William moved directly toward the crest of the hill. His first task was labour-intensive; using his rusty, notched sword, he began to hack away at the dense undergrowth at the centre of the hilltop.
It was gruelling work for his small frame, but after half an hour of steady effort, he had cleared a circular patch of bare earth large enough for his next step.
Without hesitation, he drew the edge of his blade across his left palm. As the crimson liquid welled up, he allowed the blood to drip from his fingers, using it as ink. He began to crawl around the perimeter of the cleared space, tracing strange, jagged characters into the dirt.
To a casual observer, these letters would look like the nonsensical scribblings of a madman. However, William knew exactly what he was doing. He was laying down a foundational protective spell, encircling the central region with symbols that pulsed with a hidden, ancient logic.
"Done," he whispered, his voice raspy.
He didn't bother to bandage the wound. Instead, he moved toward the sloping edge of the hill. He wasn't worried about the scent of his blood attracting the scarlet monkeys; in fact, he was counting on it.
Reaching the edge of the twenty-meter-tall incline, he pulled a single Red-Leafed Flower from his bag. He squeezed the petals with his bloodied hand, letting the floral fragrance mix with the metallic tang of his essence before dropping the crushed remains onto the slope.
People of this world were ignorant of the magical properties of the Allaptica Bellusa. When the sap of this flower mixed with human blood, it underwent a volatile chemical reaction, turning into a biological ticking bomb capable of producing a sharp, localised explosion.
The strength of the blast was directly proportional to the power of the blood's owner. While his current blood was weak, he was certain that fifty such "bombs" scattered across the hillside would be more than enough to incinerate a few dozen monkeys.
It took him another ten minutes to prepare the perimeter. He moved along the sides of the hill, placing the blood-soaked flowers and drawing secondary symbols at key structural points.
"It's ready," he muttered. Having exhausted his supply of flowers, he hurried back toward the central zone in wide, unsteady strides.
He could already hear them. The forest canopy was alive with swift, rustling noises and the high-pitched, chattering signals of the troop. The scent of blood had reached them, and the hunters were becoming the prey.
As he reached the hilltop, he saw a change in the area he had cleared. A faint, glistening dome—barely a shimmer in the moonlight—had manifested, covering a ten-meter radius. He was confident that he was the only being in the forest who could see it, as the shield was keyed specifically to his own life force.
This was an invisible barrier created using the forbidden runic script of a long-fallen spirit master empire. These traps and the shield didn't drain his scarce spirit power, but they took a heavy toll on his vitality.
At this moment, William was staggering, his face ashen and his breath coming in shallow gasps. He managed to cross the threshold of the dome before his legs finally gave out, and he crashed heavily onto the parched earth.
He struggled into a sitting position, fighting the overwhelming urge to succumb to unconsciousness. Gritting his teeth, he began to circulate his meagre spirit power through his body to stabilise his heart rate.
William was a walking encyclopedia of the spirit world. If he could produce two legendary manuals for Berry on a whim, he certainly possessed far more formidable and suitable scriptures for himself. He just needed to survive the next ten minutes for his "investment" to pay off.
But his low spirit power remained the primary obstacle. With his cultivation still mired in the "mud phase," the spiritual energy within him was sluggish and thick with impurities.
He couldn't yet perform the high-level arts of his previous life; instead, he focused on a simple, basic circulation to keep his heart from failing under the strain.
Screech!
The monkeys announced their arrival with their distinctive, piercing cries. William didn't flinch. He wasn't worried about them breaching the dome.
This invisible shield was a masterwork of runic engineering; it didn't just block physical entry, it severed all five senses. To anything outside, the centre of the hilltop simply didn't exist.
Scarlet monkeys were simple-minded creatures. Had he been facing a more intelligent breed of monster, he might have feared discovery, but these primates relied on instinct over intellect.
From his vantage point inside the shimmer, he watched the incoming swarm. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry—the sheer volume of blood he had sacrificed had worked too well.
It hadn't just lured one troop; three separate groups had converged on the hill. He estimated his potential trophy count to be around three hundred monsters.
He waited. He remained perfectly still as the monkeys began to scale the slopes, their scarlet fur a blur in the moonlight. He needed them to fully commit to the climb. If he triggered the trap too early, the monkeys still at the base would flee into the dark, following their survival instincts.
He watched them for five minutes. They were cautious but daring, sniffing the air for the blood they could smell but couldn't locate. They found no corpses, no humans—only the intoxicating scent of essence and flowers.
"Boom!"
Once the hill was saturated with the screeching creatures, William activated the blood link. He pulsed his intent through the symbols he had etched into the earth, and the hillside ignited.
A series of violent explosions tore through the silence of the forest. Even with his current physical weakness, the sheer number of Allaptica Bellusa flowers he had planted turned the hill into a vertical piece of hell.
William felt the entire mound tremble beneath him as the "Blood-Bombs" detonated in a chain reaction.
The carnage was absolute. Those monkeys directly on top of the flowers were vaporised instantly. The survivors on the crest panicked, their primitive minds shattering as they tried to flee through a landscape now painted in roaring orange flames.
Screech! Screech! Screech!
Their screams of agony echoed through the canopy before they fell, charred and lifeless. William stayed put behind his invisible wall, waiting for his vitality to replenish. His shield could technically hold for ten hours, but its durability would plummet if it took direct, concentrated hits.
He watched the chaos, fearing for a moment that a monkey might accidentally stumble into the dome's perimeter. But his worries were unfounded; driven by pure terror, the monkeys only wanted to go down, running straight into the inferno.
They were truly dumb creatures.
As the fire raged, a new fear took root: the noise and the overwhelming scent of roasted meat would surely attract more formidable predators from the deeper forest. Even over the roar of the flames, he could hear bone-chilling growls and heavy footsteps echoing from the shadows of the Blessing Forest.
Yet, the wall of fire acted as a secondary shield. No monster, no matter how hungry, dared to break through the thick veil of heat and smoke. The blaze ran wild for a full hour before the fuel was exhausted and the flames finally flickered out.
The devastation left behind was staggering. A radius of over a kilometre was now a scorched wasteland, a black scar on the green face of the forest. The hill was a graveyard of ash, but for William, it was a gold mine.