Only a day after the storm dispersed, Luoweida City had fallen from the wealthiest border mining city in the empire's south to a waterlogged ruin.
The sky remained gloomy, the clouds hanging oppressively low. Damp, cold winds swept through the city, laden with moisture, clinging to people like cloth soaked in ice water, clammy and bone-chilling.
Nearly half the city lay submerged. Murky floodwater rose past people's knees, carrying silt, splintered wood, broken farming tools, and torn cloth as it slowly sloshed through the streets.
The once broad, level stone roads had disappeared beneath the water. Most of the low houses beside them had collapsed. Flimsy wooden homes had been ripped away by wind and flood, foundations and all, leaving only a few crooked posts jutting from the water; even the sturdier stone houses had shattered doors and windows, roofs torn away, and hideous cracks splitting their walls, like so many abandoned shells.
This was an industrial city that had grown rich on its magic nexus ore deposits. More than ninety percent of its people made their living through mining, forging, transport, and trade. It had almost no sizable farmland, and all its grain had to be transported from inland city-states.
The superstorm that had engulfed half the continent had not only destroyed the city but severed every grain supply route-outside grain could no longer reach it, and its already meager reserves were rapidly dwindling. Within a single day, grain prices had risen fivefold, eightfold, tenfold, and were still skyrocketing at a visible pace. As grain prices rose, bread, meat, medicine, and magical supplies all soared with them. Luoweida's entire market had collapsed.
Several city-state guards patrolled the streets in heavy rubber boots, stumbling through water of uneven depths. Icy water seeped through the gaps around their boot shafts, chilling them to the bone. Every step brought a squelch from inside their boots, and their legs were so cold and numb that they could barely feel them.
Their regulation armor was spattered with muddy water, their helmets sat askew, and grime covered their once-bright badges. All of them hung their heads, their faces exhausted and numb, even their voices thick with resentment.
"This damned weather... when the hell will it end?" The lead guard spat viciously, sending a splash across the murky water. "A storm yesterday, a soak in cold water today. If this keeps up, my legs are going to be ruined."
"Ruined legs would be getting off easy. Keep this up, and we'll all starve." The young guard beside him spoke in a trembling voice, fear filling his eyes. "I went home for a look this morning. We've only got half a piece of black bread left. The grain shops' prices are terrifying. A day's wages won't even buy one loaf. I honestly want to pack up and run. We can't stay in this place anymore."
"Run? Where could you go?" Another, older guard gave a bitter laugh, his eyes hollow. "Don't be stupid. That storm wrecked the whole empire. It's the same everywhere-food shortages, floods, collapsed houses. Wherever you go, it's a dead end. At least we still have our guards' wages. Those unemployed miners can't even get a mouthful of water."
The young guard fell silent, his pale face reflected in the water. He knew escape was only a fantasy, but staying in this lifeless, flooded city offered nothing but torment, with no hope in sight.
"Oh, right. I heard... the viscount's in his castle right now, furious as a lion that's been provoked." The older guard lowered his voice. "The mine collapsed, the miners are trapped below, and the empire's still pressing him for taxes. Anyone would go mad. Let's be careful on patrol. Don't get caught in the line of fire."
They all nodded and stopped talking, dragging their freezing legs through the water as they continued their aimless patrol. They knew perfectly well that this so-called patrol was only for show, meant to keep people from looting or making trouble. If large-scale unrest really broke out, a few exhausted guards like them would never be able to stop it.
No one noticed a pitch-black figure by a damaged section of the western city wall. Like a phantom, it silently vaulted over the broken battlements and landed lightly in the floodwater without raising a single unnecessary splash.
It wore a close-fitting suit of black construct armor, its faceplate sealed shut and dark-gold patterns glimmering so faintly across it that they were almost invisible. This was the intelligent avatar King Ghidorah controlled with his psychic power. He had given this avatar a simple name-Black Owl.
King Ghidorah's true body remained concealed in a quiet valley far away. His entire consciousness was attached to Black Owl, sensing the whole of Luoweida City through the avatar's sight, hearing, and touch.
Things here... are even worse than I imagined.
King Ghidorah inwardly clicked his tongue, his tone carrying some surprise and a subtle trace of embarrassment.
Black Owl stood in water that reached just above his knees, its icy touch transmitted clearly to King Ghidorah through the avatar's senses. He raised his head and surveyed the city: dark clouds filling the sky, collapsed houses, floodwater everywhere, floating debris, and, in the distance, idle magitech workshops and sealed mine entrances. The entire city was lifeless, without the slightest hint of vitality.
Tsk. Completely flooded.
King Ghidorah kept Black Owl standing where he was and took a quick look around, soon gaining a rough understanding of the city's misery. He was a Titan from beyond the heavens; a casual change in the weather on his part was a catastrophe for humanity. He had not meant to destroy this city, but the mess before him was indeed entirely his doing.
Black Owl did not linger. He set off slowly toward the city center, his pitch-black figure moving through floodwater and ruins like a shadow that did not belong to this world. No one could see him, and no one could detect him.
Meanwhile, Viscount Heross's castle in the city center was utterly shrouded in an atmosphere of oppression, agitation, and despair.
The study was spacious and luxurious, yet in complete disarray. Porcelain shards, shredded documents, and overturned ink bottles littered the expensive marble floor. Dark ink spread across it like ugly scars. Viscount Heross stood before his desk, his lavish formal clothes creased and stained, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and untidy stubble sprouting from his chin. Overnight, he seemed to have aged ten years.
He stared fixedly at the mountain of documents on his desk. Every word on every sheet was like a needle stabbing viciously into his heart.
Only a day had passed since the storm, yet the situation throughout Luoweida had already deteriorated beyond recovery.
Even now, he could not believe that everything had been turned upside down in a single night.
That terrifying storm had triggered massive landslides in the Magic Nexus Mountains, directly destroying the Southern Magic Nexus Mine's three main tunnels. Rubble and earth had completely sealed the mine entrances, trapping dozens of miners underground, their fate unknown. With the manpower and tools currently available, digging through the collapse would take at least half a month, and another cave-in could happen at any moment.
The mine was finished.
Without ore, there could be no mining. More than ten thousand miners across the city had lost their jobs overnight. With no income and no food, they could only gather near the city gates, voicing their grievances. At first, they merely waited in silence, but given time, hunger and despair would turn them into a mob. Unrest could erupt at any moment.
Even more deadly than the miners' unemployment was the food supply.
Luoweida had never grown grain. All its food depended on shipments from inland. The storm had destroyed every land and water route, keeping outside grain from reaching the city. Its granaries had never held much to begin with, and nobles, merchant associations, and commoners were all scrambling for it. Prices had shot up more than tenfold in a day. Ordinary families could barely manage even one meal a day.
It was not that he did not want to open his granaries and distribute grain, but his private supplies were limited too. If he gave them all away, his own family, guards, and castle servants would starve along with everyone else.
What frustrated him even more was that the imperial family and parliament, far away in the imperial capital, did not care whether the provinces lived or died. Document after document arrived, their wording uncompromising, constantly pressing him to pay his mining taxes on time while ordering him to provide money for disaster relief and pacify the populace.
The documents sounded so high-minded, but who understood his difficulties?
The mine had already collapsed. Where was he supposed to find ore to pay his taxes? Disaster relief required grain and money, but his reserves were being rapidly depleted. Once he paid the empire its share, he would become a penniless pauper, unable even to maintain his guards.
Just that morning, he had used magical communication to request aid from the duke to whom he had sworn allegiance, hoping for instructions from the imperial capital, food, or military support. Yet he had received no response at all since sending the message.
The imperial capital... was probably in utter chaos too. No one had any attention to spare for a little city on the distant border.
Just then, Heross's gaze fell on a newly delivered gilt-edged letter on his desk. The sender was the largest commercial consortium in the empire's south. He opened it and hastily scanned a few lines. His face instantly turned livid, his chest heaving as fury rushed to his head.
The consortium actually intended to loot a burning house.
They were willing to send a small amount of food and supplies on one condition-he had to sign away half the Southern Magic Nexus Mine's mining rights and ownership.
A pack of bloodsuckers.
Heross clenched the letter tightly, his knuckles white, nearly crushing the paper.
The mine was the empire's lifeblood, not his private property. Never mind that he did not dare sign-even if he did, within days, imperial inspectors, mages from the tower, and representatives of the imperial family would come knocking. They would twist his head off on charges of treason and privately selling national resources, then hang it over the city gates for public display.
There were the empire's relentless tax demands, the consortium's exploitation of the disaster, commoners on the verge of rioting, miners trapped underground, severed food supply routes, and a collapsed mine.
He was pinned firmly between them all, unable to move.
Heross slowly leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, filled with helplessness and exhaustion.
As a hereditary viscount, he had ruled Luoweida for decades in boundless splendor. Now he was like a beast trapped in a cage, capable of nothing but rage, smashing things, and agitation.
The study was deathly silent, save for his heavy, stifled breathing.
The scene in the commoners' district on the city's outskirts was even more miserable than in the city proper.
Lina crouched inside her ruined home, her small body curled into a ball. Her tangled blond hair clung to her cheeks, her fair little face was covered in dust and exhaustion, and her pale-blue eyes were filled with worry far beyond her years.
Her home was an utterly ordinary miner's wooden house. Yesterday's storm had ripped off the roof and blown away the entire window. Even the once-sturdy wooden door had been swept away without a trace by the flood. With nothing to shelter it, cold wind and rain poured freely into the house. Water had flooded inside, ruining the furniture, clothes, and food. Most of their possessions had floated away with the current, leaving only a few battered odds and ends.
Lina carefully placed the family's last three pieces of hard, dry black bread inside a small waterproof wooden box, moving gently, as though protecting some priceless treasure.
Yesterday's tremendous wind and rain had been the most terrifying sight she had ever seen. The house had shaken, the windows had shattered, and outside there had been nothing but the howling wind. She had held her little brother, Little Jamie, beneath the bed, not daring to make a sound all night. By the time dawn came and the wind stopped, their home had changed beyond recognition.
After a whole morning of tidying up, pitifully few things could be salvaged, and there was even less food.
That morning, her father had gone to a grain shop in the city. When he returned, his face was deathly pale, and he carried only a small bag of coarse wheat flour. Its frightening price had used up the family's last coins. Her father had said nothing, merely sitting in the doorway, looking at the water filling the street and sighing endlessly, his eyes full of despair. Lina had never seen her usually strong father look so helpless.
What worried her even more was her five-year-old brother, Little Jamie. He had been caught in the rain yesterday and now had a high fever. His little face was flushed red as he lay on the bed with his eyes closed, breathing weakly and occasionally whimpering in discomfort.
Lina gently touched her brother's burning forehead, frightened and panicked.
She held a small bottle of brown medicine. Grandpa Kulesuo next door had brought it over especially after hearing that her brother had a fever. The old man was a retired low-ranking mage who had a few of the simplest potions. He could not bear to use them himself, yet he had given one to them.
Using a small wooden spoon, Lina fed her brother the medicine a little at a time, her movements clumsy but earnest. Her brother frowned in discomfort, but obediently drank it anyway.
After giving him the medicine, Lina stayed beside her brother, her small hand tightly gripping his cold one.
Their parents had gone out again to find water and something to eat, telling her to stay home and look after her brother.
Because the flood had carried the door away, nothing sheltered the house, and anyone could walk straight in. Lina was very frightened, but she did not dare cry. She was the older sister, and she had to take good care of her brother.
Just then, Lina suddenly sensed a shadow falling through the doorway.
She jerked her head up, her little body instantly tensing as she looked fearfully toward the door.
A figure entirely encased in black armor stood in her open doorway, watching the room without moving. He was black from head to toe, with no skin showing. A seamless faceplate covered his head, with no eyes or mouth, like a monster from the darkness.
Lina trembled all over in terror. Instinctively, she threw herself beside her brother and shielded him with her small body. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she bit her lip, not daring to make a sound.
Through Black Owl's eyes, King Ghidorah quietly watched the little girl huddled in the corner.
Blond hair, fair skin, pale-blue eyes-a typical Western face, so much like the children in Europe on Earth in his previous life.
He could clearly see the fear on the little girl's face, her trembling, her instinctive movement to protect her feverish brother, the pitifully small amount of food in the house, the battered home, and the floodwater that had seeped inside.
King Ghidorah bore no ill will. He was merely curious and wanted to see how humans lived after the disaster. He was an invincible Titan. He would not attack a defenseless child, nor did he have any interest in bullying commoners.
He simply watched quietly for a few seconds, sensing the little girl's fear and helplessness. His heart remained unruffled, but he had no intention of stepping forward to disturb her either.
King Ghidorah slowly turned Black Owl around. Without making a sound, he walked out of the ruined house step by step and returned to the flooded street.
As Black Owl moved through Luoweida City, King Ghidorah took in all its misery.
Most of the city was submerged, with tables, chairs, barrels, broken farming tools, and rotten food floating on the surface; residents stood in the water, fishing out the last possessions that had drifted from their homes, all of them sallow, gaunt, and numb-faced; miners gathered on street corners, cursing under their breath, their eyes full of hostility; the magitech workshops' gates were shut tight, their chimneys completely cold, without the slightest sound of machinery running.
The entire city held no hope, no vitality-only floods, hunger, despair, and unrest on the verge of erupting.
King Ghidorah finally realized that his storm, perfectly normal by his own standards, had completely destroyed normal life in the vast majority of cities on this continent.
He had originally planned to control Black Owl and leisurely wander through human cities, look at everyday life, watch the struggles between factions, and observe the reborn Nuoyaji, treating this planet as an entertaining, immersive journey.
But now, most cities had ended up like this.
Don't tell me the cities elsewhere are like this too...
King Ghidorah sighed inwardly, feeling somewhat helpless.
It seemed he had personally ruined his entire upcoming journey.
It's fine. No big deal! I can just treat it as a swim around the world...
He tried to comfort himself, but his composure broke the very next second.
...My ass.
Perfectly good cities had all been flooded into swamps, without even a place to set foot. Floodwater and ruins were everywhere. All the fun of wandering around was gone.
King Ghidorah kept Black Owl standing in the middle of the floodwater. He looked up at the gloomy sky, then down at the murky water rising past his knees, feeling a surge of frustration.
Some immortal or whatever, hurry up and get rid of this water...