Chapter 86: Short Blade (Second Update, Requesting Monthly Votes)

Based on how the flame monster and the three-faced monster reacted to him, Lu Mi divided the monsters in the Dream Ruins into three tiers:

The lowest-tier ones, reduced to instinct alone, would immediately attack upon seeing him—but once he activated or semi-activated the black thorn symbol on his chest, they all chose complete submission, offering themselves to be slaughtered.

The next tier would also hunt him before he semi-activated the black thorn symbol; but after he finished the ritual dance, they would intelligently flee—yet beyond five meters, they could no longer sense the black thorn symbol’s presence. The flame monster just now likely retained only residual fear, equating the scent of corruption sealed within with Lu Mi himself, hence its constant avoidance.

Those of sufficient rank could directly perceive his “specialness” without Lu Mi needing to activate or semi-activate the symbol, or even needing to be within five meters, and showed clear fear.

Lu Mi suspected there might be other tiers beyond these three—perhaps one, perhaps three: for instance, monsters unafraid enough to stand their ground and keep attacking despite the symbol’s weakening effect, or those so high-ranked they showed no reaction whatsoever to the black thorn symbol…

Thus, Lu Mi was both delighted that he could scare off the three-faced monster, as if he could now walk freely through the Dream Ruins, and yet dared not let his guard slip for a moment.

Not to mention the possibility of horrors ranked higher than the three-faced monster—just the flame monster, with its powerful ranged attacks, could render the semi-activated black thorn symbol useless and burn him to a charred corpse.

With this assessment, Lu Mi hesitated briefly, then followed the path the three-faced monster had taken, slipping deeper into the Dream Ruins, intending to scout the state of the blood-red “mountain” and its surrounding area today, gathering preliminary intelligence for later unraveling the Dream’s secrets.

Along the way, he kept to hidden, less conspicuous paths, alert for monsters that might suddenly leap out.

Whether because the three-faced monster had just passed through, scaring others away from their usual spots, or for some other reason, Lu Mi saw not a single shadow—successfully navigating through collapsed buildings and Suichukejiandehuiansuishi until he reached the foot of the blood-red “mountain.”

There was still a ring of ruins here, but unlike the outer layers, the buildings themselves had not collapsed—they had instead twisted and reorganized themselves as if alive, interconnected, forming a bizarre wall woven from “thorns.”

The “wall” was stained with a faint, grayish-black hue; windows and doors from the original structures were chaotically embedded into its surface—some open, revealing broken tables and chairs inside; others tightly shut, as if immovable.

Lu Mi glanced once, then looked up toward the blood-red “mountain” behind the “wall.”

At this distance, even though the high-altitude mist remained thick and the light penetrating this world was sparse, he could now discern every detail of the “mountain.”

It was piled from rocks and soil, no taller than thirty meters, yet gave the impression of piercing the clouds; its surface color was unnatural—whether the reddish-brown of stone or the russet of earth, all seemed artificially stained, deeply sinister.

“According to Aurora’s novels and those occult magazines, this might be stained with human blood…” Lu Mi whispered silently, his gaze rising higher, fixed on the summit of the “mountain,” obscured by dense mist.

At that moment, as if an invisible wind had swept through the air, the mist there thinned considerably.

The summit of the “mountain” instantly came clearly into Lu Mi’s vision.

There sat a “giant,” roughly four to five meters tall, in a cross-legged posture.

“He” was naked, with three heads on his neck: one facing left, overflowing with rage, greed, and hatred—profoundly evil; one facing forward, twisted with agony and remorse; one facing right, serene and holy, eyes brimming with pity.

This “giant” had six arms, extending outward at different angles; his entire body—including all three heads—was stitched together from chunks of flesh and fragments of organs, riddled with fissures, oozing yellow pus everywhere; especially the head facing Lu Mi, whose Yanjiao dripped transparent, blood-red tears, one by one.

The moment Lu Mi saw this “giant,” his mind instantly “buzzed,” and again he heard that terrifying voice—seemingly from infinite distance yet right beside his ear.

His head felt as if split open by an axe; excruciating pain flooded every thought, stripping him of all cognition.

On his skin, veins of varying thickness bulged out, glowing red as if about to ignite.

When Lu Mi “woke” from his near-death state, he found himself curled on the ground, rolling back and forth—as if only such motion could relieve his agony.

His vision was blurred, stained red, everything hazy and indistinct.

In this state, Lu Mi felt even a skinless monster could easily kill him—but perhaps because the black thorn symbol had been fully activated, no being in this area dared enter.

And the “giant” atop the blood-red “mountain,” whether unable to leave or similarly affected by the black thorn symbol, made no move to attack Lu Mi, who had nearly lost control.

After a long while, Lu Mi rose to his feet and saw that the linen shirt beneath his dark jacket was soaked in blood and sweat.

“What the hell was that?” he thought, growing more terrified the more he recalled it.

Merely glancing at it had fully activated his black thorn symbol, bringing him perilously close to losing control—more dangerous than when he first gained the “Dancer’s” power.

He now dared not even recall the “giant’s” appearance, only making cautious deductions based on memory:

“A higher version of the three-faced monster?”

“Possessing intense corruption?”

“Indeed, Aurora was right—things you shouldn’t see, you must not look at…”

“It sits atop the blood-red ‘mountain,’ the very center of the Dream Ruins… does that mean it’s part of the Dream’s secret?”

“…”

In a flash of thought, Lu Mi suppressed the urge to lift his head and glance once more at the summit of the “mountain.”

One more look and he’d die!

He decided to withdraw first, return to reality to recover, and come back at night.

Turning around, Lu Mi was about to retrace his steps when he suddenly heard “Dong! Dong! Dong!”

“What’s going on?” he wondered, deciding to sneak closer and investigate.

Of course, he wasn’t reckless—he found a half-collapsed building nearby, hid behind it, and waited for his spiritual energy to recover somewhat.

After a while, Lu Mi performed the mysterious ritual dance once more.

He felt as if he had become the priest of some hidden entity, dancing to appease It with movements that stirred the surrounding natural forces.

When the heat in his chest appeared, he stopped and crept toward the intermittent “dong-dong” sound.

After circling half the blood-red “mountain” and the twisted “wall,” and performing the dance again, he spotted a flicker of flame.

Behind a partially open brown-red wooden door atop the “wall,” flickering orange-yellow light spilled out.

“Dong! Dong! Dong!”

The figure inside cast a shadow on the slanted glass window—humanoid, but stretched thin by the light.

At that moment, the “shadow” raised a hammer-like object and brought it down hard.

“Dong!”

Another clear metallic clang echoed.

“A blacksmith? Is there a blacksmith in the Dream Ruins?” Lu Mi speculated based on his knowledge.

Relying on the fact that the black thorn symbol on his chest had not yet faded, he crouched low and darted to the side of the glass window, turning his body to peer inside.

Though Lu Mi’s eyes had not fully recovered and things still appeared slightly blurry, he could barely make out the scene within the room atop the “wall”:

Broken tables, chairs, and furniture littered the space; in the center stood a stove with its upper half missing, flames rising inside, upon which rested a patchwork iron plate.

On the plate lay a short blade of silver-black metal—slightly more than twice the length of a normal dagger, its surface covered in strange, intricate patterns; merely glancing at it made Lu Mi feel dizzy.

“Dong!”

The “shadow” wielding the hammer struck the short blade with the precision of a skilled blacksmith.

“He” wore a long black robe; the side of his face facing Lu Mi was riddled with rot, some areas exposing white bone beneath.

Another monster? Was it continuing the task it performed when still human? That short blade was no ordinary weapon—something sinister, perhaps a sealed object or a supernatural weapon? Lu Mi’s mind flashed with one thought after another.

He was less than three meters from the rotting “blacksmith,” yet the creature seemed unaware of the black thorn symbol on his chest, continuing to “silently” hammer the blade.

Considering the black thorn symbol was about to vanish, Lu Mi pulled back, tiptoeing away from the window.

He had taken only a few steps when the heat in his chest vanished.

The next instant, a creaking sound came from behind him.

Lu Mi spun around just in time to see the brown-red wooden door swing fully open.

The “blacksmith,” clad in the black robe, stood there—his face marred by four or five rotting wounds revealing bone, his left eyeball half-slid out, dangling from its socket, the whole figure resembling a corpse long dead.

In his right hand he held the hammer; in his left, the silver-black short blade. Both lifeless eyes simultaneously reflected Lu Mi’s image.

“Shit!”

Lu Mi couldn’t help but curse aloud.

He instantly understood the situation:

The “blacksmith” monster had clearly been affected by the black thorn symbol earlier—hence its “quiet” hammering of the sinister blade, pretending indifference.

Now that the symbol had vanished, it immediately seized its weapon and emerged to hunt him.

How deceitful!

ps: Second update—requesting monthly votes~

(End of chapter)