The figures were packed densely together, stretching all the way to the farthest reaches of the fog. There was no telling how many there were.
Besides Frey herself, other people were imprisoned in cages around her. Amid that soaring song, the flesh of those trapped inside began to rot, merging into their cages little by little as they suffered.
The final image was a view from midair—the last thing Frey had seen before she died.
The earth seemed to churn like an endless expanse of boiling blood. As far as the eye could see, the ground heaved and surged in waves.
And there was that enormous figure, seemingly twisting out of shape.
On the verge of losing consciousness, Frey fought desperately to hold on to herself. Only one thought remained in her mind.
I must not become that thing. Even if I die, I must not become that thing.
She repeated it silently, over and over, not daring to let her guard slip for even a moment.
Just then, a glimmer of light finally appeared before her eyes.
Elsewhere in the Land of the Dead Silence, deep within the thick fog, another group of figures was moving swiftly through the mist.
There were many of them, their clothes still old and decaying. The auras of the two at the head of the group were noticeably stronger.
No one in the group spoke. Only their footsteps echoed through the fog.
They seemed to have a destination in mind, advancing swiftly in one direction—the very place Lu Yuan had left behind.
Before long, the group stopped at the site where Lu Yuan had fought the previous squad.
The world had already devoured most of the four or five corpses. Withered skins hung loosely from their bones, great swathes of flesh having rotted