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Chapter 8: The Portal
🕑 Added 2025-10-20 03:15:43 +0000 UTCStepping onto the transparent air bridge, Orum's every step was as slow as a snail's. Cool beads of sweat continuously seeped from his forehead, sliding down his neck.
This invisible air bridge was similar to glass walkways on Earth, suspended dozens of meters above the ground. Just standing on it triggered humanity's instinctive panic.
This air bridge was truly transparent, perfectly merged with the air itself, without the slightest visible substance. This intense visual impact was infinitely stronger than a glass walkway with guardrails, placing tremendous psychological pressure on Orum.
Looking down at what appeared to be nothing beneath his feet, as if both feet were treading on air itself, Orum felt his head grow incredibly heavy, as if the earth was fiercely pulling him down. Every second brought the illusion of losing his footing and falling.
At this moment, Orum had no idea how wide the air bridge actually was, whether there were gaps on the sides, or whether a sudden gust of wind might blow him right off, sending him into a free fall of dozens of meters, ultimately smashing through branches and shattering into pieces.
Right here, right now, Orum deeply understood that walking on a completely transparent air bridge looked extremely dangerous and actually wasn't safe at all.
But Orum had no choice. He could only keep up.
After all, he'd already laid eyes on the jet-black stag, that harbinger of doom from Benshaba's household. Wherever it went, he had to follow.
If he broke away on his own, Orum would be cursed with lifelong misfortune by Benshaba.
In this world, deities weren't ethereal objects of faith. Not only did they truly exist, but they also frequently interacted with mortals, creating all sorts of sordid, scandalous stories.
(/n: sordid means involving immoral or dishonourable actions and motives; arousing moral distaste and contempt)
And this goddess of misfortune, Benshaba, was a truly dark, twisted character. Her threats were always carried out without exception. No mortal dared gamble their entire life's luck on whether the goddess would implement her revenge.
Orum kept his eyes locked on the jet-black stag's silhouette. He first carefully walked step by step, then simply dropped down to crawl on all fours, minimizing the swaying amplitude of his body left and right, keeping his torso pressed close to the area between the stag's four hooves.
He really didn't dare deviate even a fraction. What if this air bridge was extremely narrow, or a section in the middle was damaged? One misstep into empty space and it would all be over.
Crawling forward on his belly, Orum felt very much like an inchworm.
A gust of wind blew over. Orum's body hair stood on end, as if he'd been plunged into an ice cellar.
"Oh no!"
Orum tensed his body, trying to cling tightly to the air bridge beneath him, exerting all his strength to resist this sudden strong wind.
But in the blink of an eye, the wind weakened and transformed into a gentle breeze.
It turned out to be a false alarm. Orum didn't dare raise his hand to wipe away sweat, so he could only shake his head vigorously, flinging the dripping perspiration toward the forest below.
When Orum's clothes had been soaked through with sweat, then dried by the cold wind, repeating this cycle three times...
Orum looked up ahead, a glimmer of delight flowing through his eyes.
Not far ahead, the jet-black stag had reached the end of the air bridge and was standing on the top level of an ancient, ash-white temple ruin.
"As long as I can get there..." Orum forced himself to rally his spirits. His crawling speed suddenly accelerated, even activating his goblin tendon to wriggle forward at ultra-high speed.
This section of air bridge wasn't particularly long, merely a few hundred meters in total, but Orum felt like he'd been traveling for a day and a night.
Every single second on the bridge, Orum remained completely focused, as if Death's scythe was pressed against the back of his neck, ready to end him with one gentle swing.
Finally reaching the end, the instant Orum climbed off the air bridge and his feet touched solid ground again, he was enveloped by an overwhelming sense of relief. He even wanted to kneel down and sob, while simultaneously spreading his arms wide to embrace the blue sky.
Unfortunately, at this moment Orum was completely exhausted. He lay flat on the ground from head to toe, his limbs limp and soft.
With what little strength remained, Orum raised his right arm and flipped off the jet-black stag with his middle finger.
Well, at least in this world, the middle finger wasn't considered an insulting gesture and wouldn't invite retaliation.
After the jet-black stag landed atop the ash-white temple, its steps didn't pause. It walked straight toward the center.
Orum rested for a moment, then dragged his heavy body to follow the jet-black stag's steps.
Taking advantage of this time, Orum scanned his surroundings, trying to identify which era and which deity this unknown forest temple belonged to through the architecture and reliefs of the surrounding ruins.
However, Orum quickly discovered he didn't recognize any of it.
The Orum of this world was just a bottom-tier peasant. His knowledge level could be described as burned books and buried scholars (basically zero). He was fundamentally ignorant about history and couldn't even spell his own kingdom's name.
To use Orum's own words, he was basically a hopeless illiterate.
"When I get back, I'm paying for a pretty white-haired elf lady to teach me history properly!" Looking at the ancient script he couldn't decipher before him, Orum felt a strange sense of shame for the first time. He didn't even know something this basic.
This temple's structure resembled the Tower of Babel, with nine stone levels total, each higher level progressively smaller in area.
Orum scanned the top level where he currently stood. The total area was approximately 4,000 square meters, about the size of a soccer field.
The jet-black stag walked slowly toward the very center, where a high platform constructed of white stone stood.
Upon approaching the platform, the jet-black stag's body gradually became transparent. In the blink of an eye, it vanished completely.
"So... this is the destination?"
Orum blinked, then rubbed his eyes, finally confirming that what he saw wasn't a hallucination. The jet-black stag had indeed disappeared.
This avatar of the goddess's will had just inexplicably vanished, just as its appearance had been equally baffling.
"Why did Benshaba bring me here? What's the point?"
Orum pondered, then his face darkened. "Could it be She never even considered that I'd safely cross the air bridge? So She just awkwardly left?"
"No, that's not right. This goddess is inherently a petty prankster deity. Worshipping her brings no rewards, but offending her brings punishment..."
Just as Orum's mind was wandering with wild thoughts, his gaze suddenly caught something. The top of the white stone platform seemed to be faintly glowing?
Orum raised his eyes to look carefully, his pupils suddenly dilating.
In his field of vision, directly above the white stone platform, about a meter high, the air cracked like glass. A purple fissure appeared out of nowhere.
As Orum stared, he discovered this fissure's area was growing larger and larger, its outline becoming clearer and clearer, until it expanded to the size of a normal door frame.
As if responding to his gaze, it revealed its true form before Orum's eyes.
"This is... a portal?"
Orum was somewhat dumbfounded. Even as just a novice adventurer, he could clearly identify the intense spatial fluctuations emanating from around the purple portal.
A bird even flew over the portal from above and was directly sucked inside!
Behind this portal, it seemed to connect to another world?
For a moment, unprecedented, tremendous curiosity surged like a tidal wave through Orum's mind.
The Misty Forest, ancient ruins, and that door emanating a mysterious aura...
This was a world full of fantasy. The appearance of a portal always opened the broadest imaginative space for adventurers.
Even if this portal led directly to the Nine Hells, Orum wouldn't find it beyond reason.
Of course, Orum still didn't dare walk through it for now. What if this door was one-way only? Then he couldn't come back!
Looking at the portal before him, Orum began calculating exactly how many gold coins he could exchange for this intelligence when selling it to Blackwater Town's monitoring station.
However, the prerequisite for collecting payment was still that Orum could return alive.
At this very moment, the sun was about to sink below the horizon. The twilight's afterglow edged the canopy of the Misty Forest with a layer of gold. After this exquisitely gorgeous scenery faded, cold and dangerous darkness would swallow the entire land.
Orum made a plan in his mind: temporarily stay on the top level of the ruins overnight, then head back to Blackwater Town after sunrise. This would greatly reduce the possibility of encountering magical beasts.
However, a rapid sound of footsteps came from below, approaching from far to near, heading straight for the top level.
Orum looked up alertly. A figure clad in light armor appeared at the stairway entrance to the top level.
Lustrous silver hair, ebony skin, an aura as cold as black ice... The instant he saw this typical drow elf face, Orum froze.
Dorian?!
Wasn't he supposed to be ambushing novice adventurers? How could he appear here?!
At this moment, one of Dorian's arms was already injured, hanging powerlessly at his side. Viscous fresh blood crawled like a thin snake over his pale fingertips, dripping onto the cold stone floor.
Dorian suddenly stopped in his tracks, staring straight at Orum blocking his path. In his deep blue eyes, a rare trace of terror showed. He cursed in disbelief:
"You're an undercover cop too?"
"What cop?"
Looking at Dorian's current humiliated and indignant expression, combined with the battle traces on his body...
Orum suddenly understood in an instant: "These bandits got caught in a sting operation?"
The sheriff of Blackwater Town had disguised himself as a team of novice adventurers, drawing out the snake from its hole, catching Dorian's bandit gang in one swoop!
One could imagine that Blackwater Town's sheriff had completely mastered Dorian's intelligence sources, turning the tables and playing Dorian in the palm of his hand with false information!
Orum sucked in a sharp breath. What kind of sheriff possessed such terrifying cunning?
He immediately developed an intense interest in this Blackwater Town sheriff.
