Chapter 151: Mycelium

"What?" Martin heard Kraft's exclamation, uttering a word he had never heard before, yet he felt no surprise; it was only natural for a medical school professor to spout something unknown to others.

Rather than a word of unknown meaning, he cared more about what discovery this implied, one that could explain this bizarre situation.

"I mean, a relatively uncommon infectious disease." Kraft glanced left and right, found no yellow trash can, and had to discard the tongue depressor inside the coffin.

Literally speaking, yes, fungal infections are indeed uncommon; even though many people have the habit of smelling the tubular flexible protective fabric between their feet and shoes, contracting fungal pneumonia from it is still considered extremely rare news, isn't it? As a type of organism that mostly has nothing to do with humans, fungal infections are not as prevalent as other pathogens.

Most of the time when they are mentioned, they follow other underlying diseases, indicating compromised immunity. For instance, Candida albicans in the mouths of AIDS patients, and Aspergillus as a complication of tuberculosis, taking advantage when the situation turns dire.

This made the absurdity of the matter even more apparent to him; if the Duke suffered from an Aspergillus infection, that could be understood, but could all these numerous heretics possibly be HIV-infected individuals?

【Not necessarily, hard to say】

Kraft quickly pulled his thoughts back; truly, such an outrageous thing could happen. But a Candida infection shouldn't grow like this; compared to normal conditions, it was the difference between a primeval forest and an artificial turf.

Moreover, even if this inexplicable inspiration was correct, fungi are a vast category; the difference between fungi infecting the human body and mushrooms might be greater than that between humans and pigs; on what basis could they be lumped together?

Just because they are all so... "lush"?

Yes, Kraft felt he had grasped a certain key; the problem was not fungi, or not merely the frequent appearance of fungi in recent experiences, but rather the abnormal vitality of the fungi, growing with an unstoppable momentum.

"Close all the lids, carry them in, and start with this one in the long robe first."

Though reluctant, the soldiers moved under orders, replaced the lids, carried them into the room, and then quickly left the place as if ghosts were blowing on their necks.

Martin carried the brought tools over to Kraft and closed the main door. The two of them jointly lifted the corpse, which appeared to be the heretic leader, along with its coffin onto a low table, lit a circle of candlesticks around it; these light sources illuminated the makeshift autopsy table while making the scene even more indescribable.

Compared to the one lying there, they might now look more like some vicious heretics about to perform a bloody and dark ritual.

Kraft took out his instruments, neatly arranged them to one side, put on a dedicated gown, and checked the integrity of his gloves one last time. "I need to confirm: is this act a private favor, or is there an intention extending beyond us?"

"Our investigation is authorized; even if someone objects, they must yield before an event threatening the stability of Westmin." Martin had no intention of leaving; he stood by the coffin watching the corpse, his facial muscles tense, forcing himself to face the source of his fear to desensitize himself.

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Kraft noticed this, but couldn't quite empathize. In his view, Martin was not someone who hadn't shed blood; he should not be so sensitive to death, and once numb to life and death, nothing was too terrifying.

"The work ahead only requires one person; if you find it boring, you can go attend to other matters first." Out of a habit of care, Kraft could still offer him a tactful suggestion not to torture himself. "To be honest, to a layperson, this is just a boring lump of sludge; even if seen, it requires retelling and explanation."

"If it doesn't hinder you, please allow me to observe; in case of need, I can help a little." Defying his inner reluctance, Martin insisted on staying.

"Then I'll begin." Kraft picked up a small knife, made an incision below the collar, and prepared to cut the tangled clothes directly open. After all, he wasn't performing a full autopsy, just a simple exploration, so strict norms weren't necessary.

Using tweezers to lift the fabric, the sharp blade sliced across the chest, splitting the circular pattern in half; the long robe slid down to both sides, revealing a rough chest where millet-grain-like dense undulations were scattered beneath the skin, as if something was separating the loosening skin from the subcutaneous tissue; the wrinkles formed during transport created strange skin patterns, causing the circular tattoo in the center of the chest to become a crooked, irregular shape.

Gloved fingers pressed onto a patch of skin, trying to move it left and right; the mobility was great, feeling akin to two layers of rubber rubbing together. This reminded Kraft of the first time he touched the skin of a patient with subcutaneous emphysema, presenting a "crepitus" sensation, though more sluggish.

It didn't feel like flesh and skin connected naturally; instead, a fine fibrous mesh interlayer seemed to stick them together, the texture loose, even fluffy.

"It seems very fluffy underneath, yet not empty; I'm not entirely sure." Kraft lifted his fingers and pressed again; this time he confirmed that this change existed extensively throughout the entire torso.

He swept aside the clothes cut in half; the two sides of the hem slid down along the loose corpse into the bottom of the coffin, making the sound of small hard objects colliding. "Wait, didn't you search him?"

"No..." Martin shook his head. "We thought we'd deal with it after bringing him back; no rush to act."

Probably no one wanted to search such a bizarre fellow? This sounded like something was hidden inside the robe; Kraft followed the sound, quickly feeling two closed hidden pockets.

Not wanting to be distracted at this moment, he simply cut open the pockets, pulled out a ubiquitous small metal bottle and a stringed inlaid ornament of unknown purpose, placed them on the nearby table, and would study them separately after the autopsy.

Martin curiously walked around the coffin, examining these two personal items of the heretics. He had expected them to be symbols of a fanatic believer, but on the ornament that should have been the emblem, he found no design elements related to the circle; it merely fixed a semi-transparent gem-like mineral within a metal frame, unpolished, simply strung together to make a pendant.

If this was the heretic leader, his life was simple enough; searching his entire body yielded no money, which didn't fit the image of the first discovery of this heresy being motivated by wealth accumulation.

On the other side, Kraft had already carefully cut a shallow small triangular opening, used tweezers to pinch the edge, and slowly peeled it back. Unexpectedly easy; unlike in anatomy class where one must carefully gauge depth and use the blade edge to meticulously separate the resilient epidermis from subcutaneous soft tissue, he merely applied slight wrist force to lift the floating wrinkled skin.

Using an inappropriate metaphor, he felt he was peeling off an alternative orange peel; with a slight hissing sound of separation, the skin was lifted evenly, white three-dimensional nets breaking below; this was the loose tissue he had just felt, and within the mesh, tiny dot-like objects could be seen growing on what appeared to be undecomposed tissue remnants.

Surprisingly, a vitality so vigorous it was terrifying lurked beneath the dead skin; it was the lush mycelium no one had ever seen or dared to imagine, resembling a miniature scavenger city built by hollowing out a mountain.

Before Kraft could recover from the shock of this corner, the sound of objects shifting came from beside the workbench.

"Professor Kraft, take a look at this; it seems to be glowing inside?"