Chapter Forty: In the Midst of the Mist

At the edge of the lamplight, within the mist, the venomous curses of hatred quickly faded away. With a sudden, blood-curdling scream abruptly cut short, all movement ceased there, and silence descended utterly.

The corpse remained, but Colin and the others did not act immediately. It was only after a second of silence that they returned to themselves, shaken by the immense fear contained within that distorted scream.

Colin took a few steps forward and saw that the body was drenched in cold sweat, the expression at the moment of death twisted in horror; his jaw had even dislocated in that final scream. Yet, aside from the eyes, there were no obvious wounds on his body.

And those eyes—had melted. Together with the eyelids, they had liquefied in the sockets like wax, a chilling sight.

Everyone was struck by the same question: What did he experience?

From beginning to end, none of them—including Colin—had seen anyone or anything approach him within the gray mist. It was only after Colin took away the lantern and stepped back, exposing him to the mist for less than three seconds, that it all ended.

[The horror before your eyes fills you with dread. You realize he tried to close his eyes before death, but unfortunately, those thin eyelids could not shield him from the terrifying vision.]

[His eyes, eyelids, and even the brain beneath—all melted in an instant from gazing upon the unseeable…]

[You understand now: you have no interest in the gray mist, nor do you intend to disrespect it in any way.]

“Prompt… cowardice.”

Colin felt his throat go dry; this was the second time the prompt had retreated. The first was yesterday, during a willpower check—when he’d tried to glimpse inward, something like a sixth sense had warned him away.

This time, Colin instinctively sensed that the gray mist was somehow connected to that illogical, bizarre world where he had received the “Steadfast Will.” Whatever made the prompt retreat was likely of the same level—perhaps even the same essence.

But…

He glanced at the corpse with its wretched death mask, agreeing with the prompt: he had no desire to engage with the mist.

“Still, the test wasn’t fruitless. The parchment synthesizer hasn’t vanished. That means these items don’t disappear after death—my earlier guess was wrong.”

Colin checked his backpack; the parchment and other objects taken from the dead man were still there, unchanged.

Where, then, had the two items from the female survivor’s corpse gone? Had someone searched her before he arrived?

No, unlikely. If someone had searched her, there was no reason to leave everything else behind—except for those two missing items, nothing else was gone.

In an instant, Colin felt a deep mystery surrounded that corpse glimpsed in passing.

But now was not the time to ponder it. He turned his gaze to another direction, where constant wails echoed.

Those were the slaves who had eaten the “flesh mushrooms.”

Shana stood nearby, having piled everyone she had knocked down together. Once she realized Colin’s side was secure, she simply watched the fallen, frenzied slaves, making no move.

She had hesitated when facing these suffering figures—though she had acted without hesitation against the “mage,” the culprit. Her fists clenched and relaxed beneath the white-and-gold cuffs of her clerical robe, again and again.

To kill them and grant them peace—surely the most reasonable choice, easing their agony before death.

Yet each time she resolved to strike, her fists lost strength, a deep sense of helplessness overtaking her.

That helplessness… felt familiar.

In her daze, the scene before her seemed to overlap with a blurred memory: under a banner radiating holy light, ordinary people fell one after another. Back then, what was lacking was food…

This time, what was lacking was the holy light—stronger, purer.

Every time, it felt so powerless.

“To kill them, to lessen their pain—at least, ease a bit of their suffering…”

Shana took a deep breath, making her final decision. She was not indecisive; when it came to killing, she was unflinching. Yet when such an irreparable regret unfolded before her again, she could not let it go.

If these people had been soldiers—enemy loyalists—none would have survived her charge.

But fate was otherwise.

Her luminous hand gripped a wailing slave, but just as she was about to exert force, a voice sounded at her ear.

“Do you wish to save them?”

Colin approached; aside from the mage, he had finished searching the others. There were five in the mage’s group—one dead mage, another who died outside the lantern’s safety.

Three remained. They slept quietly (or had fainted), and the merciful Colin did not disturb them, merely closed the lantern for them, took anything that might rouse their fellow slaves, and departed unsung.

Though their dreams were troubled, with cries echoing in sleep, what did that matter to the kind-hearted Mr. Colin?

He returned, found the three grateful for their undisturbed rest, leaving him a reward, but unwilling to wake—gesturing for him to take it himself.

Having done his good deed, Colin did not hesitate, and after looting their packs, he quickly joined Shana.

Shana’s hand trembled; she only now noticed Colin had brought a group with him, clearly finished with his side.

Among the captives, only four lords remained; the others were nowhere to be seen, likely dead.

Remembering Colin’s words, she hesitated, then nodded: “Yes…”

She did not attempt to lie; after exhaling her pent-up frustration, Shana glanced again at the wailing figures:

“But it seems they are beyond saving. I’m sorry—did I delay your side?”

“No trouble—thanks to you, they surrendered directly.”

Colin replied, then asked, “Do you wish to save them?”

Shana froze; hadn’t he just asked that? Yet somehow, she realized something, and nodded firmly:

“Yes, Lord Colin, I wish to save them.”

Colin tilted his head, hand to his chin, squinting at her for a few seconds before saying:

“That’s good. Then let’s save them.”

There was no need to force it… Shana sensed there might be a price, and wanted to speak.

But Colin raised his hand, cutting her off.