Their numbers grow and outnumber those that are defeated.

Before long, the mud-poisoned giants were so numerous that they filled the area around the log floor.

The young men almost drop the tips of their spears to the ground at the sight of this gruesome sight.

But Sorrugum, with all the strength he could muster on his massive back, silently faced the monsters.

The Purple-Eyed Tribe is basically a meritocracy.

Those who excel in their abilities come to the front and lead the others.

Therefore, they believe that if they keep working hard and improving themselves, they can keep moving forward.

Believing this, Sorlgam trained himself and encouraged those around him to do the same.

He believed that if he followed this path, he would someday reach the level of a vigor class and eventually become a great man.

However, this idea is easily overturned by the appearance of the twin warriors and the lightning master.

Of course, they have made their fair share of efforts.

But it was their overwhelming talent that allowed Kikiriri and Nenemimi to push aside the sorrugum and advance to the Kongo class first.

And this time, they easily took advantage of the foggy weather.

The fact that he had to expose himself to the fog over and over again in order to get used to the load made him feel like a fool.

No matter how hard ordinary people try, they are no match for someone with extraordinary talent.

All that we have accumulated up to now is nothing but our own self-satisfaction.

No matter how much you train yourself...

Sorrugum gritted his teeth as he was about to say the next words.

Not yet.

It is too early to say that.

The emotions that well up in him are mingled with an overflowing fighting spirit.

Sorlgam's anger, threatening to burst from within, is channeled into the weapons he holds in his hands.

Ahead of him, giants approach in a swarm.

Slowly the two-handed axes lifted, pointing straight up to the heavens.

Black clouds quickly gather overhead, as if in response to Sorrugum's fighting spirit.

At the same time, the shining axes rose like lighthouses in the white mist.

Sorrugum calmly observes that his companions have moved away and takes a deep breath.

He then swung down on the monster that filled his field of vision.

--

An eye-burning radiance emanates from the thunderclouds, piercing the mists and pouring down upon the monsters.

There is a roar, and the evaporated mud is instantly scattered.

A peculiar odor fills the air.　

After the thunderstorm subsides, the giants appear, their upper halves missing and slumped over.

They crumpled up on the red logs and returned to a mass of filthy mud.

The sub-commanders watched with bated breath, their mouths agape with admiration.

Then, as if following the leader, they regained a firm grip on their spears once more.

And the witch also could not overlook the movement.

Slowly, a small mountain-like body shakes, and then a foot-like lump of mud takes a step forward.

It was the moment when the men who had been forced to stay in the silver class moved the existence of lore.