"Wait!"
Lars, who was scouting ahead, suddenly turned back and motioned to us. The three of us immediately stopped.
"There's a Fallen Camp up ahead. You guys wait here, I'll go scout it out."
Fallen are the most common Monsters in this land. Their fiery red skin looks particularly comical, and their short stature is as wretched and ugly as a goblin.
This wasn't the first time we'd encountered this situation. After all, Fallen are the most numerous Monsters here. We had already encountered many Fallen Camps on the road in the past few days. Several times, Hardened Skin Rats suddenly darted out from small bushes, their necks retracting before they shot out quills at us. Yesterday, we spotted a few Rotting Corpses shambling not far ahead – although I intensely disliked these Rotting Corpses that almost gave me nightmares, the other three looked happy. Compared to other Monsters, Rotting Corpses not only give high Experience but are also the easiest to deal with. Their slow movements can be easily dodged even by a Barbarian. As long as you don't get surrounded, they are practically synonymous with Experience.
Lars mysteriously shared what he claimed was his exclusive secret with me: Rotting Corpses have the highest drop rate in the Blood Moor. The only Ring he currently wore was dropped by a Rotting Corpse – even though, in the end, after killing those few Rotting Corpses, not even a Coin dropped.
Since the team didn't have an Assassin or Amazon suitable for scouting work, the task fell to Lars, a Paladin. At least in this regard, a Paladin was better than a Barbarian. Originally, as a Druid, I should have stepped forward when there was no Assassin or Amazon. A Druid's Nature Magic and Summoning have more advantages in scouting than a Paladin's. However, after learning that I was only Level 1 and hadn't even learned Summon Raven, Lars considerately took on the job and didn't ask me to go get myself killed.
Speaking of which, I still don't understand, am I really a Druid? These past few days, I've familiarized myself with my body and found that my Strength and Agility are dozens of times higher than before I transmigrated. The old me wouldn't have had the stamina to keep up with Lars and the others' rapid pace of almost ten hours a day.
But even so, can I, a transmigrator, really master the Skills in this Diablo world? I hope I don't mess things up later. I feel like I need to properly ask Lars and the others for guidance after the battle ends. After accepting the reality of my transmigration, what I fear most now is the issue of my own abilities.
Soon, Lars returned, with an unconcealable look of joy: "It's a small team of Fallen, and there's an Elite-level Fallen Shaman among them."
Based on my observations over the past few days, a "small team" as Lars described it is probably 7-12 Fallen. As for the Fallen Shaman, anyone who has played Diablo knows they are little old men holding a Ghost Head Staff, casting fireballs, and heavily relying on Corpse Revival. And "Elite" likely refers to Monsters with special Attributes.
Seeing their overjoyed expressions, it seems Elite Monsters are indeed rare encounters, and even if they encounter one, they aren't necessarily guaranteed to kill it. This isn't a game, after all. There's no such good thing as instantly resurrecting after death and then casually running back to pick up your Corpse. Without 100% certainty, it's best to cherish life and stay away from Elites.
However, this Elite-level Fallen Shaman plus a small team of Fallen was precisely the kind they could handle. This kind of good fortune is rarer than winning the lottery. So, even Geoff, who usually wears a perpetually sour face, was beaming. It seems his cool facade isn't quite perfected yet. I need to properly train him sometime. Look at me, even if Lars said Andariel (the Act 1 boss) was coming to kill us, my legs wouldn't go soft and my back wouldn't bend. Well, maybe I'd just faint straight up...
The four of us slowly bent low, following the leading Lars like agents from a low-budget spy film. My position in the team is actually quite awkward. On one hand, even if I followed, I couldn't be of much help – although through observation, I do feel that with my gradually increasing Strength over the past few days, if I had a halfway decent Weapon – even a rusty Iron Sword – I could easily take care of a Fallen. But before I have a sufficient understanding of this world, I absolutely will not risk myself. The Triangle Poisonous Snake I encountered this morning told me that this is definitely not a world exactly identical to Diablo; it just has astonishing similarities in certain aspects.
On the other hand, I had to stick close to them. God knows if leaving them would cause a bunch of Monsters, demons, pets, ghosts, or whatever else to pop out of the small jungle.
After all, even with Lars and the others averaging Level 11 or higher, they wouldn't dare to strut around in the Blood Moor, a place where Level 1-4 Mobs roam, let alone me, a little kid who has never killed a single Monster?
I shamelessly asked Lars if being near them would split their Experience. Lars's answer both reassured and slightly disappointed me. This real world indeed doesn't have the good fortune of leeching Experience or being power-leveled by experts. You get as much Experience as you earn. What a pity. I had even thought about finding an expert to farm Experience for me when I got rich later, and I drooled over that idea all night for nothing. Hmph.
The Fallen Camp slowly appeared before my eyes, about 200 meters away. My eyes, which were slightly nearsighted from long-term internet use before, have become better and better since coming to this world. I can even see a large pot set up in the Fallen Camp, with a ghastly human skull, hand bones, foot bones, rib bones, and other such things occasionally popping out of the boiling liquid. In short, there were more than enough parts to assemble a complete human skeleton. It seems some reckless fool accidentally trespassed into their Territory and was caught and boiled.
If this were me a few days ago, seeing this scene would probably have made me faint. But now, although I feel a pang of pity, I seem to have become somewhat numb. The bizarrely posed White Bones, or the leftover Corpses, or the Rotting Corpses half-buried in the ground that suddenly jumped out along the road these past few days, have severely tempered my visual nerves. I have to say, the power of habit is terrifying. Living in an environment like a horror movie, I find my nerves are now incredibly tough. Even if a Rotting Corpse suddenly popped out in front of me right now, I'd be confident I could punch it to the ground. Uh, and then, then immediately run away.
One, two, three, four... I counted carefully. There were 9 Fallen. They were currently gathered around the pot, performing a strange dance like African natives. The white glint of the Long Blades in their hands was dazzling, making me unable to help but swallow. Poor me, a dignified future Druid master, is still bare-handed.
However, snatching the Long Blades from them isn't practical – unless they drop as loot, they will disappear with the Fallen's Corpses shortly after.
At this moment, the 9 Fallen Mobs were dancing what looked like a tap dance while making strange noises. Sitting beside them was today's main character, whose dark red skin stood out particularly vividly among the blood-red Fallen. His motionless sitting posture exuded a calm demeanor, like an enlightened monk. Occasionally, his eyes would open, flashing a sharp glint before returning to a state of stillness. He only looked at the dancing Fallen with a hint of disdain, as if a bunch of rookies were showing off their martial arts in front of a peerless expert.
"Wait!" I whispered. The three who were about to make a move turned their heads, looking at me with confusion.
Heh heh, are you feeling confused? This is the absolute, insurmountable gap between you and me – with my sharp eyes honed by years of internet browsing, this seemingly unremarkable old Fallen Shaman definitely has strength comparable to Andariel. It's just that for some reason, he has to hide in this obscure little place. I thought to myself with a hint of smugness, I've finally played a small role in this team.
Just as I was about to tell them the unchanging rule that true masters hide in the wilderness while great masters hide in the city, the Fallen Shaman in the distance suddenly moved. I saw it raise its head, and a sharp gaze shot directly towards our hiding place.
My heart jumped. It had clearly been keeping its head down just now. Could it have sensed us hundreds of meters away just by sensing our aura? My judgment was indeed correct. Fortunately, I stopped them in time. Maybe running away now is still possible.
I saw the ancient-looking Fallen Shaman gripping its Ghost Head Staff tightly in its right hand, and lightly waving its left hand. That aura of a strong person, that demeanor of a master, sent a chill down my spine. The Fallen who had just been gathered around the pot immediately quickly concentrated behind it, adopting a defensive posture. In an instant, they transformed from scattered thugs into battle-hardened veterans ready to fight to the death.
As expected, it discovered us. Seeing their stance, they looked ready to charge. My heart jumped, and I was about to pull Lars and the others to escape. At this moment, I saw the Fallen Shaman step to the side.
"Heng heng ha hei, heng heng ha hei..."
The Fallen Shaman danced wildly, humming strange, meaningless Tunes, stepping in a seven-star pattern, like a shaman performing a ritual or someone having an epileptic seizure. It danced around the large pot, its butt twisting rapidly as if electrically charged. The little Fallen standing behind it looked at the Shaman with adoration, like the most devout fans meeting their Idol.
"Heng heng ha hei, heng heng ha hei..." The Shaman's Tune echoed in the Wilderness, slowly carried to our ears by the wind.
"What's wrong, Wu?" Lars asked, looking at me with confusion.
"Uh... please, please chop that Fallen Shaman into meat paste..." I said with a gloomy expression, gritting my teeth.
(end of chapter)