Rain poured endlessly across the wasteland.
The fierce storm that countless people had never seen in their lives surged toward Utopia. The sky had already changed color, and unprecedented clouds gathered overhead, blocking out the dazzling sunlight.
Ghostly green lightning twisted through the dark clouds. Thunderbolts containing immense energy struck the rain-soaked sand, and the current spread outward, making the desert glow faintly.
The green rain carried an unsettling odor. The damp wind blew toward the dry city-state. It was the wind of disease, the wind of death, the wind of despair.
The first to notice that something was wrong were the idle traveling merchants outside the city.
They had initially rejoiced at the coming rain, cheering like plants celebrating after finally receiving rain following a long drought. But when the wind brushed across their cheeks and the gritty air poured into their nostrils, the traveling merchants sensed the danger.
Many of them immediately lost all strength in their limbs. They collapsed to their knees and struggled desperately.
After seeing how the people ahead of them were reacting, quite a few immediately mounted their insects and raced toward Utopia. But how could they outrun the wind?
The insects lost their balance, fell to the ground, and twitched. The traveling merchants, meanwhile, were gradually enveloped by the plague wind, and the light faded from their eyes.
People farther away witnessed what had happened. Their instincts, honed by years of living in the wasteland, told them that this rain was far more dangerous than sandstorms, earthquakes, or swarms of insects.
Some of them headed toward Utopia, hoping to gain the city-state's protection.
Those who saw farther ahead instead passed straight through Utopia and raced toward places even farther away. They knew that this torrential rain was not something a single city-state could