Final Lord

Chapter 248 Muxin Cult

The setting sun, like blood, soaked the ruins of the abandoned manor. Noble banners embroidered with irises lay carelessly discarded in the mud, their surfaces still bearing the marks of charred arrow holes.

Paul's territory was originally an ordinary and peaceful border region. The people there lived a life that was not particularly good, but they were able to live in peace and contentment.

But one day, devastating news struck the territory like a bolt from the blue.

The lord of Paul Territory was cowardly and afraid of death while resisting the demonic tide. He was beheaded on the spot by Viscount Hank, and the entire Paul Territory was temporarily taken over by Viscount Hank.

At first, the people of Paul's territory didn't feel anything amiss. Lords come and go, but the territory remains the same; it's just a matter of a different nobleman, and life goes on as usual.

The beer in the tavern won't become worse just because a new lord has arrived, and the farmland outside the city won't have a bountiful harvest just because a new lord is there.

Until Viscount Hank's troops arrived.

The bronze shepherd's bells of the lame sheep legion jingled in the evening breeze as three hundred shepherds, clad in hemp robes embroidered with wheat ears, moved through the crowd. Their deformed hooves trampled across the wheat field, and the trampled ears of wheat instantly sprouted black berries, on which distorted human faces appeared.

Rows of farmers, bound by ropes, knelt by the roadside, staring in terror at the scene before them.

The soldiers standing beside them, clad in heavy armor, made them dare not even entertain the thought of fleeing.

*Swoosh!* The spear fell, piercing a farmer's heart, his blood soaking the field.

“The purity of fear is acceptable.” A shepherd lifted the peasant woman’s chin with his bone staff. In her pupils, which were trembling violently from witnessing her husband being pierced by a spear, frost-like crystals of fear were constantly crystallizing.

The Shepherd approached the peasant woman's eyes, its white, cashmere-covered abdominal cavity glowing eerily. It absorbed the crystals, letting out a satisfied sigh: "Fear cultivated this way is the most mellow, like aged rye wine."

Among the chained prisoners, a red-haired boy suddenly lunged at the shepherd. "You man-eating monsters!" he roared, biting the shepherd's wrist, only to have his throat crushed by a goat's hoof.

Gazing at the struggling boy, the Shepherd, instead of being angry, laughed. He waved his staff gleefully and exclaimed urgently, "What vibrant anger! The boy witnessed the tragic death of his elders who cared for him. Despite his weakness, he exerted all his strength to vent his anger on an invincible enemy. Foolishness tinged with a reckless greatness. This is the taste of sacrifice!"

In the Shepherd's abdomen, the mead-like liquid suddenly boiled. He waved his staff, condensing the boy's anger into chili-shaped, crimson seeds.

"Come here." The Shepherd handed the seeds to the half-goat beside him and said with delight, "Plant them and harvest them in three days. I will take them to the Patriarch."

"Stop!" The young soldier at the end of the line suddenly grabbed the chain. His breastplate was still covered in morning dew, and his face was covered in mud; he was clearly a new recruit who had just been forcibly conscripted.

"They are just commoners... This is against the laws of the Dawn Kingdom... Aren't you afraid of being punished by the kingdom for doing this?"

boom!
Before he could finish speaking, his throat guard was knocked askew by an old soldier's sword hilt: "Fools! Your lord has betrayed you! Now you have only one law, the great Viscount Hank!" A rustling sound came from the shadows. Several children hiding in the wine cellar were carried out by a group of half-goat people.

The youngest little girl seemed unaware of her surroundings; she was giggling and trying to grab the shepherd's swinging bell.

"Such pure joy!" Several Shepherds exclaimed in delight, their mead rivers rippling with golden waves within her transparent belly. They jostled to toss the girl into the air, each fall making her laugh even harder. Until her laughter suddenly turned into a terrified, shrill scream!
“No, no,” the leading patriarch with two horns shook his head in disappointment. “It was thrown too high; she was frightened, and the pleasure, tainted, loses its value. That’s why I don’t like positive emotions.”

It snapped its fingers, and the girl was immediately stuffed into a nightmare cage carved with ears of grain by a group of half-goat people. The mechanism at the bottom of the cage turned, and three hundred thorns pierced her small body. The girl's head shook violently a few times before she fell into a deep sleep.

Not far away, the soldiers who witnessed this scene fell silent. Some lowered their heads, pretending to adjust their leggings, while others gripped their swords so tightly they creaked. A knight wearing a stag antler emblem suddenly tore off the insignia, intending to throw it to the ground, but his comrade held him down firmly on the shoulder—the torches on the city wall illuminated his bloodshot eyes, within which something more terrifying than anger flickered.

Its name is Despair.

These soldiers were former subordinates of Baron Paul, and after his death, they surrendered to Viscount Hank.

They made a huge mistake—they showed their emotions in front of the Shepherd.

The Patriarch suddenly twitched his nostrils and turned towards the group of soldiers. "Fresh despair! Finally cultivated. Go, seize them, let them relive the scene in their dreams!" He excitedly waved his bone staff, and Paul's soldiers were immediately bound by chains of mist around their ankles, violently pulled down and dragged!
"No! No! We've already surrendered. Why are you treating us like this!"

"We are ranked warriors; we have slain monsters and rendered meritorious service!"

The other end of the chain was connected to the Nightmare Cage, binding them as they struggled, with eerie wriggling sounds coming from inside the cage.

"A perfect seed." The patriarch stroked the newly formed purplish-black seed from the cage, a wicked smile spreading across his face. That seed was top-grade nourishment, a mixture of human struggles.

“Fear feeds anger, and anger breeds despair—” it suddenly tore open its hemp robe, revealing a chaotic vortex churning within its belly, “and despair is the Mother of Abundance’s favorite appetizer. Tonight, all believers of the Mother of Abundance will savor the most perfect communion!”

Boom!Boom!Boom!
The night wind, carrying the scent of wheat, swept across the fields, bringing with it the distant sound of bells. But at this moment, all that echoed in their ears was the rumbling of hungry stomachs in the shepherds' bellies.

As night fell, the central square of Paul's territory was brightly lit by torches. The half-goat people sat around a long table, their rough goat hooves holding silver goblets filled with a strange, purplish-red liquid. The air was thick with a cloyingly sweet aroma—the "wine" brewed from the villagers' fear and despair.

The Patriarch sat in the main seat, turbid liquid churning in the transparent cavity of his abdomen. He was already full and began to feel unsatisfied.

The Patriarch took a sip of his "wine," frowning. "Hmm, tonight's feast was good, but it lacked a certain sweetness of joy." He glanced around, his sheep-like eyes flashing with displeasure. "Who was in charge of that little girl? I remember her laughing quite happily."

A half-goat guard quickly replied, "It's Dick, the new recruit from the Shackled Commandery, sir. That lad knows how to amuse children."

(End of this chapter)