I Forged the Myth of the Ancient Overlords-Chapter 92 - 091. Communication comes first life second (Extra
Chapter 92: 091. “Communication comes first, life second!” (Extra update for monthly votes!)_1
Chapter 92: 091. “Communication comes first, life second!” (Extra update for monthly votes!)_1
[Hunting Instinct]
[Human history is a history of hunting.]
[For the people of the Wasteland, hunting represents food, energy, wealth, and transcendent power.]
[Those Wasteland Hunters lie in wait for months, possibly for a mere moment of the kill.]
[In a team, you acutely realize that aside from the roaming monsters, there are even more dangerous entities in this Wasteland.]
[Tonight, you will join the hunt.]
“The Wasteland, and it’s an outdoor wandering mission. According to the description, the Remains of a Saint also wander the earth, so there’s a high chance of encountering the Remains of a Saint on this mission.”
After reading the mission description, Lu Ban thoughtfully analyzed as he rested his chin in hand.
“But there are two problems. First, as an ordinary person, I don’t have the means to confront large monsters. The wild beasts in the Wasteland are too dangerous for me.”
“Additionally, the enemies in the mission description are not just monsters; there could also be PvP between people. I love peace so much; this is not good, not good at all.”
He decided to consider it as an alternative. If the third mission wasn’t related to He Dao, then he would choose this mission and try his luck.
At worst, he could spend some Silence Points to get some heavy weaponry. That would also be an investment, with a hopeful future.
Lu Ban thought of Cui Siter’s handgun, the kind with high power. It looked impressive, and he wondered where Cui Siter had found it.
Gathering his thoughts, Lu Ban looked toward the third painting.
This painting had no frame; it seemed to be painted on a wooden board, with unique brushwork depicting layers of waves, as well as the monsters and ships hidden among them. You couldn’t really say it was pretty, or plain for that matter; it had a kind of different charm.
[One Hundred Poets]
[The triennial Poetry Festival is a cultural gala of He Dao.]
[People from different islands and regions will gather on Song Island for an art exchange.]
[However, this year’s Poetry Festival is somewhat out of the ordinary.]
[A giant puppet floating in the air, the Pale fog that makes it hard to breathe, disappearing artists, all speak of something mysterious.]
[“Art exchange comes first, life second!”]
“Pale fog, could it be the sigh of the Undefined Fog?”
Lu Ban analyzed based on the text.
“For the Poetry Festival, that suggests an event where everyone drinks, composes poetry, and exchanges ideas. But it seems there’s something wrong with the festival. The mission might be to investigate and find out the cause, maybe even survive until the end of the festival.”
He had already intended to do this; now it was just further confirmation.
“This time’s missions, they all seem related to art and the like?”
Lu Ban realized belatedly.
If hunting can be considered the art of killing, then indeed, all three missions relate to artists.
“No need to rush the decision, let’s do a single draw first.”
He glanced at the countdown; he had to make a choice within ten days.
“Which means, if time flows slowly enough in the Foreign Domain, I could wander around there for quite a few days, then come back in time for Mid-Autumn Festival?”
Lu Ban thought of ice skin mooncakes with salted egg yolk, his mouth watering at the thought.
As usual, he took off his clothes and headed to the bathroom.
“Right, you come with me. If something goes wrong, you remember to give me first aid,” he said before closing the bathroom door, speaking to his unseen friend.
He opened the System panel and exchanged for the “Madman’s Knowledge”.
This time, the appearance of the “Madman’s Knowledge” differed from the previous ones.
Though previous instances were bizarre in shape, they were still bones, made of calcium carbonate, or something similar, but this time in Lu Ban’s hand was not a human skull, but a black shell resembling plastic.
The touch told Lu Ban that it might be some type of chitinous exoskeleton, commonly found in insects on Earth.
Without much sentimentality, Lu Ban crushed the skull.
The shell shattered, seeping into Lu Ban’s body like fog through every inch of his pores.
His eyes rolled back as his body convulsed violently.
Beneath Lu Ban’s skin, green tendrils writhed continuously, attempting to break through the confines of his skin, and at his throat, wounds resembling shark gills opened and closed, snatching oxygen from the air.
Lu Ban felt as if his limbs were no longer his own, his bones softened as if dropped into a highly corrosive acid, and in his mind, he felt like butter in an oven, limp, melting, losing human form.
At the same time, countless murmurs alongside howling winds washed over and over through Lu Ban’s brain.
“…flesh, more flesh, make a trap, lure them over, then, hehehe…”
“…see those holes? You wouldn’t want to know what’s inside. When night falls, monsters climb out of those holes. If you’re lucky, you’ll suffocate before being eaten…”
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“…those monsters are like deities carved out of pure malice, filled with evil, desecration, madness, those sharp claws, those fangs, I now wish I’d never seen them…”
“…don’t mind how ugly these guys look, disgusting even, but when you’re starving on the wasteland for a week, hey, they are a delicacy…”
“…have you heard the rumor? This desert is alive, biding its time to devour any living thing that clings to it, before it, all beings are equal…”
Puchi—
The restless vines on Lu Ban’s arms pierced his skin, growing wildly; he was soon covered with ivy-like tendrils and collapsed on the bathroom floor, unmoving, his breathing stopped.
One minute, two minutes, three minutes—Lu Ban remained motionless.
His reflection in the mirror timidly looked towards the floor, glancing at the drain.
Hair coming from the drain slowly spread out but could not reach Lu Ban’s body.
The shadows at the door grew darker, even the bathroom door making cracking noises.
Lu Ban still wasn’t breathing, no heartbeat, as if already dead.
Suddenly, his chest caved in unnaturally, compressing his lungs, stimulating organs that had lost function to start working again.
“Ha—”
Lu Ban’s eyes, which had rolled back, suddenly showed pupils as he drew a deep breath.
“Almost died there, turns out this ‘Madman’s Knowledge’ doesn’t reset damage with each use, huh?”
He felt it was quite a rip-off.
If this continued and he didn’t get something to save his life, he might just die during a draw one day.
The branches hanging from his body drooped down, and Lu Ban grabbed one, causing the once fresh green tendril to wither instantly and turn into ash.
“Actually, if there were sunlight, I could probably revive myself even after five to ten minutes of death. In that case, next time, I might consider the outdoor pool, sunbathing while breathing underwater, no worries about cleaning up.”
He had a good idea.
“Luck wasn’t on my side this time, got information about the Wasteland. Tomorrow I’ll find a pool, try another draw, I refuse to believe I can’t get the info on He Dao.”
Lu Ban glanced at the empty mirror and wiped the residual blood off his face.
*
Bonus chapter 1/3 for reaching 1,000 voter tickets in August.
