Wu Heng stood up. "Does your world have anything special? Something that glows, perhaps, or something that can drive back the plague?"
The old man thought for a moment.
"Yes. They say that in the place where the plague was worst, there was a ball of light in the ruins of Heaven. That light was very bright, and the plague didn't dare approach it. But no one could get close to it either. The closer they got, the worse the plague became. Everyone who went died. Later, the light disappeared."
Wu Heng looked at him. "Where did that light disappear?"
The old man pointed north. "They say it fell in the north, about three days away. You won't be able to get there. The road is full of plague."
Wu Heng said nothing. He turned to the group behind him. "Two hundred of you stay here and help reinforce their shelter. The rest will continue north."
Isaac considered it. "Will two hundred be enough?"
Wu Heng nodded. "Enough. We're only setting up a spell array."
Everyone departed.
The grayish-yellow sky remained unchanged. In the ruins not far away, the Rotting Corpse Walkers still shuffled along slowly, forever in pain, forever unable to die.
Wu Heng raised his hand. The light of the Creation Trait lit up in his palm, and a protective barrier expanded outward.
He headed north, with the demon hunter army following behind him.
When the group left that gray-white highland shelter, Old John stayed behind. There was no longer any place here for him to run a tavern.
He sat in a corner with his suitcase at his feet, watching the people curled up against the walls.
A child of about twelve squatted beside him. His eyes were large, but lifeless.
Old John took a bottle of