My monster cards can evolve infinitely.

Chapter 98 Desperate Situation Under the Cover of Night

In a clearing in the woods of District 13, a campfire illuminated the camp of the joint team consisting of three squads: 37, 38, and 39.

This team has a perfect lineup.

37小队有3人，队长是位四十岁左右、面容沧桑的德鲁伊；38小队4人，队长是一名盾使；39小队也是4人，队长职业是游侠。

The druid was undoubtedly the most senior of the three captains. He had served ten years on the northern frontier, then spent fifteen years as an adventurer after his discharge, and eight years ago, through the inspiration of the spirits of nature, he finally grasped the path of the druid and advanced to level 1.

level.

His faded leather armor was engraved with the emblem of oak and raven, and a rustic hand axe made of hardwood and flint hung at his waist.

At this moment, the druid was sitting by the central campfire, holding a whetstone in his hand, slowly sharpening the edge of his hand axe.

Beside him lay a brown bear—not an ordinary forest brown bear, but a gigantic creature with a shoulder height of over 4 feet and a body length of nearly 8 feet.

Its thick, brown fur gleamed in the firelight, its thick neck was thicker than an adult man's waist, and its enormous paws were larger than a human face when spread out.

This companion, whom the Druid calls "The Rock," is at least as strong as a level 1 challenge monster and is one of the team's most reliable defensive lines.

On the other side of the campfire, a falcon perched on a low branch, its golden eyes half-closed. This was another animal companion of the druid, "Sharp Eyes."

"So, you really did see the frost giants in the North back then?" asked the young warrior of the Thirty-Ninth Squad, his eyes gleaming.

The druid looked up, revealing a scarred smile. "I've seen him, and we even fought. The guy was fifteen feet tall and wielded a warhammer carved from a single mammoth tusk. Of the six men in my patrol, only three came back alive."

"How did you survive?" the ranger captain asked curiously. The ranger was a capable woman, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with two shallow scars on her face, and hawk-like eyes that showed rich tracking experience.

"I climbed up a spruce tree and hid in the top all night," the druid said casually. "Frost giants hate going into dense forests; they're too big and it's hard for them to move around. That guy roared under the tree for half an hour, then smashed two trees in his anger and left."

The Shield Captain laughed heartily: "If you ask me, what's most impressive about the Druid Captain isn't surviving, but that he dared to continue being an adventurer afterward. If it were me, I would have gone home and farmed long ago after going through something like that."

"Farming isn't safe either." The druid shook his head. "Fifty years ago, during the demonic tide, several villages in the North were completely wiped out. There's no place in this world that's absolutely safe. You either become stronger, or you hope for good luck."

He paused, looking at the eleven team members sitting around the three campfires—except for the three captains who were level 1 professionals, the other eight were all veteran adventurers, having mastered at least one combat skill and possessing rich practical experience.

With this configuration, their overall strength ranks in the upper-middle range among all forty teams.

The druid was very satisfied with this, believing that as long as they did not encounter a large-scale demonic tide or high-level demons, the team was fully capable of completing the mission and escaping unscathed.

"Captain," the archer from the 38th squad suddenly spoke, "how large do you think this demonic tide will be?"

The druid pondered for a moment: "Based on the association's intelligence and the results of Guild Master Elon's personal reconnaissance, it should only be a small to medium-sized operation. At most, there will be some scattered low-level demon groups, but they won't form a true combat unit."

He looked into the depths of the forest: "The lower-level portals that the Gray Forest connects to were sealed after the great war fifty years ago."

Even if there are cracks now, they can't be too big. We just need to clear out the remaining ones and wait for the association's mage team to reinforce the seal.

Before the words were even finished, bang!

In the southeastern night sky, a deep purple firework exploded with a deafening roar.

The purple was so intense, so eerie, that it seemed to have stained the entire night sky with an ominous hue.

The moment the fireworks burst open, the purple light even overshadowed the campfire, casting eerie shadows on everyone's faces.

The camp fell silent instantly.

All smiles and relaxed expressions froze on his face.

The druid slowly stood up, the whetstone in his hand falling to the ground with a dull thud.

"Warning!" His voice wasn't loud, but it struck everyone like a hammer blow. "Everyone, prepare for battle immediately! A massive demonic tide has descended!"

The eleven people acted almost simultaneously, without panic or hesitation, only with instinctive reactions honed through countless trials.

The warriors quickly inspected their armor and weapons; the wanderers checked the traps; and the archers began coating their arrowheads with silver powder specifically designed to ward off demons.

The druid closed his eyes and formed a complex hand seal in front of his chest. He chanted the druidic prayer softly, and the power of nature began to gather around him.

"The Great Rock!" he shouted.

The brown bear let out a low growl and rose to its feet, moving like a small mountain. It moved to the north side of the camp—the direction from the depths of the forest, and the most likely direction to be attacked.

"Sharp Eyes, take off for reconnaissance!"

The falcon flapped its wings and soared into the night sky, its golden eyes shining like two small lamps in the moonlight.

The Shield Bearers have already organized a defensive line.

The shield bearer and four team members formed the first shield wall. Five heavy oak shields stood side by side, their edges reinforced with iron plates, gleaming with a cold, hard luster in the firelight.

The ranger, along with two other archers, occupied a high vantage point on the flank—a slightly protruding pile of rocks offering a wide field of vision.

The entire deployment process took less than three minutes.

The druid opened his eyes and took a deep breath.

He was very satisfied with the team's reaction speed—aside from the lack of spellcasters, the team had almost no weaknesses.

They are highly cooperative, experienced, and well-equipped.

He is confident in dealing with small-scale demonic surges.

However, the next second, the keen intuition honed by twenty-five years of adventure made the druid's heart tighten suddenly.

That wasn't a rational judgment, nor was it based on intelligence analysis; rather, it was the body's instinctive warning of danger after countless brushes with death.

A sound came from deep within the forest.

At first, there was a rustling sound, like many small animals crawling on the fallen leaves.

Then it turned into a jumble of footsteps, pattering and getting more and more frequent.

Then came the panting—not human panting, but a kind of thick, phlegm-like breathing, as if the respiratory tract was filled with rotting flesh.

Finally, there was a roar.

Inhuman, malicious, and hungry howls echoed from the depths of the forest, layer upon layer, like the tides approaching from afar.

"Prepare to engage the enemy!" The druid's voice remained steady, but the knuckles of his fingers gripping the staff had turned white.

The first demon emerged from the forest.

It was a cowardly demon—a lower-level demon of Challenge Level 1/4. It was about four feet tall, hunched over, with sickly gray-green skin covered in festering pustules and sores.

Its head resembled a flattened toad, and its gaping mouth, almost splitting to its ears, was filled with jagged, yellow teeth. Its slender limbs ended in sharp claws that gleamed eerily in the moonlight.

As soon as the demon appeared, it rushed toward the camp at a speed that belied its ugly appearance.

It opened its mouth and let out a piercing scream, while a disgusting green mist began to emanate from its body—that was its innate ability, [Foul Cloud], which would poison any creature within a ten-foot radius that inhaled it.

"Archers!" the druid commanded.

call out!

The ranger's arrow struck the cowardly demon precisely in the chest. The cowardly demon screamed and fell to the ground, but it wasn't quite dead yet, still struggling. A second, a third, a fourth... more and more cowardly demons emerged from the forest.

They were like a swarm of maggots crawling out of hell, endless and inexhaustible.

Next up are the Primal Demons—challenge levels only 1/8, weaker in strength, but more numerous.

These lower-level demons looked like human figures haphazardly molded from rotten flesh and filth, without a fixed shape, their bodies flowing with a viscous black liquid.

Their only attack method is clumsy claw strikes, which are already a deadly threat to ordinary villagers.

"Hold on!" the Shield Bearer roared, and the spearmen behind the shield wall thrust out their spears, pinning a Primal Demon that was trying to cross the shield wall to the ground.

The druid waved his staff.

The Art of Entanglement!

Within a thirty-foot radius in front of the camp, wild grass and vines grew wildly, entangled the steps of more than a dozen cowardly demons and primal demons.

The demons struggled, tearing at the vines, but more demons trampled over them and continued onward.

"Too many!" the ranger shouted from the flank, firing his shortbow in rapid succession.

Her archery skills were superb; every arrow struck the demon's eye or throat, but for every one that fell, two more would immediately take its place.

Cold sweat beaded on the druid's forehead.

This is not "a few scattered low-level demon groups".

This is the real demonic tide.

Demon-fearing, Primal Demon, and...

"Little devil!" someone exclaimed.

Among the demons emerging from the depths of the forest, even more powerful individuals began to appear.

Lesser Demon – A lower-level demon of challenge level 1/2.

They are slightly taller than demons, with dark red skin and short horns on their heads. Most of them carry rough iron forks or spiked clubs, and their eyes gleam with a cunning and cruel light.

Even more frightening is that some of these lesser demons possess spell-like abilities.

A small imp stopped, gesturing with its hands in front of its chest and chanting in a difficult Abyssal language. The next second, a fireball the size of a fist formed in its palm and whistled towards the camp.

The other lesser demon opened its mouth wide and spewed out a foul-smelling green liquid. The liquid splashed onto the shield bearer's shield, and the iron rim immediately began to smoke and corrode.

"Fireball and Corrosive Spray! Watch out!" the druid warned.

The battle reached its climax.

More than twenty demon corpses had already piled up in front of the shield wall, but more demons were advancing by stepping on the corpses of their own kind.

The shield bearer's arm began to go numb—each time he blocked an attack, the impact from the shield forced him to take a half-step back.

"Captain! There are too many!" The spearman's voice trembled. His spear was broken, and he was now fighting with a short sword, with several wounds on his body.

The druid roughly estimated that more than two hundred demons had emerged from the forest, and the number was still increasing.

Fearful demons, primal demons, lesser demons... a vast expanse, like a black tide, threatening to completely engulf the lone boat of the camp.

"We have to retreat!" the ranger shouted. The thrower next to her had been stabbed in the thigh by a small imp's fork and was lying on the ground screaming.

"We can't retreat!" the druid roared. "If we turn around, we'll be caught! Turning our backs to the demons will only make us die faster!"

He looked at his animal companions.

"Big Rock! Charge!"

The brown bear let out a deafening roar, and its massive body charged out of the camp like a chariot, crashing into the horde of demons.

With a slap of the bear's paw, the head of a small demon shattered like a watermelon.

With a sweep of its claws, the three cowardly demons were torn in half at the waist.

The giant rock rampaged through the demon horde, leaving a trail of blood and gore in its wake. Its thick fur could only leave shallow white marks from ordinary claw attacks, and only the iron forks of the lesser demons could inflict any damage.

But there are too many demons.

A dozen or so lesser demons surrounded the giant rock, raining down pitchforks and clubs.

A small demon spat out acidic liquid, splashing it onto the giant rock's eyes. The brown bear roared in pain, frantically shaking its head, its movements a beat too slow.

In that instant, three iron forks pierced its abdomen simultaneously.

"No!" The druid's eyes widened in horror.

The giant rock let out a mournful howl, its massive body swaying before finally crashing to the ground. The demons swarmed over it, tearing at its body like ghouls.

The druid felt as if an icy hand was gripping his heart. The giant rock had followed him for eight years, growing from a cub into a powerful companion, and now...

"Captain! Look over there!" Kevin's voice was filled with despair.

The druid looked in the direction he was pointing, and his breath almost stopped.

At the very back of the demon horde, a new figure appeared.

That was not a cowardly demon, not a primal demon, and not a lesser demon.

The demons were six feet tall, with dark red skin like congealed blood, and thorny bone plates growing on their backs. Their hands were not claws, but two curved bone blades, their edges gleaming coldly.

Thorn Demon - A lower-level elite demon of Challenge Level 2.

And there was more than one.

The druid counted at least three Thornfiends slowly approaching.

Unlike other demons that charge frantically, they move with unhurried steps, their bone blades rubbing against each other, producing a teeth-grinding "crunch".

This was a directed attack.

There is a commander in the demon horde, who is at least a mid-level demon, or even possibly a high-level one.

"It's over..." someone murmured.

The druid took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

He looked at the eleven people in the camp; three of them had already fallen.

The shield bearer's shield was covered in dents and signs of corrosion, the ranger's quiver was almost empty, and the team members' arms were trembling.

And there are at least two hundred demons, plus three Thorn Demons.

There is no chance of winning this battle.

But he could no longer retreat.

"Contract the defenses!" The druid's voice was unusually calm. "Retreat to the rock face! With our backs against the rock face, we only need to defend one direction!"

The eight survivors quickly retreated to the rock wall behind the camp. This was a natural blind spot; the rock wall was about forty feet high and almost vertical, making it impossible for the demon to attack from above.

But this also means there is no way out.

"Archers, prioritize taking down the Thornfiends! Rangers, use your silver arrows! Shieldbearers, form a shield wall! The rest of you, fill the gaps!"

The druid quickly issued the command while forming hand seals, preparing the life-saving spell he could only cast once a day.

Demons surged forth like a tidal wave.

The first wave of impact hit the shield wall.

The shield bearer grunted, his feet carving two furrows in the ground. Behind him, the spearmen thrust their spears through the gaps in the shields, piercing through a small demon.

The ranger's arrow flew, aimed at the Thorn Demon at the front. The arrowhead was made of specially crafted demon-slaying silver, specifically designed to combat demons and the undead.

The arrow struck the Thorn Demon in the chest, penetrating three inches deep.

The Thorn Demon looked down at the arrow shaft, then reached out, grasped it, and slowly pulled it out. Dark red blood flowed from the wound, but quickly stopped.

It raised its head, its bone blade pointing at the ranger, as if to say: You're next.

"Damn it..." The ranger gritted his teeth and nocked a second arrow.

The battle entered its most intense phase.

The demon's corpses piled up like a small mountain in front of the rock wall, and the blood stained the earth red.

But the adventurers were also losing men—another warrior was hit by a small fireball from a lesser demon, his body engulfed in flames, and he screamed as he rolled to the ground.

The druid's divine spell is ready.

[The Wall of Thorns]!

Before the rock face, a wall of sharp thorns burst forth from the ground, ten feet high and three feet thick. The dozen or so demons at the forefront were impaled by the thorns and hung on the wall, struggling and screaming in agony.

But this can only buy time.

The first Thorn Demon charged towards the thorn wall, its bone blades flashing. The tough thorns were cut like grass stalks before the sharp bone blades. It carved a gap in the wall and squeezed through.

The second one, the third one... all three Thorn Demons broke through the Thorn Wall.

"Charge!" The druid raised his hand axe.

The first Thorn Demon charged at the Shieldbearer. The bone blade clashed with the shield, producing a piercing metallic scraping sound. The Shieldbearer staggered back three steps, a deep gash appearing on the shield.

The second Thorn Demon charged at the Druid.

The druid swung his hand axe, clashing head-on with the bone blade. Sparks flew, and the druid felt a tingling sensation in his hand—the Thorn Demon's strength far surpassed that of the Lesser Demon, at least equivalent to a level 1 warrior.

The third Thorn Demon pounced on the Ranger on the flank.

The ranger was agile, dodging the sweeping bone blade with a roll, and then swung an arrow at the Thorn Demon's eye. The Thorn Demon tilted its head to avoid the arrow, which grazed its cheek and tore off a piece of flesh.

But there was no time to fire a second arrow.

A small demon pounced from the side, its iron fork aimed at the ranger's back.

"Watch out!" The thrower tossed out the last knife. The knife struck the little imp's shoulder, momentarily halting its movements.

The ranger seized the opportunity to turn around and plunged his short sword into the little demon's throat.

But the Thorn Demon's bone blade had already arrived.

The swordsman barely managed to raise his bow to parry.

Click!

The hardwood longbow was severed, but the bone blade, still sharp, cleaved into her left shoulder. The sound of her collarbone breaking was clearly audible; the ranger screamed and collapsed to the ground.

"Ranger!" The druid tried to come to the rescue, but was held back by the Thorn Demon in front of him.

The camp was plunged into a final, desperate struggle.

The shield bearer's shield finally shattered, and the bone blade pierced his chest. The shield bearer stared wide-eyed at the bone blade in his chest, then slowly collapsed.

The archer fired his last arrow, drew his short sword to fight a small demon, and was pierced through the abdomen by an iron fork after three moves.

The druid was covered in wounds—a deep, bone-revealing gash on his left arm, two broken ribs, and blood streaming from his forehead, blurring his vision.

He was still standing, with his back against the rock wall, his hand axe in his hand.

But only three people were still alive around him.

There were at least a hundred more demons. Three Thorn Demons, almost unharmed, were slowly approaching, blood dripping from their bone blades.

The druid looked up at the night sky.

The falcon's sharp eyes continued to circle, emitting a mournful cry.

The druid gave a wry smile.

In his twenty-five-year adventure, from the northern border to the grey forest, he survived countless life-or-death situations.

But this time, it seems to have truly come to an end.

"O spirits of nature..." he prayed softly, "protect the souls of these warriors and guide them to the peaceful beyond."

Then, the druid raised his hand axe and let out a final battle cry.

"For the sake of the world of the living!"

He charged towards the demon horde, swinging his hand axe as he charged forward, and in an instant, the tail spikes of three Thorn Demons pierced his body simultaneously.

The druid froze, and the hand axe slipped from his hand.

He slowly knelt down, his vision beginning to blur.

In his final moments of consciousness, he saw demons swarming toward the last three remaining team members who were still resisting, heard their screams, and then everything went back to darkness.

The falcon, with its sharp eyes, circled three times in the air, let out a mournful cry, and then flapped its wings and flew into the distance.

The 13th Regiment, with eleven men, was completely wiped out.

At the camp below the rock wall, the campfire had long since died out, leaving only the sounds of demons chewing on corpses and the footsteps of more demons emerging from the distant forest.

The demonic tide has only just begun.