Hiro sensed sothing was wrong the instant it happened.
At the first sign of the fog spreading, he imdiately frowned, recognizing it as neither a tactical smoke screen nor an illusion technique.
The thread-like entities floating within the fog intertwined like spider eggs, swaying gently like uncut umbilical cords.
They were "living things."
"Retreat! Everyone! Evacuate the canyon!!" he roared, his voice tearing through his throat.
Hiro suddenly drew the dagger from his belt, slicing open his palm with a single stroke, blood gushing out.
He used the pain to keep his mind clear, but this resolve lasted only a few seconds, which was far from enough.
anwhile, the warriors around him turned pale, their expressions dazed, swaying as if drunk.
So clutched their chests and fell to their knees, bleeding from their mouths and noses, gripping their heads tightly as if trying to expel sothing from their minds.
Then, one by one, they began to stand up slowly.
"Ssslah..."
So had joints twisted at inhuman angles, others’ chests heaved violently, but their faces were devoid of fear, pain, or any expression at all.
Their pupils turned white, their lips cracked, and under their skin, sothing seed to be writhing, forging new neural pathways post-parasite completion.
Old n, children, mothers, warriors... without exception.
They stood up, no longer looking at each other or speaking, rely converging and lining up as if under so directive, like stone pillars rising from a tide.
Seeing all this, Hiro felt as though his throat was being squeezed by so unseen force, leaving him voicelessly dry: "...How could this... how could it co to this..."
He had once claid, "We can win the final battle," "only the Ancient God," "the Witch is an ally, she is useful to us"...
His words had turned his clansn into puppets controlled by strings.
And each word he had spoken now felt like a blade, carving deep into his heart.
"...I was wrong..." he muttered softly, "I shouldn’t have let you listen to ... shouldn’t have..."
The weaker ones were quickly made into insect corpses, while the stronger ones could resist the corpse worms longer.
Hiro held out for a full half-hour, at one point trying to forcibly expel the parasite.
He cut open the blood vessels in his thigh with a short knife, expelling mucilage mixed with spores, and crushed a few unhatched eggs within through gritted teeth.
But soon, new worm filants began probing into his wounds.
This threw his fighting energy into chaos, clouded his energy sea, and his consciousness started to waver.
And then he heard it.
"Child... are you tired?"
It was a voice not belonging to reality, tender like a comforting whisper from the depths of childhood mories, with a soothing sense of stroking his forehead.
But he knew that was not the voice of his mother.
It was the Nest.
"No..." Hiro whispered, tears finally falling from the corners of his eyes.
These were not tears of revenge, nor cries of failure, but rather true fear, loneliness, and remorse.
"I shouldn’t have trusted her... shouldn’t have..."
On his knees, the mist around him surged like a tide, starting to seep into his wounds, eardrums, and eye sockets little by little.
He was still struggling, his nails digging into the ground, his back arched like a leopard, his body convulsing violently, but he could never shake off the tendrils entwining his mind.
"Mother..." he murmured softly, his voice like the chirp of a dying bird.
At the last mont of his consciousness collapsing, he seed to see a vision from many years ago, his mother lying in a pool of blood, reaching out to him with a smile.
But this ti, that face turned into the visage of the Nest.
This made Hiro let out a gut-wrenching roar, like the wail of the cursed.
And in that instant, his vocal cords completely snapped, his throat pierced through by the worm bodies, never able to make a sound again.
Then, he quieted down.
Corpse worms crawled into every crevice of his body, taking over his nerves, erasing his mories.
Hiro, the last leader of the Snow Swearers, sank silently into the fog.
......
This was the vision the Desperate Witch had long dreamt of.
Below, the Nest, its mist had completed infusion.
A constantly writhing, bloated war machine.
Surrounded by thousands of Snow Swearer warriors who had already beco his puppets.
He simply... loved this creation too much.
For it, he had begun preparations five or six years ago.
Using illusion techniques and mind induction techniques, he subtly rewrote Hiro’s will in countless dreams, drawing the cold-blooded champion once notorious for his ruthlessness into the abyss of faith in the "Ancient God Revival."
He was in no hurry, taking his ti, enjoying the spectacle of a resolute warrior struggling, collapsing, and reshaping himself between belief and madness, as if sculpting a gemstone.
And the Snow Swearers?
A group fueled by hatred, more effective than any catalyst.
He promised them dreams, hope, and the assurance of a "God."
Encouraging them to hunt knights and nobility, to sacrifice, to provide the bloodline fuel needed for the Nest’s growth.
Each sacrifice was like an injection of growth serum for the Nest.
Though the Nest had failed, collapsed, rampaged, and even nearly devoured him countless tis.
Yet, he nurtured it ticulously like a rare flower, experinting with every bloodline and structure repeatedly until it could grow steadily into a "complete form."
Now, all this has finally reached fruition.
In the gigantic nest, the worm fog had brewed for three years, its concentration high enough to corrode the entire camp instantly, even one as strong as Hiro could only last half an hour.
Thousands of Snow Swearers fell one after another within the ti it takes for an incense stick to burn, the corpse worms within having taken over their nervous systems, reconstructing their muscles, coating them in an insect-like spinal structure.
Their combat techniques, their fighting energy, their instincts, were all extracted, purified, and stored within their bodies, while useless things like mory and life were completely annihilated.
They were no longer human.
They were killing machines entirely detached from individual will, the neural extensions of the Nest, his most perfect tool.
Of course, the worm fog could only be released this one ti.
Having accumulated for three years, it was just enough to cover this Snow Swearer camp, but it was sufficient.
With just this, he had acquired an insect corpse legion converted from thousands of Snow Swearers, equipped with fighting energy and combat techniques, and fearless of death.
But that wasn’t all.
He had already buried dozens of "first-generation Nests" and "second-generation Nests" across the Northern Territory.
Those hatching nodes awoke comprehensively tonight as well.
Countless infiltrators, infectees, and worm fog cysts were activated concurrently, opening like nightmare fissures throughout the Northern Territory.
The fate of the Northern Territory, from tonight onwards, would no longer be in human hands.
Indeed, the entire Empire, the whole world, was about to descend into chaos.
And all this... was rely a necessary path to that "door."
His ultimate goal lay deeper into the darkness, beyond coordinates comprehendible by ordinary people.
It was an "ultimate return"...
anwhile, the platform was empty.
Snow Swearer officials patrolling the camp, guard knights, order knights, all had unknowingly been replaced by corpse worms.
Their appearance remained unchanged, but behind their pupils, there was nothing, only the spiritual chains of the Insect Nest controlling them.
The Desperate Witch gently waved her hand.
The Nest emitted a low hum, seemingly responding to the call, its cysts rupturing, and countless insect corpses slowly opened their eyes gleaming with cold light.
This undead legion silently assembled in the night, advancing towards Frost Halberd City.
They would sweep through.
Destroy everything.
Trample order, turning the Northern Territory into a hotbed of blood and insects.
And he, only needed to stand quietly at the edge of the platform, spreading his arms, embracing the world...
"This is just the beginning," he said.
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