Chapter 132: Voices on the Wasteland

The demon who could foresee causality, Gimonli.

After listening to Igna’s account, Wade felt this demon possessed a chaotic form of precognition.

One couldn’t determine its purpose from the actions it was currently taking.

Nor could one easily discern any connection between the various things it did.

But according to Igna, there seemed no need to overly worry about the demon seeking revenge.

Unlike the petty and vindictive Flame Demon Em, if the opportune moment was missed, the Lord of Nightmares wouldn’t engage in meaningless actions,

For every deed it performed might influence the distant future.

The Lord of Nightmares could see those threads of fate invisible to ordinary beings – in that demon’s eyes, all things in this world were entangled by invisible strings.

Like the rough paper before Wade: to him, it was just a sheet, but the demon might see its past and future – before it became “paper”, after it ceased being “paper”.

Right now Wade was using this paper for drawing and writing, but one day it might be used to kindle fire, pressed beneath a table leg, gnawed full of holes by rats and insects, or soaked to pulp by water.

The slightest change could alter this paper’s ultimate fate.

The failure of the demi-human massacre had already created its “cause” and “effect” – further unnecessary actions would only make the future more unpredictable.

Moreover, before Oleg fled, he had taken back false intelligence.

Traces suggesting the presence of the great lich Anselmo Greywu – with this factor in play, the demon would likely abandon this region.

Unlike demons who required rituals and sacrifices to manifest power in the material plane, liches existed directly within the material plane. Unless manifesting physically, demons stood little chance against them.

Of course, this didn’t mean they could relax.

The dragonkin still heightened vigilance, wary of the demon’s return.

Soon five days passed without incident,

Wade’s activity limit arrived, forcing his return to the wasteland.

The dragonkin worried about Wade’s departure, but this was a difficulty she had to face.

If the demon attacked during these ten days, by Wade’s next visit, he might only find ruins.

For these ten days, Wade could do nothing. Though concerned for the demi-humans’ fate, he had no choice but to let them endure alone.

This was his limitation – he couldn’t permanently serve as bodyguard for any group, not with his own mysteries and troubles unresolved.

Though his avatar’s existence freed him from most concerns about life and death, time remained his weakness.

If the demon attacked during his wasteland confinement, could the demi-humans escape the shadow demons’ pursuit?

The likely outcome was clear – if Wade didn’t arrive before Igna’s draconic majesty faded, the dragonkin would be torn apart by shadow demons.

Thinking this, Wade found it somewhat strange.

If Gimonli could foresee causality, why hadn’t it foreseen the optimal timing?

Unless… “killing the demi-humans” had to be accomplished before a certain time to achieve its purpose?

Only that demon could know such things.

Five nights after the shadow demon attack, in the dead of night, Wade vanished before the dragonkin’s eyes with a disorienting sensation, awakening in his wasteland dwelling.

Emerging from the cave dwelling, he gazed at the sky.

The blood moon had completely vanished, leaving darkness deeper than any night he’d witnessed.

A strange sound arose across the wasteland.

Wade couldn’t define it, but standing on the surface, he heard this rhythmic, muffled noise like something being struck repeatedly.

Like… like the beating of a heart.

With the darkness came this sound,

Yet it wasn’t constant – appearing intermittently, vanishing at intervals as if some hand clenched the “beating heart”.

Indistinct in origin – definitely not from underground (the sound couldn’t be heard in subterranean rooms), but above ground it seemed omnidirectional, as if descending from the sky.

During these ten days of darkness, Wade didn’t even leave his door.

The skeletons had built small observation forts on the surface – appearing as mere mounds from outside, but with tubular observation slits made of stone and wood. Wade only peeked outside through these daily.

On the darkened earth, he heard the clatter of bones.

Those skeletons regaining some order were fighting again on the wasteland.

Senseless brawls – primitive, artless slaughter and combat – just fists, teeth and feet tangled together in mutual destruction.

These wild skeletons fought endlessly, battling to mutual annihilation, not stopping until one’s skull was cracked open.

From the dragonkin, Wade learned the military sword formations he’d learned from these skeletons likely originated from some flourishing Third Era civilization.

That vast empire called Nors had once formed a multi-species federation, and those golems resembled Nors Empire’s arcane constructs.

If the skeletons wandering this wasteland were once Nors soldiers, hadn’t they fought side by side as comrades in life?

Wade felt sudden sorrow – comrades who fought together centuries ago now decayed into this.

After untold centuries, naturally occurring undead should have burned out long ago, becoming truly dead. Yet some force still drove them to wander and slaughter each other across this wasteland.

They’d long lost any consciousness, anything that could be called a “soul”.

What drove them then?

Wade sensed no “desire” within them – these fighting things resembled wind-up pocket watches, mechanical constructs that moved when wound.

As if bound by some consciousness that forbade their death, denied them release, condemned them to eternal wandering and fighting their former comrades.

No curse could be more malicious.

Shaking his head, Wade blocked the observation slit with a stone.

Half a year had passed since his awakening. Regarding the wasteland’s unknown past, he’d lifted but a corner of the veil, only to face greater mysteries.

Returning to his dwelling to lie down, preparing to traverse,

He reappeared in that cavern, hearing movement beyond the stone walls – the squeaks of ratfolk eating,

Bringing inexplicable comfort – those living presences gave him peace.