“We assumed that totems were a symbol of the forest. What if they are not? Imagine another scenario where they are the cause of the infestation. Then it becomes clear why, when we showed Sitting Bull to the Ent, he pointed to the totem.”

“The theory doesn't add up, you said yourself that the orcs attacked that totem.”

“I said they used dark magic rays. That they attacked it, we imagined it ourselves. Try to understand what I mean: curse traps are the product of darkness spells. They can be set individually, it can be done by orc mages, or they can infect hectares of land, sort of carpet bombing. I assume that totems are for the latter. They didn't try to destroy it with dark magic, they tried to activate it. But they couldn't.”

“Why did they fail?” Faolandan asked.

The corner of Latludious's mouth twitched:

“We would never have known the answer if not for our greedy for the first-place sniper. Apparently, the bird he killed was blocking the main totem. Moreover, after its death, the protection went down. The secondary totem, overflowing with energy, transferred its supply to the main totem, and after a while, the main totem started working.”

“How do you explain the vanishing of the traps on the trees?”

“They weren't active," Ronnie said.

“Meaning?”

“Open the bestiary. The AI recently posted information on used and active traps.”

Everyone was silent for a minute, then they all stared at Ronnie:

“Can you tell me how the fuck did you found out and why you didn't say anything?” Faolandan snarled. “The curse on Ona is your fault!”

“Bullshit, you know that yourself. If I had known it was going to happen like this, I would have said, rest assured.”

“You open your mouth when you don't have to, and when you do, you keep quiet. This information could have changed everything.”

“Shut up, let me think," Latludious called out, waving his hand and continuing after a couple of minutes. “It turns out that the totems work as a separate mechanism. They remove used traps and create new ones. With all the information we have, it seems we can solve this problem now because we know exactly which way to go.”

There was a light of hope in Ona’s, Faolandan’s, and Sitting Bull’s eyes. They stood up, cheered up, and asked:

“Tell us, what do we have to do?”

“Come here.”

They approached the Bishop:

“Open your maps.”

They opened them.

“Now for the interesting part. Take a look at the contaminated terrain we passed through at the beginning. It has circular borders. What other strange things did you notice?”

“Black dots," Ronnie said. “One is in the center, the others are at twelve, three, six, and nine o'clock.”

“Correct. I assume there used to be totems there.”

“Right, as in our case.”

“Yes. Let's mark them on the map. It's a straight line. So, one of them is main, the other is secondary. I daresay the one behind us is the main one. The secondary one is at six o'clock, so there are also those at three o'clock, nine o'clock, and twelve o'clock. We draw a circle with a compass. This is the zone where the contamination occurs. The secondary ones feed the main totem, it pulsates and sets new traps on the trees. If I'm wrong and the main totem is the one at six o'clock, then we'll try to reorganize as quickly as possible according to the same plan.”

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Latludious looked around at every one of them, and noticed Faolandan's eyes staring into the ground, confusion on his face:

“What do you want to know?”

He cleared his throat and said:

“Why don't orcs leave traps at every turn?”

“Most likely, it requires a large amount of mana.”

Everyone nodded in understanding.

“That makes sense.”

“If there are no more questions, we'll proceed as follows. Sitting Bull, are you still able to move?”

“More or less.”

“Then you go to the totem at six o’clock. There you are unlikely to meet any resistance. Ona, you go to the main totem. Burn it to the ground. Ronnie, you go for the one at three o’clock, Faolandan, nine, I’ll take the twelve. We'll have to fight solo, or there might not be enough time. If I'm right, we'll all make it to the outpost together by evening.” He paused and continued. “Safe and sound.”

They rose, ready to go each in their own direction, as Latludious gasped.

“What's wrong?”

He pointed his finger forward. The others noticed how another trap, located on a tree fifteen meters away from them, released a mist that reached the nearest Hessataule and activated a new trap on its bark.

"I’ll be burned in the flames of Hephaestus, they multiply!" Ona exclaimed.

“I'm scared," Faolandan whispered.

“We're all scared. Let's hurry up. We'll keep in touch in the chat room. When you're done, go to the northern totem. That will be the rally point.”

***

Sitting Bull moved back toward the southern part of the forest. Every now and then his legs failed him. He was falling. Dry pine branches scratched his face and hands, but he found the will not to stop. His left arm was gone. His skin was blackened and merged with the darkness around him. He passed the quicksand swamps, crossed the ravines, and crossed the river, jumping from rock to rock.

His right leg went weak. He fell, and when he got up, he saw a strange spot about a hundred feet behind a tree, which disappeared in a flash. Sitting Bull ducked and wanted to reach for his bow and arrow, but he needed both hands to shoot. Walking stealthily, like a predator on the hunt, he hid behind bushes, looking behind his back. He saw no one, but the feeling of threat did not leave him. Blackened blood flowed from his mouth. He coughed. His time was running out.

The Indian cursed and rushed forward without looking back, falling, rising, and running again. His internal organs were failing one by one. He could not breathe anymore. The curse was disfiguring him, killing him. When he fell again, five hundred feet from his target, his leg failed. He crawled, grasping grass, branches, bumps, anything he could get his hands on, pulling himself forward, and kept doing it until the very end.

When he reached the totem, the former color of his Indian clothes had disappeared behind clumps of mud. His eyes were blurry. His mouth tasted of iron. There was blood under his fingernails. There was thunder in the sky. Rain was coming. Sitting Bull reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a grenade. He never thought he would use it. A shadow whizzed by a meter away from him. The Indian put the grenade in his inner shirt pocket and pulled out an arrow.

“I won’t die!” he bellowed.

The Shadow attacked from above. Sitting Bull reacted in time. He threw an arrow in the enemy's direction and it bounced away. The creature came out of the darkness, and the Indian could see it. It was no player, though its body structure resembled that of a man. He had a red scarf around its neck, flapping in the gusts of wind. On its head was a dragon skull with swirling horns and wooden plaques. Armor with purple streaks and tattered rags covered its delicate, thin body. The face was hidden by the darkness. Small skulls, black and ugly, hung from the plackart's lath skirt. Samurai pauldrons covered its shoulders. In its hands, it held a one-handed sword made of black steel.

Sitting Bull pulled out the grenade and pulled the pin with his teeth. Both of them froze. The Indian opened the HUD, there was still five percent left. The enemy looked strong.

“AI, tell me, how much experience can they give for this monster?”

“Based on the available information in the bestiary - this monster is a doppelganger type. The last one killed brought 20% experience to the player at level 20.”

Sitting Bull looked at the enemy, calm and cold-blooded, it did not take any action, it waited. It had no shortage of patience. No one knew what surprise his opponent would offer. The Indian felt his heart stop beating. There was no more time. He cursed and turned his head, looked toward the totem, shouted, and threw a grenade at the throbbing heart. There was an explosion. Dust flew in all directions. Smoke rose, and the last thing Sitting Bull saw was the tip of the monster’s sword.

The members of the party, except Ronnie, froze for a second. They saw in their HUD that Sitting Bull had been disconnected. They cussed out as one.

Did he make it in time? Ona asked in a group chat.

I’m sure he succeeded. Latludious answered.

So let us hurry too. His sacrifice must not be in vain. Hang on Ona we're almost done. Faolandan wrote and pointed the muzzle of the DP in the direction of three dozen orcs.