Chapter 28: Unable to Seek Death
“What day is it now?”
“Is it the fourth day? The sixth day?”
“Tell me, should I eat something now?”
The man, previously casually chatting with other bandit leaders in the circular hall, was now sitting on a stool, murmuring to himself. There were other bandits around him, but those individuals could no longer communicate normally. His body was covered in tendrils, similar to the bandits Ron encountered at the door.
His vision had become blurred because of these tendrils. At one point, he wanted to reach out and tear off the tendrils from his eyes, but in the end, he didn’t dare. Because instinctively, he felt it would be very painful. This wasn’t the kind of pain akin to peeling off dead skin. That must be a piercing pain, tearing one’s own skin halfway off.
“Why am I not hungry… why am I not thirsty…” He grabbed at his unkempt hair, nearing madness.
All the changes began a few days ago when he just had a few coughs. Just a few coughs, of course. His temperament wouldn’t have regarded this matter too seriously.
However, the next day, he discovered that other bandits in the camp were also coughing.
With so many people coughing frequently, he naturally realised something was wrong. But a day later, everyone in the camp had grown tendrils.
If that was the only thing happening, it might have been manageable, but those with tendrils looked sickly, like the walking dead. The other bandits in the camp started to fear the sunlight, retreating into the caves. Neither he nor the other bandits felt hunger, thirst, or fatigue. This filled him with deep fear because this was not normal.
He constantly felt his sanity slipping away, soon to become as delighted as his subordinates. He couldn’t understand why everything had taken such a sudden turn when everything was fine before.
As for the Phylin tribe, he had lost interest. After all, he could barely manage himself now.
He just wanted to return to how things were, not to be tormented by this inexplicable plague.
When did this plague spread? When did he get infected himself?
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t grasp any of it.
“What do I need to do to get better?” He clawed at his face as if his skin would be ripped off at any moment.
Yes, how could he avoid becoming like his subordinates? He didn’t want to end up like the other bandits, leaning against walls in agony.
He heard a jarring sound as if something was breaking through the earth.
Suddenly, he saw tendrils growing wildly on one of his trusted followers, transforming into a sapling. Simultaneously, the tree on the person wrapped around their arms and waist and forcibly twisted their neck to one side.
He retreated in distress, falling off the stool, screaming, “Aaaahhhhh!!!!”
Usually, he heard others scream like this, but it was the first time he had heard himself scream so intensely. No one had ever mentioned such a situation in this Wind Veil Basin.
These bandit groups had been entrenched in the Wind Veil Basin for quite some time, and there had been no incidents.
He was about to say something when he felt a stabbing pain, more tendrils piercing through his skin. These tendrils were extremely dark and devoid of moisture as if they had been dried out completely. He struggled to produce sounds from his throat but couldn’t string them into a coherent sentence.
In his blurred vision, tendrils from his subordinate extended onto the wall, branching out from their body. Someone visibly transformed at a speed resembling a plant. Their bones snapped inch by inch with a cracking sound.
Roots from the wall slowly extended, entangling with the dried roots within the person, eventually becoming a single entity. He raised his head, looking at the cave ceiling, exuding a despair.
At that moment, he heard footsteps, sparking hope within him.
Ron stood before him, puzzled by his plea. “You can still speak?”
Before Ron could hear a second sentence, he witnessed an explosion of withering roots growing from the person’s body.
He now exuded a sense of despair, akin to aged items left in a cellar. The light was terrifying. They couldn’t be exposed to it.
At that moment, he understood that a certain thought had taken root in the minds of each of them. They could no longer leave the caves.
In the end, he would just end up like the other bandits, turning into those strange plants. He sat back on the stool, raised his head, and looked at the ceiling of the cave.
He struggled to say, “Save me…”
Ron stood before him, puzzled by his plea. “You can still speak?”
Ron had encountered many bandits suffering from the withering root syndrome along the way, but this was the first one who could still speak. However, before Ron could hear a second sentence, he witnessed a sudden explosion of withering roots growing from the person’s body.
He needed to ask the Phylin tribe about the withering root syndrome when he returned. After all, he had never heard such an important thing from them before.
Suddenly, the person, unrecognizable, spoke, “Kill me…”
He no longer wanted Ron to save him. He just wanted a quick release. Ron picked up a bandit’s hatchet and attempted a strike. He sensed this was not straightforward.
Then he noticed that even if these plants were cut down, they could crazily regenerate.
Unfortunately, the ashes from Ron’s hand contained within the brazier happened to inhibit the regenerative abilities of these roots.
Ron contemplated for a moment and only then formally lifted the brazier’s ashes, putting an end to his agony.
The star-like patterns on the blade reflected the face of the one seeking death, foretelling the person’s impending demise.
The guy actually wore a smile and said, “Great… Hurry… Kill me…”
The next moment, his voice abruptly stopped because Ron’s sword had already swung down.
