Dragon Tribulation of All Realms

Chapter 241 - It's Just Starting Over

The Night's Watchman's body lay in the woods, his skin pale, his limbs curled up, a black cloak covering his decapitated corpse. From a distance, he looked like a dead raven.

It has been lying here for a while.

It was once a brilliant scout, a young ranger. It ventured out with its brothers to investigate the trail of legendary monsters in the Ghostly Forest north of the Wall. But, tragically, it discovered their target.

The white White Walker appeared before them, bringing death—it was fortunate, for the White Walker wouldn't waste its power on a headless corpse. It was also unfortunate, for its sworn brothers, now wights, might one day die at the foot of the Wall, thus being appeased, buried, or burned. But it could only remain here alone, until the snow completely covered it.

That's how it should be.

Several wild beasts of the Badlands, drawn by the scent of blood, approached, then scurried away in terror as they drew near. A wisp of deathly magic, emanating from the White Walker's slash, still clung to its remains, and it would take a long time for it to fade in the cold winds of the Badlands.

The timing is perfect.

A mutilated corpse, unclaimed magic, a cold wind, an empty space.

'Thump—' The dead heart suddenly began to beat again.

A jet-black, semi-solid liquid gushed from the severed neck with each heartbeat, changing color upon contact with air, gradually transforming from a dark colloid into a viscous lava.

The color of the slurry gradually faded, turning from dark black to silvery-gray. The dried blood spilled on the ground was gradually stained with silvery-white, until the severed head of the Night Watcher was once again soaked in the silvery-gray molten slurry.

'Thump-thump-thump-' My heart is pounding.

'Gurgle—gurgle—' The lava boiled.

The stiff hand suddenly sprang up, groping forward. Its fingers found their way after touching the molten lava, and quickly grasped the severed head in its hand.

Move your palm.

The head was pressed against the severed neck, and silvery-gray molten lava crawled onto the corpse's body as if it were alive. The pale, dry skin regained its rosy luster, and the subtle details on the skin silently transformed.

His disheveled beard dissolved silently, and his deep blue eyes turned pure black. Scars, birthmarks, and wrinkles vanished without a trace, while his chestnut hair, soaked in the silver syrup, transformed once more, until it was as black as night, clean and smooth.

Then--

"Hah—" Wu Chen took a deep breath, and he could feel his heartbeat again.

A stinging pain and weakness from all over his body swept over him at that moment.

It hurts! It's so cold! And I'm so hungry!

The last vestige of magic power remaining in his body had been completely exhausted. It took Wu Chen a great deal of effort to regain control of his newly acquired hands and feet. A series of complex and conflicting nerve impulses pulsed through his limbs, making him feel hot, cold, and painful, while his entire body was filled with a tingling and numb sensation.

Breathe.

Breathe deeply.

His fingers twitched, twisted, and slowly closed until his fist was clenched tightly in his palm.

Release, clench, and release again. The new body completed the basic adaptation. And Wu Chen's scattered gaze finally focused and regained its radiant intelligence.

Came alive.

He came back to life through a newly dead body and a wisp of unclaimed death magic.

He raised his hand and wiped away the blood that had trickled from his nose—the largest area of ​​the repair work was the necrotic brain of this body. Some traces of the original memories remained and were sorted and organized by Wu Chen, while the rest changed as the brain tissue was repaired until they matched Wu Chen's memories and thoughts.

"I need food."

Everything was so similar to when he first descended upon Nirn, yet unlike then, he no longer possessed the mask that granted him magical power or the gun for self-defense—the dead Night's Watchman wore only a black coat lined with leather, a black cloak adorned with raven feathers, and a set of fairly sharp, honed swords and daggers. The circumstances were similar.

But Wu Chen is no longer the same.

He raised his hand, exposing his blood-stained fingertips to the cold wind of the Ghost Forest. Looking up, the canopy of the coniferous trees was denser than he had expected, blocking out most of the sun. And in the flowing wind, his damp nostrils caught the scent of wild beasts.

"It's just starting over."

The feeling of losing his soul was strange. He could still calculate, think, and maintain the continuity of his consciousness. But beyond that, he could no longer actively use combat skills or magic as before.

—I have lost my intrinsic magic, my spiritual power.

—But external magic still allows me to use magic.

Knowledge and conclusions naturally surfaced in his mind—the effect of Hera's theoretical teachings. He couldn't even conjure a single flame, for he couldn't sense any magic at all. Yet, beyond that, he still remembered how to use magic.

It does not matter.

It's not important for now.

A soft rustling sound came from the other end of the path. The small beast that had followed the scent of blood should still be not far away. He immediately gripped his sword and drew the short dagger from its sheath.

Adapt to this body.

Perceive this body.

A faint sound came from afar, growing ever closer. And then—

'Pfft—' Wu Chen threw his short sword.

The dagger pierced the animal's carcass.

It was a weasel, somewhat resembling a lynx. It let out a weak, mournful cry, convulsed, and collapsed, large amounts of fresh blood flowing from its wounds. Wu Chen immediately stepped forward and picked it up.

My body is still not adapting well.

The throwing knife within twenty meters should have been able to hit the little beast's eye and strike its brain.

Wu Chen frowned, readjusting his motor skills once more. Even though he hadn't been a warrior for very long, he had still mastered some techniques that allowed him to effectively control his body.

He drew his dagger.

The little beast's life had ended, and he dissected it. Some inedible internal organs were removed, and large chunks of fresh flesh and blood entered his abdominal cavity.

chew.

Blood and tendons give the body its strength.

The sound of pattering rain echoed again in the distance, and Wu Chen, while eating, approached the direction from which the noise was coming from. As he moved forward, a faint sense of unease entered his thoughts.

Something was in this forest—something that posed a deadly danger to him. It was some distance away. And nearby were several secondary derivatives.

"...The White Walkers."

Wu Chen knew that now was not the time to make contact with it.

(End of this chapter)