After a while, the group came across a stone statue, submerged by a third in the swampy ground. The lost trophy of a sunken ship. The angelic wings of a girl were the first to catch their eyes. In her hands, she held a lantern, in which even now, if desired, any wanderer could kindle a fire. Her eyes were closed. A long white robe, whose folds seemed so real, wrapped her velvety, fragile body. Ona took a screenshot for the forum, noted the geolocation, caught up with the others, and said:

"Probably, a group of discoverers has already begun to equip these places. What a beauty it could be!"

Time flew by, in a blink of an eye. The second hour was ending, and the forest maze went on forever. Ronnie looked around and there, in the obsidian void among the trees in the faint white light of the sphere, he saw a creature flying west, with arms twice as long as its body, instead of legs – a torn skirt, horns on its head, and fingers on its hands, like a pitchfork for irrigation of the ground. He flung his Barrett off his back with a light, skilled movement. The muzzle of the rifle aimed at the place of the alleged danger, and the thumb without delay raised the flag fuse to an upright position. No one noticed or heard it. Ronnie stayed alone, surrounded by blackness, and waited a couple of minutes in silence. Nothing. He lowered his weapon and walked slowly forward to the north, where the outgoing white light of the sphere illuminated the way for the group.

Sitting Bull raised his hand, everyone stopped.

"What's there?" Latludious asked and saw red glowing symbols on a tree.

The Indian did not answer and went by himself. The closer he got, the better he could see the sign: a red crescent pierced by a sword, circling a magic circle, under which there were letters in an unknown language. When Ronnie caught up with the others, he saw Sitting Bull staring point-blank at a pulsating and glowing red sign, which a second later released a red-purple mist. The Indian turned his face to his teammates and dropped the machine gun from his hands. His right eye turned purple, and his left eye showed fright.

"Don't tell me he just got the same curse as that forest guard," Ona said in a trembling voice.

Ronnie ran up to the magic symbol. The same image that he met yesterday. Lest there were fewer letters, or it just seemed so to him. Latludious said:

"You're lucky it doesn't work twice, Ronnie."

"What the fuck is this?" Faolandan asked, still dumbfounded.

"Curse trap. Apparently, they are scattered all over the forest in the form of similar red symbols," the magician replied.

"It pleased you, idiot, to come up to look at it point-blank!" Ona shouted at the Sitting Bull.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“A good soldier is a poor scout,” he answered with a sad look.

"How are you feeling, my friend?" Faolandan asked.

Sitting Bull turned his head from left to right and shrugged his shoulders.

"Ona's scary tale is becoming a reality."

"His case is no different from what we've seen before," Ronnie said.

"He's right," Latludious confirmed and sat down in the lotus position and motioned for everyone to be silent.

The magician moved his lips, but did not say anything, clutched his head, and the veins on his forehead swelled. After a couple of minutes, he got up and said:

"Let's deliberate. Ronnie, you've seen this magic before, right?"

He nodded.

"Why do you think it controls consciousness?"

"In the desert, I fought with a wild-boss TagFindar. He and his henchmen made decisions as if one person controlled them. All actions were coordinated, clear, and synchronous. When TagFindar was exhausted and lay on the ground on his last breath, his minions seemed to have lost their minds. They started attacking each other and killing each other until only one was left. A foregone conclusion."

Latludious nodded, caught every word, held his chin. The others were silent. No one said a word. There was an unspoken rule in Top Secret – while "Bishop" is thinking, no one distracts him.

"Let's organize what we know. The Forest Guard was not completely out of its mind, otherwise, it would have just attacked us. Its body mutated, but not completely. From this, we can conclude that the curse does not activate immediately, but gradually. So, the more the body changes, the stronger the influence of the curse. If we believe Ronnie's words, then after a complete change, it will be impossible to return a player or a creature to its previous state. From this we can deduce that somewhere out there, in the fucking wilds of Elgoreombdon, there is a monster puppeteer setting traps, right? Ona mentioned the history of the discoverers of this place. Lamo wrote that his people were getting mad, but he didn't know what we know. In this case, the picture becomes clearer than ever," Latludious thought and continued with hope in his voice." Maybe if we can find the creature that left this symbol before Sitting Bull becomes completely cursed, we'll save our friend from the aforementioned curse."

"Do you really believe that?" Ronnie asked.

"Yes. And I'll believe it until the end."

"How much time do you think we have?" Faolandan asked.

"I don't know any more than you do. Better hurry up."

They went on, quickened their pace. This time Latludious led the column. The boots were sinking in the quagmire. The intoxicating smell, fog, pestilence, peat bogs, what they did not see around them. The magician turned off the path and went to the left, away from impassable swamps, and in a couple of minutes, he found himself at the foot of a hill with languishing cobblestones overgrown with moss and slippery as ice. Now the players' legs twisted like the branches of half-dead, barren trees, they moved at a pace of a snail, proceeding with extreme caution.

"Latludious, you can break a leg here."

"Then go through the swamps. But if you start drowning, don't call me for help."

"And if I break my neck here?"

"Then I'll have one less headache."

Faolandan spat and looked at Tina. It jumped from rock to rock, easily and naturally. For it, it seemed, this was not an obstacle, but a morning workout. Ronnie, overloaded with a heavy rifle, cartridges, and recovery elixirs, kept slipping into narrow cracks. Once he fell and miraculously did not hurt his head, he thought he would stay there, but Sitting Bull helped him get out. Things couldn’t get worse.