In the weeks that followed, an unusual stillness settled over Aerion and the neighboring provinces, like the calm surface of water before a great flood. The flood of reports on anomalous incidents that had once overwhelmed the Investigation Bureau, threatening to exceed their capacity, suddenly slowed to a relative trickle.

Low-level disturbances became noticeably sparse. A fragile sense of normalcy crept through the city streets, like a collective sigh of relief after months of increasing tension. However, beneath that appearance of peace lay an undercurrent of anxiety, a feeling that this stillness was merely a lull, not a complete resolution.

Within the cold, grey stone walls of the Investigation Bureau, the atmosphere remained taut. The number of incoming reports had decreased, but their nature had changed alarmingly.

Henry, gradually accustoming himself to the demanding rhythm of his new role - grappling with field reports, cross-referencing witness testimonies, trying to connect the disparate dots on the province-wide incident map - noticed this change daily, working alongside Chief Investigator Ragley. The mission assignment board, once a chaotic mix of minor infractions and localized strange occurrences, now held only a few pins, but their colors had shifted to an ominous red Bright red markers, indicating C-rank investigations, dominated the board's surface.

"See the pattern, Henry?" Ragley whispered one morning, his voice unusually low, his finger gliding over several C-rank files.

The descriptions were chilling, terrifyingly similar in their escalation: organized attacks on well-guarded merchant caravans that then vanished without a trace; unexplained disappearances near ancient, forgotten ruins previously considered inactive; sophisticated localized bursts of dark magic energy detected in remote villages, leaving horrified survivors recounting shadowy figures and unrealistic geometric shapes; reports of individuals undergoing rapid, bizarre physical transformations, far exceeding typical werewolf anomalies or minor mutations.

"The random chaos, the scattered incidents... they seem to be coalescing. Fewer sparks, perhaps, but the fire is burning hotter, deeper, closer to the core. Our unseen enemy is no longer just testing the waters; they are refining their methods, becoming more targeted, bolder, more dangerous."

Henry nodded, the data aligning with his unsettling intuition. The map now resembled less a chart of Zephyros and more like a medical chart, documenting the spread of a hidden, systemic disease. This brief stillness felt less like peace and more like a predator gathering its strength, mapping its hunting grounds before the final, decisive pounce.

The pressure on the Investigation Bureau mounted daily, each C-rank mission demanding powerful Rankers, often requiring the coordination of multiple teams, depleting precious resources already stretched thin by the province's vastness. It was in this tense climate, with the sense of an impending storm just over the horizon, that Henry received his next field assignment.

Ragley summoned him, along with Neil, Brena, Cole, and Halb, to the main briefing room A new C-rank file lay open on the surface of the central strategy table, its contents giving off a sense of wrongness even before Ragley began to speak.

"Lowcorpse," Ragley began, his voice curt, his finger tapping the file name. "A settlement, supposedly located deep in the western region of the Verodawn Forest, several days' arduous travel from the nearest outpost." He pointed to a sparsely detailed section on the regional map. "Officially, according to all registered charters and provincial surveys, this village does not exist." He paused, letting the implication sink in.

"Unofficially, the Bureau's long-range scouts and confidential informants have gathered fragmented whispers, piecemeal reports over the past two years. Rumors of a reclusive, isolated community, thriving on an illegal but extremely lucrative trade." He gestured towards a secondary report detailing black market seizures. "Lowcorpse apparently specializes in acquiring and then reselling, through intermediaries, high-quality monster carcasses. Primarily Rank 2 and 3 beasts native to the Verodawn region - Night Panthers, Spineboars, Giant Venomous Snakes, even the occasional Gloomstalker."

He looked around the table, ensuring they understood the significance. "As you know, such creatures, though dangerous, are a vital economic resource throughout Tehra." Henry nodded slowly.

The economy based on monster parts was vast, complex, and incredibly efficient.

Weapons forged from beast bones capable of resonating with magic held enchantments far better than ordinary steel.

Armor crafted from the chitinous shells of giant insects or the scaled hides of subterranean reptiles offered superior protection compared to standard military plate.

Alchemical reagents distilled from venom sacs, glands, and specific organs were essential components in everything from potent healing draughts to lethal poisons, from enhancement elixirs to industrial solvents.

And rarer still were the hearts, cores, or special crystalline structures harvested from powerful beasts, eagerly sought by mages, nobles, and even desperate individuals to power dangerous, often forbidden rituals necessary for Rank ascension.

The value was immense; a well-preserved Rank 3 Gloomstalker carcass, its stealth-enhancing hide and paralyzing venom glands intact, could easily fetch over five hundred Crows on the open market - enough for an ordinary family to live on for years.

Therefore, the hunting, processing, and trade of such valuable resources were strictly regulated by Zephyros law, requiring expensive licenses, adherence to quotas to prevent ecological collapse, and meticulous record-keeping. Unlicensed operations on the scale Lowcorpse was rumored to maintain constituted a major economic crime, disrupting legitimate markets and potentially involving significant corruption or violence to sustain.

"Ordinary smuggling, even on this scale, wouldn't typically trigger a C-rank Bureau investigation team," Ragley continued, his expression hardening, drawing their attention to the core anomaly, the detail that screamed wrongness.

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"The critical issue, the factor elevating this case beyond mere illicit trade, lies here." He tapped a specific line in the geological-arcane survey summary attached to the file.

"Lowcorpse, according to multiple independent scans, is situated in a geographical dead zone. An area completely devoid of any detectable Lifestream flow. No ambient aetheric convergences, no minor tributaries, nothing." He looked them straight in the eyes, letting the absurdity of the situation sink in. "This makes its existence, let alone its reported prosperity from hunting dangerous Rank 3 monsters illogical."

A wave of skepticism, quickly followed by professional disbelief, swept through the team. Even Henry, who held secrets of hidden orders and alternative power sources, felt a cognitive dissonance.

Every settlement in Tehra, without exception, was built on or near the Lifestream. It was the invisible foundation of civilization, the subtle energy field that allowed communities to erect protective barriers, however crude, against the constant encroachment of the monster-filled wilderness. It influenced crop growth, powered simple enchantments, provided the necessary background resonance for stable, long-term habitation.

A thriving village deep in the monster-infested Verodawn Forest, generating enough wealth through dangerous hunts to engage in large-scale trade, all without access to the Lifestream? It wasn't just suspicious; it defied the basic laws of survival in their world.

The Sanctuary Seal on Henry's chest began to vibrate gently, a silent but urgent warning. When Ragley mentioned the "Lifestream dead zone" a strange restlessness stirred within him. His Mystic Sense, though activated at a level to scan the surrounding environment, detected no sign of the familiar lifestream flow - this perfectly matched the report. This energetic void created an indescribable suffocation, an energetic silence that made him uneasy.

"Impossible," Cole stated bluntly, his voice hoarse. "No barriers mean constant predation. Even if they were elite hunters, they couldn't protect non-combatants, secure a perimeter, or prevent nocturnal incursions by low-level scavengers year-round. Not without Lifestream-powered barriers."

"Unless," Neil mused, leaning thoughtfully on his spear, "they possess an alternative power source? A hidden artifact? Or perhaps," his voice lowered, "they made a deal? A pact with something residing in the forest, something powerful enough to provide protection in exchange for sacrifices?"

"Precisely the questions your team needs to answer," Ragley confirmed.

"There is something wrong in Lowcorpse. Your mission: infiltrate the area discreetly. Travel by land, avoid main routes. Locate Lowcorpse without alerting potential observers. Assess the situation - confirm its existence, determine the source of their survival and the nature of their illicit trade. Identify the leadership structure. Document all defenses, technological or otherwise. Neutralize any hostile threats if unavoidable, but prioritize intelligence gathering. Report findings directly to me via encrypted signal stone. Given the inherent contradictions and the C-rank designation, proceed with extreme caution. Assume hidden elements, potentially high-level, are at play. Any questions?"

No one spoke. The mission was clear, the inherent danger acutely understood. The illogical, almost supernatural nature of Lowcorpse hinted at perils far exceeding those of simple smuggling or even conventional monstrous threats.

Two days later, the five investigators moved like wraiths through the oppressive humidity and deep green shadows of the Verodawn Forest.

The trees here felt ancient, primeval. Their massive trunks, thicker than garrison watchtowers, and gnarled branches intertwined high above to form a dense, suffocating canopy that effectively blocked out the sun, plunging the forest floor into an eternal, eerie twilight.

Strange, phosphorescent fungi, clinging to decaying logs and damp earth, provided the only faint, unreliable sources of light in this perpetual gloom.

The silence was profound, deeply unsettling. The usual vibrant sounds of forest life - the chirping of unseen insects, the calls of birds, the rustling of small animals in the dense undergrowth - was entirely, unnervingly absent. Only the soft, rhythmic swish of their own boots on the thick carpet of decaying leaves and the occasional, echoing drip of condensation from the unseen canopy broke the suffocating stillness.

"Feels like we're walking through a bloody tomb," Halb muttered, his voice a low, nervous rumble that barely disturbed the silence. His spear held ready as he scanned the tangled shadows. "Never felt a forest so... empty. So devoid of life. Even the cursed grounds near the Bandit Graveyard pulsed with more vitality than this."

"Life instinctively avoids places where death holds dominion," Cole replied curtly. His narrowed, observant eyes were fixed on a strange, sickly grey moss that seemed to crawl across the bark of a nearby giant redwood, sucking the color from the ancient tree. "Something unnatural, something fundamentally wrong, has claimed this territory as its own."

Henry walked near the rear of the formation, a position allowing him to observe his comrades and the surroundings without drawing undue attention. He let his Mystic Sense drift outwards, expanding to its full seventy-meter radius, meticulously mapping the terrain, probing the unsettling, unnatural silence.

The forest felt fundamentally wrong, diseased to its core. The usual vibrant energy signatures of flora and fauna were muted, suppressed, almost extinguished. They were overlaid by a faint, persistent, dissonant static, a spiritual discomfort that prickled at his senses.

The Sanctuary Seal beneath his tunic pulsed with a low, continuous thrum, a silent alarm resonating with the unnatural atmosphere, an agitation that had grown steadily stronger throughout their journey into this blighted region.

He filtered the scents carried on the heavy, humid air: the expected rich earthiness of loam and the damp scent of decay, yes, but also persistent, jarring, incongruous traces of old, dried blood; the acrid, chemical tang of strange herbs or alchemical compounds unlike anything he'd encountered; the gritty, metallic scent of unprocessed ores; and unsettlingly, the cloying, sickly sweetness of spoiled milk and cheap candy. It painted a contradictory, disturbing picture - of something vital missing from this place, and something foul hidden just beneath the surface.

It was then, as they pushed deeper into the silent, shadowed woods, that Henry began to notice it - a discovery that sent a fresh wave of unease through him. A faint luminescence, like a ghostly afterimage, deep beneath the decaying earth underfoot. Emerald green. At first, it was weak, flickering intermittently, easily dismissed as an optical illusion in the dim, disorienting twilight of the ancient forest.

He blinked, trying to focus his inner sight, to discern its true nature. No, it was real. A thin, fragile stream of energy, unlike any Lifestream flow he had ever sensed or read about in the archives. It wasn't powerful, not spread out and life-giving like the main arteries that nourished great cities. This flow was tenuous, fragmented, like a nearly depleted underground spring struggling to pass through the dense layers of earth and rock.

The Sanctuary Seal on his chest reacted immediately, a gentle, almost curious pulse, distinct from the alarmed agitation it had exhibited earlier. There was Lifestream here, however weak, however corrupted.

So why did the Bureau's sophisticated scans and official reports indicate its complete absence? Or... had its presence here only just manifested? Reawakened by some unknown catalyst? Or, more unsettling still, could it be that only he, with his unique connection to the Sanctuary Enclave, could perceive this faint, struggling echo of life?

Following the crude, hand-drawn map provided by Ragley's informants, combined with the accuracy of Brena's arcane compass, they finally crested a low, heavily overgrown ridge, choked with a dense latticework of thorny, blood-red vines. Below them, nestled in a shallow, shadowed basin, lay the village of Lowcorpse.

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