When Lynn emerged from a teleportation array in a small coastal frontier town, the air was thick with a sickly sweet stench of rot.
It was a distinctive smell created by the fusion of death energy and nether energy, and it was extremely harmful to living beings.
The aura of death here was several times denser than in ordinary towns, though still far inferior to Eternal Night Graveyard.
The town was small, its streets narrow, with low, old houses lining both sides.
There were few people on the streets. Occasionally, he saw one or two mercenaries or adventurers in leather armor, various weapons at their waists, hurrying along.
Their faces were pale, their lips purple, and their eye sockets deeply sunken.
Death and nether energy had accumulated within them, constantly eroding their vitality.
Fortunately, they were professionals, protected by extraordinary power. But those who were too weak would not be able to endure for long before their bodies were hollowed out.
There were not only professionals here, but also ordinary people driven here by hardship, as well as some who had committed crimes and fled to this Land of Death out of necessity.
An old man squatted by the roadside, dressed in a tattered cotton-padded jacket layered with patches, its original color no longer visible.
Calling him an old man was inaccurate. He was merely a middle-aged man who had suffered terribly.
His face was so gaunt that only a layer of skin remained, his cheekbones jutted high, and his eye sockets were deeply hollowed.
His lips were cracked, revealing sparse yellow teeth. He squatted there with his arms around his knees, utterly motionless.
As Lynn passed him, the man raised his head and glanced at Lynn before lowering it again.
There was no light in his eyes—no curiosity, no