Famine 42: The Mortal’s Blade

“……”
Niedu bowed his head, tugging his cloak’s hood down as he trembled slightly, at a loss for words.

The mist parted, the Tears of the Deep dispersed, and the phantom of the Imaginary Blue Whale slowly emerged, dissolving the lingering specter ashes into the moist air.

“When you last suffered, what did you do?” the spectral god asked quietly. “Did you pray to the Archgod?”

It was clearly a rhetorical question, bordering on the unreasonable—almost a touch of mockery. Niedu’s mind was in utter chaos; he had to struggle to swallow back the burst of curses threatening to break free, forcing himself to remain dignified. “Y… yes.”

“Now… it’s too late for regret, my lord.”

“I made a fatal mistake. Nothing I accomplished meant anything at all—it was wrong from the very start…”

His voice dwindled lower, and lower.

Zhong Yanqing could not bear it anymore; biting her lip, she stepped forward: “Says who? I—”

She hadn’t finished speaking when, high above, the Archgod’s colossal eye narrowed suddenly.

The cloak flared. The scythe of death flashed forth!

Clang!

In a burst of lightning-fast movement, too swift for ordinary eyes, the chosen one reacted.

When Sizhiyan could finally see clearly, Niedu was already standing in front of Zhong Yanqing, his dark cloak billowing in the wind.

It was like an instinct etched into the marrow of his bones—once more, he stood at the very front.

clang!

A massive clash of metal rang out as a golden, icy blade struck Niedu’s scythe and rebounded. A lean, tall figure rose from the starry sky, slowly floating before the great eye.

This figure was sheathed entirely in glittering frost, features blurred, blood-like tears streaming from beneath its eyes. On its back rested an iron chest taller than a man, all around it shone brilliant gold, long hair flying in the wind.

Cold winds howled; frost closed in, sweeping in from every direction!

Zhong Yanqing cried out, “High Priest?!”

That explained the ever-deepening chill—the main reason: hidden deep within the Sacred Tomb, the High Priest’s body was frozen solid.

A foreboding, turbid smoke rose from the edge of the ritual platform, rolling in toward the center!

“Get behind me!” Niedu knew better than to be careless. He swept his scythe in a wide arc, a blood-red moon rising at his back, its light spreading outward!

In an instant, a faint blood glow enveloped the entire Xubei team.

This, too, was why Shi He had gone to such expense to recruit Niedu—apart from Bian Xu, Niedu was the only chosen one he had ever seen with a group defensive ability.

Even Shi He himself, for all his talent, was like most chosen: splendid and proud, rarely willing to slow his pace or reach out a hand to the weak. They fought alone, shunning teammates, and if they traveled as a team, they served as the blade meant to take the enemy’s head.
Few ever cared to look back, to stop for those falling behind, or to reach for the weak.

Yet Niedu’s actions were never hesitant. Even after a breakdown just a moment ago, the instant battle erupted, he covered all of them again. As if this was simple inevitability, as if it was only right and proper—for when the sky fell, he would hold it up.

Sizhiyan floated in the air, gazing at Niedu’s coal-dark figure.

The Xubei team immediately fell into formation; the wounded Zhong Yanqing ducked, practiced and efficient, beneath Niedu’s cloak, barely getting out: “Why did the boss fight start all of a sudden?!”

Shi He raised his gun, the saber-toothed tiger roared, and the rest each unleashed their powers, quickly shattering the creeping frost.
But that murky smoke continued rolling inexorably from all sides, sealing off every escape route before them.

“What is this stuff?” Shi He asked. He clutched his aching eyes—clearly, [Insight Eye] was powerless against this smoke.

“I don’t know, there’s no record of it anywhere,” Zhong Yanqing replied. “But it’s coming straight for us!”

The rolling smoke wasn’t fast, but was irresistible and laser-focused, converging only slightly above the center of the crowd’s formation…

——

Sizhiyan’s pupils contracted sharply.

No.

Its target wasn’t a member of the Xubei team at all, but—

To be precise, not him—rather…
The Imaginary Blue Whale!

Hoooo—
The Tears of the Deep still spun, but the blue whale’s real body wasn’t in this world, and even Sizhiyan hadn’t prepared a way to dispel it.

Meanwhile, Niedu’s scythe was already swinging toward the smoke!

In a heartbeat, Sizhiyan focused his mind, gathering the mist into a thin line between Niedu and the enemy.

Shhh!

The blood-tainted scythe slashed right through the spectral mist, then the phantom of the Imaginary Blue Whale, striking the cursed [Wailing of the Bitter Bones] ashes that bound it. Fragments of bone split and shattered, collapsing instantly to powder!

The whale’s phantom circled in confusion and then drifted away.

As though nothing had happened, the boiling smoke gradually dissipated.

The High Priest’s corpse, draped in frozen blood tears, slowly descended and paused at the edge of the ritual platform, as if nothing at all had transpired.

And in the very last instant, just before the smoke cleared, they moved close enough to read its name—

[Wailing Curse – Funeral Misfortune]

It was a curse carried by food from the world of Imagination.
So—it was the High Priest who originally created the Wailing Curse?

——

The others were silent.

Niedu’s body instantly slackened; he almost collapsed, managing only to use his scythe to steady himself. He covered his face with his free hand, breathing heavily in great gulps.

His sudden exertion left him drained, his heart in turmoil, unable to process the confusion of feelings churning within him—he felt as if the whole world were spinning, as if he wanted to laugh but couldn’t.

Sizhiyan’s specter re-formed above the mist.

“What were you doing just now?”
He asked,
“Were you praying to the Archgod, or to me?”

Niedu’s heart felt suddenly hollow—he stopped breathing for a moment.

Sizhiyan paused for two seconds, and then chuckled gently. The god’s face broke into a faint smile, echoing across the empty starry sky.

“—You weren’t, were you.”

“When true agony struck, you looked neither to me nor to the Archgod. You took up your own scythe.”
“You solved it yourself. Congratulations.”

Niedu bowed his head, gripping his scythe ever tighter.

Sizhiyan drew a deliberate breath, his thoughts assembling themselves inwardly. Each word demanded careful weighing, and so his tone was slow and airy, somehow more ethereal for it.

“You once asked whether I came here to grant miracles.”

“I’m sorry. The answer is no. I have no miracle sufficient to descend on you.”

“When you are in pain, there is only one thing you can do—only this, just as now:
Remember this pain. Then get up, take hold of your weapon, and swing.”

“Just as you have always done, every time.”

Niedu’s head shot up, eyes wide.

“What miracles has the Archgod ever performed? The rations for the labor players—you earned them, fighting for their sake. The farmlands of the Ship of Bones were sustained by your flesh and emotion. You paid a certain price, and you gained all you have.”

Sizhiyan looked down on him, his tone slow and calm.

“Is this the Archgod’s grace? No. It is your own strength.”

Niedu’s thoughts were still muddled. He stared blankly at the god’s phantom. “I…”

Zhong Yanqing broke in:
“That’s right!”

“That, that was what I wanted to say all along…”

She bit her lip, rubbing her arm still marked by the venom of the ice serpent; though the poison was gone, lasting aftereffects remained—reminders of her narrow escape from death. Yet she remained standing.

“Commander Nie, you said ‘everything I did was meaningless’… but that’s just not true.”

“I survived, you know. Look. I survived! Thanks to you, I’m still alive!”
Zhong Yanqing tugged his robe to make him look at her, then spun in place with her arms spread wide:
“Are you saying my life is meaningless, Commander Nie? That’s pretty harsh!”

Niedu: “Of course not…”

“Then that’s settled, Commander Nie!” Wang Jian shouted.

The northeastern man was never sure how to comfort anyone, but did his best, bellowing as the saber-toothed tiger nudged Niedu with its massive head, nearly knocking him over: “Hell, any god would freak anyone out, but that god’s no good. You are good!”

Another team member forced a smile, “Yeah, Commander Nie—bringing you along was the best decision we ever made.”

“Commander Nie, you’re just too good. Time to learn the king’s way: when loyal ministers die for you, well, what’s it to me? I was deceived—the fault’s with traitors.”

“If a god’s protection means not too many of us die, that’s already a blessing.”

“We still need you, Commander Nie.”

Shi He pressed his lips together, adding, “Items procured from exchanges can have side effects too—that’s normal.”
Even if those side effects are in the mind, we would never blame you.

Zhong Yanqing’s words had torn open a wound.

The entire Xubei team surged forward, clapping Niedu’s shoulder, tugging his robe, crowding around him—each eager to lift the mood and bring the warmth back.

The truth had struck them all like a blow, but the team forced their spirits up, trying to brighten the air again.

Niedu clasped his forehead, almost in disbelief, his shoulders trembling.

Sizhiyan smiled down at them from within the mist.

There are always voices heaping endless demands and harsh judgment on the good. Always the magnifying glass held up to every flaw: her motives impure because she took a reward; he’s vain, addicted to reputation, always boasting; you failed to spot disaster coming and tragedy befell the settlement you led… As though a trace of mistake can void every good deed, as if gratitude can be withheld forever.

Niedu was not a perfect leader. When the Archgod’s demands reared up, he overlooked and allowed many things, with consequences that led to a bloody disaster.

So what?

Thanks to him the Xubei team survived; the blacksmith had food to keep him going, Lin Qiushui raised two children in the group, Yun Shengsheng grew up strong and healthy, Tang Qinghuai’s elderly mother survived… Before disaster, they all huddled beneath his black wings, living and growing, growing well.

Niedu was no saint. Of course he wasn’t: he was only a man, jolted awake at midnight, pain keeping him tossing sleepless; he bled, was wounded, bedridden for weeks at a time; at moments he longed to give up and welcome death…

He was not stronger than any other chosen—yet he kept reaching out that battered cloak to draw others beneath its shelter. However desperate, however bloody and brutal survival became, he never strayed from this path.

However far he fell short of perfection, none had the right to demand it.

The Archgod’s seal cut off Niedu’s joy and closed off his capacity for emotion and warmth.

But as that breach opened, he looked up in a flash, discovering that a tidal wave of gentle warmth had gathered around him.

Someone slung an arm over his shoulder, draping a safe winter coat over him: “I still remember—before the god came, I was freezing to death, and Commander Nie only had two lined shirts. He gave one to Xiao Zhong and one to me—kept nothing for himself. I was moved for days.”

Another piped up: “Remember when we divided up the frozen rabbit meat, and you gave me the last piece, Commander Nie? I ate it with so much guilt… Things are better now; I owe you a meal, at least. When we get out, hot pot’s my treat!”

Niedu’s eyes grew hot and sore, and he could not get a single word out, bowing low to cover his eyes.

The people he loved—those who gathered around him, with trust and admiration, calling him commander, calling him brother, those lively, earnest, lovable lives…

Was it not for them that he chose this path?

Thump. Thump.

The sound of his heartbeat roared in his ears.

The god’s voice, cold and ethereal, echoed beneath the starry sky.

“Wanting to save others is a road filled with blood and pain, a path with no return.”
“To see even a sliver of daylight through the clouds, you must tread over hills of white bones, tear through brambles that block the sun, and cross a thousand desolate miles.”

“But… on this road, you are not alone.”

“Those you have saved will remember you.”
“The labors of ordinary people will bear the fruits that ordinary people deserve.”

“Will you remain here, lost in the illusory splendor of divine miracles… or grasp your blade and face the cruel road ahead?”

“The Archgod did not help you, and I will grant only what is owed in exchange. This time, heaven and hell are decided by mortal hands.”

“—Now, give me your answer.”

The Xubei team parted, clearing the way. Niedu leaned on his scythe and straightened.

He raised his head slowly, eyes still rimmed red, but his gaze now unwavering, razor-sharp.

Just as he had stepped in front of Zhong Manwen, as he had stood for so many, in so many dire moments. The figure that compelled Sha Commander, Zhong Manwen, even Gu Haoping, to follow him to the end of the world.

He was not the god-chosen son meant to solve all things; his blade was not a magical weapon bestowed by fate. Here was only a mortal, scarred all over—yet the mortal chose to grip his blade, open his misshapen lips, and declare in resolute tones:

“The blade is in my hand!”

Niedu advanced with his weapon through the mist, the bleak wind flapping his black cloak.

“Please—give me a chance to make amends for my past mistakes. I will give everything I have, do my utmost!”

“——”
Sizhiyan smiled.

Excellent.

The very last piece of the puzzle was complete!

As Niedu’s emotions surged, something seemed to explode out from him—nameless, formless, yet as real as his own resolve, stirring Sizhiyan’s own heart as it vibrated in answer.
An extraordinary sensation.

Sizhiyan could not yet name it, nor put it to use. But he had a premonition: someday, all this would form a part of his strength.

……
…………

Niedu stared at the god above the mist, feeling his heart pounding as if it might burst.
His resolve was, of course, for the sake of saving the Ship of Bones. But within him, there was another reason—purely selfish.

—If the victory or defeat is determined by his own hand, whatever the outcome…
Those who fail would keep their lives.

…………
……

[Day 15 / 00:00 / In front of the Ship of Bones Leader’s Residence / Current farm satiety: 5%]
[Deadline for uprising: 0 days remaining]

Night pressed thick and black.

Across the bloody moat, the guards, lulled by long tranquil nights, began to doze off.

Suddenly, a cold wind swept by; the guards snapped awake.

Before their eyes, a single spark glimmered.

A huge, broad-shouldered man with a cigarette in his teeth stood at the only drawbridge, clad in a trenchcoat, holding a flintlock, eyeing them coldly.

The guards scrambled up:
“Aren’t you—Sha Commander?!”

Drowsiness vanished. The next instant, the guards remembered Sha Commander had lost power—had thrown his lot in with Gu Commander. Gu’s people had dealt with Sha completely.

At once, anger and dread welled up. One barked: “What are you doing here?”

“You were banished by the commander’s guards! Without Gu’s own writ, you can’t cross the bridge!”

Sha Commander stared at him with icy eyes for a long moment, then chuckled deeply.

“A writ?”
“I don’t ask corpses for writs.”

Behind him, sparks bloomed in the darkness, torch after torch. A vast mass of rebels, fully armed, stood shoulder to shoulder at Sha Commander’s back.

So many! For a moment, the guard’s soul fled in terror. He turned and ran, screaming:
“Attack!! Attack!! Enemy attack!! Enemy—”

Sha spat out his cigarette, ground it under his heel, leveled his gun—his aim merging the muzzle and the guard’s skull in a single moment—and muttered:

“Gu Haoping dies, the rebels never scatter.”

Bang!

“Gu Haoping dies, the rebels never scatter!”
“Gu Haoping dies, the rebels never scatter!”

In an instant, fires lit the night, and countless voices thundered in chorus, their shouts merging with the rattle of gunfire to tear open the silence.

Charge!