Chapter 105: I Have Good News for You

Among all the toxin-infected mutations we have encountered, the Three-Headed Polluter Meryl is undoubtedly the most perfect and the most powerful. Its movements are swift, flexible, and full of elasticity, as if intact and active muscle tissue still lingers within its rotting body. It bears no resemblance to stiff and sluggish walking corpses and can almost rival naturally formed, soulful ancient decayers. I am convinced it is a killing machine meticulously crafted by our enemies. Even for those gifted masters of the arcane, creating such an intricate undead monstrosity could never be a simple task.

However, its might is only relative to other sluggish zombies, and its savagery is merely measured against a level fifty-five monster. Before five well-equipped, experienced, and meticulously coordinated professional adventurers, the threat posed by this beast's dangerous fangs and claws is hardly fatal. The sparse remaining traces of wild instinct and intelligence within its shell have long been consumed by an endless lust for flesh and blood—which perhaps makes it more ferocious, but simultaneously makes it stupider and easier to handle.

After the half-orc warlock Dingding Xiaoge paid with his life to inflict massive, fatal damage upon this beast—though this sounds profoundly touching, we all know it was merely an accident, and Dingding Xiaoge surely had no such subjective intention whatsoever—the terrifying destructive power of the Three-Headed Polluter was reduced to the strength of a spent crossbow bolt.

Doubtless, within its hollow and bloody soul, some lingering beastly attachment to "life" remained, and this resurrected three-headed monster had likely witnessed the terrifying, eternal silence of death. Though already a thoughtless and mindless corpse, Meryl seemed to harbor a fierce, instinctive resistance against its impending annihilation. Before the traces of life completely vanished, the Three-Headed Polluter's attacks flared into a frenzy. That pair of claws, flashing with a gloomy blue toxic glow, operated like sharp planes, scooping huge chunks of fresh flesh from our bodies and injecting lethal venom into us, constantly eroding our vitality.

Its dying, thrashing counterattacks caused us considerable trouble. A momentary lapse in judgment by D-Minor Nocturne nearly made him yet another victim beneath its claws.

Ultimately, my longsword brought this grueling battle to an end. In the final exchange, braving a heavy claw strike to my chest, I drove my sword straight through its wolf-like head. The last trace of life within the beast was erased by this perilous iron instrument. It likely realized this fate as its three heads wavered and shrieked in terror, yet its ugly frame had already lost the strength to support itself, slipping into an irreversible and terminal collapse.

At last, the four limbs of the Three-Headed Polluter went limp, and its entire body crashed heavily onto the ground. This evil creation that defied the laws of nature—a chimeric beast forged from toxins and magic, organs and desire—finally returned entirely to the vast and boundless embrace of the Goddess of Death.

Having eliminated Meryl, I hurried to the side of Baron Bink. The young aristocrat gritted his teeth, his face pale, seemingly enduring intense agony. Thank heavens, though the wounds on his legs looked severe, they were not fatal. I guessed he had been bitten by one of the Three-Headed Polluter's sharp wolf jaws; two massive bloody holes pierced his muscle tissue, but fortunately, his bones and ligaments remained undamaged. What felt slightly unsettling, however, was the ink-green blood oozing steadily from his wounds, the edges of which were already beginning to show signs of rot—we all knew this was the result of Meryl's toxic assaults. Still, the Baron undoubtedly carried ample antidotes with him, and among his subordinates was a priest. Surely he and his soldiers would be in no real danger.

"Thank you, esteemed warriors. If not for you, I dare not imagine what terrible things might have transpired..." The Baron smiled bitterly, looking at us with gratitude. "...If I am not mistaken, you must have arrived here through the mountain pass from the northeast. May I boldly ask whether you passed a modest estate along your way? Is my beautiful sister, Lere, safe and sound?"

"We have indeed come directly here from your lovely estate, and I am deeply honored to bring you news of Miss Lere. Your manor remains as picturesque as ever, and Miss Lere is entirely well. She and your servants miss you dearly and pray for your safe and swift return." I knelt beside him, speaking in a gentle voice.

To them, I was merely a passerby who happened to carry news; whether their kin lived or died was originally of no consequence to me. Yet at this moment, I was genuinely glad to deliver this good news to the Baron. A grounded sense of fulfillment filled my chest, making me rejoice from the bottom of my heart for the survival of this brave brother and sister, as if the happiness of family reunion belonged not only to them, but to myself as well.

Your family is still alive—truly, this is wonderful news. What was the last piece of good news I heard? I do not know. I cannot remember how long it has been since I last heard any good news. Ever since the great war against the Doomsday Empire two hundred years ago, people have never yearned for good news as desperately as they do now, nor has good news ever been so scarce. In this troubled era consumed by war and devastation, even the most minuscule scrap of good news is more precious than rare jewels. For those living in panic and despair, no matter how costly a jewel may be, it remains nothing more than a piece of cold, lifeless matter, whereas a single piece of good news can warm the heart and bring hope to those who need it most.

I am proud and fortunate to be able to deliver good news with my own lips.

At the same time, I feel ashamed and helpless that I cannot bring good news to more people...

"Praised be the all-knowing and all-powerful deity; may your brilliant grace shine forever..." Upon learning that his kin were safe, a tender smile appeared in the young Baron's eyes, and his complexion regained some color. "...Thank you for bringing me this good news; you cannot imagine how much this means to me. I hope you will accept this meager token of gratitude. I trust it will aid you somewhat on your journey ahead."

With a flash of light, each of us gained three thousand seven hundred points of soul power, alongside three vials of "Death-Toxin Immunity Potion." Consuming a single vial grants immunity to all toxin damage for fifteen minutes. This gift came at a remarkably opportune moment for us. Far from being merely "somewhat" helpful as the Baron claimed, we could easily imagine that in this fortress crawling with corpse-poison, we were very likely to face formidable enemies with potent venoms. Engaging them with three such potions in reserve was practically equivalent to gaining three extra lives.

"Although you may already know this, intrepid warriors, I must inform you that the immense evil lurking within this castle holds the power to destroy the entire continent. The enemies you face are cunning and powerful, and they do not stand alone..." The immunity potions were not the only assistance the Baron provided. After handing over our quest rewards, he shared a wealth of intelligence regarding our foes.

It turned out that when the Baron's expeditionary force arrived here, they happened upon a Continental Alliance soldier. This man had originally been part of the garrison guarding the fortress, but he had since been infected by mutated toxins. Though the poison had yet to fully take effect and he had not yet transformed into a flesh-eating zombie, his time was short.

Before passing away, this soldier provided a wealth of extremely useful information: just as Major Gutierrez had long surmised, Gravel Fortress was indeed a secret base of the Doomsday Empire. The evil toxin capable of transforming living creatures into zombies was researched and manufactured right here. It was not an ordinary poison, but rather a microscopic parasite endowed with its own life, capable of dwelling within animal hosts.

This unprecedented malignant toxin was an exquisite combination of the evil intellects of three races within the Doomsday Empire—the undead, vampires, and trolls. The terrifying undead Lich A-Vesari endowed these parasitic bugs with the ability and desire to devour flesh and blood, while the Troll Shaman High Priest Taiken, a master of the true essence of soul magic, granted these bugs the instinct to obliterate souls and control flesh.

The most difficult phase in perfecting this toxin was imbuing them with limitless, highly infectious capabilities—which happened to be the most terrifying aspect of the poison. The erudite Vampire Marquis Dobbs attempted to impart the infectious prowess of bloodline propagation to these parasites—fortunately, his research was not entirely successful, and these parasites could temporarily only transmit once.

One must admit that, however monstrously evil these toxic little bugs might be, they were indeed an epoch-making and magnificent creation. These wicked geniuses of the Doomsday Empire had successfully spawned an entirely new form of life. This sublime creative capacity transcended the limits of what this world could bear, trespassing almost entirely into forbidden realms locked away by the gods.

According to the soldier's report, the undead Lich A-Vesari resided within the fortress dungeons—the dark and moldy underworld has always been favored by those foul, decaying entities. The tent of the Troll Shaman Taiken was pitched right beside the fortress cemetery. As for the Vampire Marquis Dobbs, his residence was situated within the Temple of the Supreme God at the northeastern peak of the fortress. Yet these three notorious imperial butchers were far from the final enemies we were meant to face on this journey. Behind them lurked an even more terrifying figure—the supreme commander of the fortress, one of the most loyal servants and favored minions of the Doomsday Monarch Dalenthir, the fallen demon king who swore eternal allegiance to the fires of ruin: the Black Baron Arthur Dengott.

Upon learning this news, Baron Bink had originally intended to lead his army straight in to eradicate these sources of evil lurking within the castle's shadows. To his dismay, the enemies entrenched within the fortress proved unexpectedly formidable; they suffered heavy casualties merely by arriving here, and then suffered the terrible misfortune of running into the Three-Headed Polluter Meryl. Had we not happened to arrive, they would likely have been completely wiped out by now, reduced to rotting, cruel fragments within this evil stronghold.

"Warriors, you must stop them as quickly as possible..." Finishing his brief overview of the enemy situation, the Baron wore an expression of deep anxiety and spoke urgently, "...The power displayed by that three-headed beast has filled me with unease; I suspect their research may have made major progress. We can wait no longer; you must seize the time. Alas, my strength is too meager to accompany you..." The Baron gazed at his injured left leg with vexation, looking both ashamed and regretful.

Having said this, the young nobleman fell into a fit of coughing, cutting his words short. Perhaps the pain made movement impossible; he could only remain seated right where he was, gripping his curled right leg with both hands to barely support his body and keep from tipping backward. I had hoped to extract some more detailed information from his lips, but when I spoke with him again, he merely smiled bitterly and replied:

"We shall keep watch here, awaiting your triumphant return. May the brilliant grace of the Supreme God forever illuminate the blades of the warriors under His favor..."

This is the quintessential trait of a native: when he believes there is nothing more that needs telling, he will not utter a single superfluous word, not even out of casual courtesy.

In that regard, our Sky-Voyager friends are undoubtedly much easier to get along with.

Before leaving, we did not forget to thoroughly loot the corpse of the Three-Headed Polluter Meryl. In my view, many of the items left behind by this rotting, three-headed monster were somewhat baffling. For instance, I personally fished six "fresh hams" out from its carcass. This rare loot brought me unprecedented and immense perplexity: I had always wanted to figure out how a monster that possessed no matter how you looked at it only four legs total could possibly yield as many as six hams; furthermore, could anyone tell me, within that body covered all over in rot and oozing toxic pus, precisely which part of the anatomy this pile of nominally "fresh" meat had grown upon?

Compared to those two baffling facts, the question of how "hams"—a product exclusive to pigs—could ever appear on a composite monster pieced together from the remains of wolves, bears, and wild horses was an anomaly I simply learned to ignore out of sheer numbness.

Ham was not the only produce originating from the Three-Headed Polluter; in fact, the loot left to us by this triple-headed beast was quite generous. From its carcass, we fished out four pieces of "tough hide," a pile of saltpeter, a few blocks of rock salt, and a roll of "coarse hempen twine"—evidently the effective tools used to stitch together the various animal limb parts composing Meryl's body. A skilled leatherworker would likely feel an overwhelming sense of familiarity upon seeing these items: he could easily process them into a large leather pouch. Yet who could have imagined that combining these items would culminate in a murderous, ferocious monster?

The only explanation I could muster for this was simply that magic is truly miraculous...

Beyond these, the Three-Headed Polluter also left behind two dozen softly gleaming gold coins, a "broken helmet," a "rusted dagger," and a "sturdy belt"—which we could interpret as personal belongings carried by unfortunate individuals who had been swallowed whole. At the sight of these items, a horrifying scene flashed instantly before my eyes: this beast biting off half a human body and swallowing it down in one gulp alongside heavy armor and clothing. Two proverbial idioms describing ugly table manners suddenly popped into my mind—one being "eating a person without spitting out the bones," and the other "eating grapes without spitting out the skins"...

Clearly, compared to genuinely living beasts and animals, this decaying monster possessed one supreme advantage in its diet: no matter how large or hard the object consumed, it never had to worry about indigestion. Thus, when Niu Baiwan pulled a "Spirit-Bone Crossbow" straight out from Meryl's carcass, neither I nor my friends felt overly shocked. It was only that I stared at the three heads of the Three-Headed Polluter for a long time without determining through which of its three mouths this bulky long-range weapon, measuring about an arm-and-a-half long and over an arm wide, had been swallowed whole.

The design language of this "Spirit-Bone Crossbow" shared a subtle ingenuity with the "Corpse-Poison Dagger" from the Yangtze Delta. The entire body of the crossbow was likewise pieced together from various skeletal materials, granting its frame superior flexibility and lighter weight. Embedded at the very front of the crossbow was the skull of an unknown animal. Its lower jaw hung open, and bolts were fired directly from the creature's mouth. This unique design served a purpose far beyond merely enhancing the weapon's intimidation factor; when holding the crossbow level, that open jaw functioned as a lightweight and compact sight, enabling one to target enemies with greater precision and vastly increasing hit rates.

Among the vast array of long-range weaponry, crossbows occupy an awkward position. Compared to bows, a crossbow possesses slightly greater power, but its attack speed is considerably more sluggish. Compared to firearms, a crossbow's speed is only marginally faster, while its lethality falls vastly short. For close-combat professionals who excel in melee techniques and treat long-range attacks merely as auxiliary tools to draw enemies, while they are capable of equipping ranged weapons like bows and crossbows, they vastly prefer portable one-handed throwing darts, javelins, or hand axes as auxiliary options to facilitate quick weapon-swapping when enemies close the distance.

Consequently, the number of people across the entire continent who fought using crossbows could be counted on one's fingers; you could guard the city gates of a major metropolis for three days and nights without encountering even one.

Yet, its unique materials and styling endowed this crossbow with extraordinary bonus attributes: its attack power soared past two hundred and ten points, and thanks to the skull sight, its critical strike chance was boosted by 30%. The osseous materials imparted a corrosive property to its strikes; although the lethality was not as ferocious as the "corpse poison" of the Corroded Dagger, it carried absolutely no backlash effects, making it safe and simple to use without any adverse toxic side effects. Likewise, the lightweight bone material made the crossbow more agile and nimble during practical use, yielding an attack speed far superior to standard heavy crossbows.

This was undeniably an inspiring and thrilling surprise: formidable attack power, practical auxiliary toxin damage, a startlingly high critical strike rate, flexible and efficient attack delivery... This was quite literally the perfect long-range offensive weapon. Every single attribute was satisfying beyond reproach.

Well... except for one tiny flaw. Truly, just a very minor flaw.

"Um... did any of you happen to bring any crossbow bolts?" Niu Baiwan glanced at the crossbow in his hands, helplessly rubbed the long horns on his head, and asked us with an intensely awkward expression...