Book 3: Chapter 303: The Disaster Returns

Under the twilight sky, the endless cloudsea floated silently, tinged with a shallow rose color, a pale red close to the color of blood, yet also like the texture of ochre stone.

Carrying seven continents on its back, the Great Serpent advanced slowly through the cloudsea, careful not to linger too long in the clouds, lest these continents be swallowed and devoured by the shadows that emerged from the cloudsea.

Its journey had no end, and it could never stop, until the world's final doom arrived.

The serpent's body rose and fell gently, and the sky-continents it bore also drifted through the cloudsea, some rising, some falling, some able to remain perpetually above the clouds, enjoying the sun and wind, while others sank forever into the mist, dim and obscured.

Another continent was gradually submerged by the cloudsea, sinking into vague and indistinct fog, while beneath the Great Serpent, the faint outline of a dark red shadow once again took shape.

....

Hidden Grove Alliance · West · Geli Forest

Tall trees blocked the sunlight within the forest, mist permeated the air, and wild deer and rabbits grazed on tender green shoots in the meadows, food that only sprouted near May, filling their hungry bodies.

Many animals had not survived the long winter nights, becoming rotting carcasses and bleached bones scattered across the grasslands. The few creatures that did survive were skin and bones, struggling to stay alive.

A wild deer, while grazing on grass, inadvertently brushed aside the leaves beneath a tree with its nose, discovering several clusters of gray mushrooms that had just sprouted. It sniffed them, then without a second thought, gobbled them down and continued on its way.

Several days later, this deer collapsed and died in the forest, its body emaciated beyond measure, the outline of its skeleton visible beneath its hide.

A few crows descended from the trees, gathered around the dead deer to peck at its flesh, then spread their wings and flew away.

A week later, sporadic livestock deaths appeared in the villages outside Geli Forest. Villagers looked helplessly at the cattle carcasses collapsed in their pens, and to avoid waste, they decided to butcher and distribute the meat, filling the gaps in their food supply.

Two months later, large-scale unidentified plagues broke out in the villages and towns on the outskirts of Geli Forest. Many who fell ill became fatigued, their bodies weakened, then gradually emaciated, until finally, they died.

The nearby main city dispatched physicians to investigate and treat the afflicted, and considered whether to blockade the roads to prevent the plague from spreading.

Several days later, infected individuals with the unidentified plague appeared within the main city itself, yet the physicians were utterly helpless.

The City Lord felt a sense of unease, began reporting to the royal capital, and relayed the information to the Hidden Grove's allied organization, the "Incantation Forest."

Several days later, a team of over a dozen physicians arrived. They wore special white masks and sealed white robes, entering the main city to conduct inspections and provide treatment.

Three days later, this team left without a word, and afterward, Sharp-Eye Eagles began flying reconnaissance patrols around the outskirts of Geli Forest, warning anyone not to approach, and preventing people in the area from going anywhere.

A week later, checkpoints were established surrounding Geli Forest and the surrounding areas, great fires began to burn, and a flame isolation belt approximately one kilometer wide encircled the region.

Inside the quarantine zone, the plague had infected nearly every living thing visible. Large numbers of people began dying, and the survivors fled in terror, but all were blocked at the checkpoints.

Conflicts began to break out. Some people fought against the checkpoint guards, but ultimately failed. Afterward, those who had assaulted the checkpoints were executed on the spot, and all were buried together.

Three months later, the area around Geli Forest was utterly silent, with no living creatures remaining. Thereafter, heavenly fire slowly descended, devouring every corner of the region, striving to burn and destroy any remnant of anything within.

Roughly eight thousand male witches and wizards participated in that operation, with no physicians accompanying them, constantly checking the situation before the burning began.

Seven months ago, that region was jointly designated a "forbidden zone" by the Hidden Grove Alliance and seven smaller allied organizations, prohibiting anyone from approaching, establishing a blockade line around it, and stationing personnel for permanent patrols.

.....

Mage Alliance · North · White Thorn District.

The Sinking Fog season's overcast, gloomy days made people irritable and depressed. A large town had just opened a new tavern, and every day, that tavern hosted bare-knuckle boxing duels. Participants would occasionally get beaten bloody, and quite often, people died.

Even so, this thrilling form of entertainment attracted a great many people. Even residents of nearby villages and towns would come to watch, just to vent that suffocating, depressive mood during the Sinking Fog season.

Liquor, boxing, roaring, excitement, firelight, blood—only when these things flooded the mind could the gloom of prolonged sunlessness be briefly forgotten.

Another night arrived, and the town's famous boxer, Mutton, stepped onto the stage, clenching his fists together and warming up his body.

His dark skin gleamed with oily sheen under the pine-oil lamps, and his bulging muscles bunched into hard knots, drawing screams and cheers from quite a few women in the town.

"Mutton, crush your opponent!"

"How many are you taking on today?"

"I want to see something exciting and thrilling."

"Send a cup of Blood Wine to Mutton, tell him I want to see him snap his opponent's neck."

"Whoa, that man is as sturdy as a wild boar."

In a corner of the tavern, a tall stranger strode toward the fighting ring. His body was like a bear's, his broad shoulders like millstones, and just looking at him brought tremendous pressure.

Arriving before Mutton, he blocked the hanging oil lamp overhead, then loosened his muscles and joints, and cracking sounds rang out continuously from his body, like an unending series of explosions.

"You sure you want to fight me?" The man looked down at Mutton below, his voice tinged with mockery.

"Of course." Mutton tilted his head up, pinching his handlebar mustache with his fingers, revealing a provocative smile.

"I promised the customers I'd snap your neck."

"Oh, is that so." The other shook his head indifferently, then stepped back a few paces and raised his arm—the signal to begin the duel.

Soon, the tavern's announcer struck the bronze gong, declaring the ring duel had begun.

At that moment, both men let out excited, bizarre roars simultaneously, then charged at each other.

A dull, heavy impact sounded across the ring. In an instant, sweat seemed to burst and splash, their muscles rippled like waves, and then faint sounds of cracking bones followed.

Afterward, they exchanged blow after blow, each punch viciously slamming into the other's head and body, sending up sprays of sweat and blood.

Neither dodged; they relied on their raw flesh to absorb the hits. Only this kind of surging, visceral collision could give the audience the greatest impact and thrill, satisfying their spiritual needs.

Screams filled the tavern. Pairs of eyes watched the fierce struggle inside the ring with tension and excitement, occasionally letting out curses and shouts of encouragement. Various betting pools also opened throughout the tavern, and many people wagered years of savings, then stared at the ring with bloodshot eyes, hoping the one they bet on would win.

On the ring, Mutton took another heavy punch from his opponent. This blow knocked out three of his teeth. The searing pain from his gums stimulated his nerves, the taste of blood flooded his tongue, and the foreign sensation of the teeth in his mouth was uncomfortable—but none of this stopped his eyes from locking dead onto the other man's head.

Finally, the opponent grew unsettled by that fierce, ruthless gaze, and just as he tried to retreat, Mutton's long-accumulated punch finally swung out.

As he threw the punch, his shoulder and waist twisted in sync, the power in his blood erupting in that instant, his heart pounding like thunder, all the blood energy and strength in his body converging at once, then transforming into a chilling whistle of air.

That punch was as fast as an afterimage, striking the opponent's head and snapping it back at nearly ninety degrees, accompanied by the sound of bone breaking. Then his body lifted and flew, crashing heavily against the ring floor, smashing a shallow crater into it.

Dark red blood slowly spread across the ring. The opponent never stood up again, and the entire tavern gradually fell silent.

"Mutton!"

Suddenly, someone shouted, breaking the silence.

"Mutton!" Another voice called out Mutton's name. Some screamed with excitement, while others cursed in frustration, their anger boiling over.

This was Mutton's twenty-eighth consecutive victory at this tavern. The locals all knew his name, and no one dared to underestimate him.

After another victory, the bounty on Mutton's head increased once more. The tavern owner announced that if anyone could defeat Mutton in the ring, they would be rewarded with 300 gold coins on the spot.

With such a huge sum as bait, a steady stream of out-of-towners and drifters came to participate in the duels, and the tavern's patrons laughed and cheered as Mutton defeated opponent after opponent.

And so it went, until the thirty-seventh duel.

This time, his opponent was an adventurer who had wandered into town. He carried a black greatsword wrapped in cloth strips on his back, his body was sturdy, but unfortunately one arm hung limp, looking as though it was damaged beyond repair.

"Tonight's opponent?" Mutton sat down at the bar, ordered a drink, and downed it in one gulp.

"Feeling confident? Though one of his arms is crippled, I heard he used to hunt large magical beasts. He's no pushover." The tavern owner came over and whispered in a low voice.

"Hah, I'm Third Tier too. Besides, how many Third Tier opponents have I killed already?" Mutton replied dismissively.

A few minutes later, the two stepped onto the ring, and the announcer declared the match began.

The moment they engaged, Mutton felt something was wrong. Even with only one arm, that limb was like forged iron. One punch sent him reeling as if he'd been rammed by a rhino, barely able to keep his footing.

Shocked, Mutton cast aside his arrogance, letting out a beast-like roar, displaying a hint of madness and ferocity, then lunged forward once more.

Against his attacks, the opponent remained calm and composed, his gaze focused as he observed Mutton's attack patterns, constantly blocking with the sturdiest parts of his shoulders, then throwing out his own punches.

After several exchanges, Mutton felt uncontrollable aches and tremors spreading through every part of his body. He began to feel a certain fear—not just the fear of losing, but the fear of death.

Should he surrender?

For the first time, that thought crossed his mind. Unfortunately, the tavern's audience wouldn't give him that chance. Countless people with bloodshot eyes screamed at him to charge back into the fight, because these people had placed heavy bets and absolutely could not accept him conceding.

The stimulation of alcohol, the jeers and roars of the crowd, the dim lighting, the trembling body—under the influence of all these factors, Mutton was caught in fear and panic, yet a maddening thought surged up within him, like a gambler staking everything.

It wasn't that he didn't know he would most likely lose; it was that he couldn't accept the outcome of losing. So he chose to believe he could win, and in a certain moment, that sliver of hope overcame his fear.

Yes, that's right. As long as he found that feeling, he could win once more.

Just like before, in an instant he gathered all the blood energy in his body, his heart pounding so wildly it felt ready to explode, and his punching arm lashed out like an afterimage with a whistling roar. As long as it connected, no matter how sturdy the opponent's physique, it would absolutely pierce through.

And then, that punch swung into empty air.

A stunned expression appeared on his face, but before he could recover, a heavy punch slammed into his face, sending blood splattering.

Mutton slowly collapsed, his body convulsing uncontrollably.

Seeing Mutton go down, curses and cheers erupted from the crowd. Just as everyone thought the duel was over, the convulsing, trembling body on the ground suddenly burst open. Bloody tendrils of flesh surged wildly from the wounds, spreading in all directions, and then Mutton, who should have been in shock and unconscious, stood back up.

At this moment, there was no rationality or intelligence in his eyes—only the murky, turbid instinct of a wild beast.

Seeing this, some screamed, some shouted in excitement, and the audience that had been about to disperse gathered again.

"What kind of monster is this?"

"What did you say? I can't hear you. I just think Mutton is going to win again tonight!"

"Mutton! Beat that guy!"

"Oh, that's cool. Is this some new ability Mutton learned? It's a bit creepy, but it should be pretty strong, right?"

The tavern's audience didn't realize what was happening to Mutton, but the opponent dueling him had already sensed something was wrong.

"Mick! That guy's already been corroded by Distortion, finish him off now!" From a corner in the noisy crowd, a goblin shouted.

"I know."

On the ring, Mutton's opponent, Mick, now wore a grave expression. He carefully dodged the other's biting attack, then kicked him in the jaw, sending him flying into and snapping one of the tavern ring's support pillars.

But even such a blow didn't stop Mutton. His internal organs seemed to have become fleshy tumors, bulging with strange protrusions, and then he climbed back up and lunged at Mick again.

His life force has already been corroded...

Mick knew the man was beyond saving. He shook his head slightly, then grabbed hold of him again, but this time he didn't hold back. He threw a full-power punch that drove straight through Mutton's heart, shattering it into a spray of bloody mist.

Warm blood splattered across the tavern. Many of the audience members who had been screaming and roaring moments ago were now terrified, and finally, silence fell.

It was over. Mutton's winning streak ended here. The audience had no choice but to accept reality. The tavern fell into deathly stillness. Watching the corpse still twitching on the ground, a wave of panic began to spread, and countless people screamed as they fled the tavern.

Three days later, mages dispatched from the local main city conducted an investigation. After examining Mutton's corpse, they ordered the entire town to be sealed off, and everyone who had been at the tavern that night was subjected to rigorous inspection.

Many people began showing symptoms similar to Mutton's—increased strength, twisted flesh, and loss of reason.

From that point on, a strange plague began to spread through the northern territories of the Mage Alliance. Its specific manifestation was the mutation of flesh and blood, gradually becoming corroded by the Distortion Aspect. Those afflicted with this strange disease would gradually grow stronger, until they ultimately transformed into flesh monsters that followed only instinct.

Two months later, the disaster officially named the "Flesh Plague" was spreading across various regions of the northern Mage Alliance.