Forge a path to success.

Chapter 165 Fear Tax

The messengers were still wandering in the sand.

Nightwalker and Fallen Soul had just left the sand vortex and entered the seabed. Wherever they went, the mist gradually dissipated, and the tall figure of the local gentry emerged from the mist.

"Old man," Nightwalker and Fallen Soul bowed.

“Please pass on a message for Vansalal,” the old man said gently. “Say that the gift it longed for has appeared.”

"Yes." "I'd be happy to."

The old man gave each of them a piece of candy and left happily. The two messengers bid farewell to the old man, crossed the misty passage, and arrived at another entrance to the underwater valley. The docile monsters were already lined up there, each of them trembling.

Nightwalker, carrying a single-edged sword, stepped aside. The tall and imposing Fallen Soul stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over everyone with a mechanical, indifferent look. He was dressed in solemn black robes and held a book, resembling a pagan priest.

“Wanderers in the mist, it is time for ‘taxation’,” it said. “Who here dares to defy Lord Vansalar?”

There was silence.

No one spoke, not even the slightest movement. Everyone stood motionless, utterly numb.

Luo Hun looked at each person one by one and raised his voice.

"Lord Vansalal is long dead. The one who has been resurrected in this border of the Heavenly Prison is nothing but a reflection of a former god, a mere 'reflection' of a mere point 2."

We, the messengers, are the same. Regardless of what happened back then, now only low-quality remnants remain. Do you understand?

It nodded silently, but still didn't utter a sound. It merely shook its head hastily, as if afraid of angering its master.

"Then I'll ask one more time. Who here dares to defy Lord Vansalal?"

The monsters responded with silence. Fearing the messenger's gaze, they lowered their heads deeply…gazing at the white sand that buried their ankles…

Luo Hun took out a knuckle duster resembling a beast's claw, slowly put it on, and wrapped it tightly with bandages. He walked into the silent crowd and came to the only conspicuous oddity among them, standing before Wolfka, who had just finished making a wish. Wolfka was pale but remained silent.

"Did you make a wish?" Luo Hun asked.

Vovka nodded, his voice trembling.

He grabbed Vovka's head with one hand and slammed it down, his right knee springing up and smashing into the poor man's face. The knee strike shattered the facial bones, and Vovka's features were almost reduced to a pile of mangled flesh.

But Luo Hun didn't stop. He raised his knee again and rammed it into Vovka, as if trying to smash the poor man's head apart, mercilessly inflicting violence. A second time. A third time. The man's face was smashed into a bloody mess. Then he slammed Vovka into the sand, the disfigured man convulsing in the sandpit.

"And now!" Luo Hun asked, "Is there still no one who wants to resist? Is there not even a single person with courage left?"

"there is none left……"

The disfigured man lay in the pit, panting like a dog.

"That's all... Your Excellency..."

We've already lost...we've given up...we...accept it!"

Tormented by nightmares year after year, day and night without respite, suffering has long become a part of their lives. The pain of mere beatings, however deep and intense, is bearable. But more devastating than the physical pain is the mental humiliation. Yet, having fallen to this state, what good is shame?

They actually hoped the messengers would be even angrier and more agitated; if they acted impulsively and killed them, that would be a good thing. Finally, they would be dead!
Therefore, Vovka did nothing. He knew that no one else would have acted either, and he understood even more clearly that he still had a wish to have. Even if it was only for one night, even if he would be devoured by nightmares again tomorrow, it was still a hope worth cherishing. Such a tiny hope was enough to make him endure immense humiliation.

"Alright then." Luo Hun resumed his indifferent demeanor, took out the small book he always carried, and turned to the last page.

"Taxation will now commence..."

His next words sent a chill down the spine of the bloodied Vofka.

"The person who needs to pay taxes this month is, Wolfka!" The man, who had been on the verge of death, suddenly sat up. The monsters didn't cast a pitying glance at him; most of them closed their eyes, unable to bear the scene that followed. Wolfka knelt on the ground, clutching the hem of Luo Hun's trousers, his voice sounding almost like laughter from overwhelming fear.

"Please..." Wolfka stammered, "I just made a wish! Lord Fallen Soul! Please!!"

"History that has already happened will not change because of your pleas. Even if I remain silent now, what was meant to happen has already ended." The title of the book was revealed through the gaps in Luo Hun's fingers: "The Requiem for the Soul." It read out the words from the pages one by one, as if pronouncing a death sentence, reciting the "history" recorded by the hands of a heretic of death.

"Through this field investigation, the origins of Allied soldier Wolfka on Dust Isle and the entire process of the destruction of the 'Kingdom of Lennar' have been officially confirmed."

Your hometown officially ceased to exist 481 years ago!

Vovka jerked his head up: "You're lying!! The Allies saved my homeland, I saw it with my own eyes!! The Allies dispelled the fog you laid!!!"

The fallen soul did not react to his actions or words, but merely recited the past mercilessly.

"The cause of death in the Kingdom of Lenna was the pollution caused by the passage of the Calamity Seed, the Wrathful Demon. The local Bone-Praying Monks had given warnings beforehand, but the people chose to die."

"Your country is lucky. It was not captured by the Rainbow Demons to be used for evil experiments, nor did it encounter an evil god like you... It simply lost itself in the erosion of the light poison, devoured each other, and dissolved in the process of killing each other, turning into a huge pile of light torch corpses."

"The glowing corpse, formed from the lives of an entire kingdom, still roams among the dust isles. It has turned 270 dust isles into dead lands, known as 'Lennar's Mountain of Corpses.' So you don't need to be too sad, at least your country has not been forgotten."

Wofka's fingernails dug into his flesh as he clutched his bloodied head and howled.

A heart-wrenching scream.

For those who have long been lost in the fog of uncertainty, unable to return to the shadows of reality, their greatest longing is for their hometown. Unable to hear news from the outside world, they can imagine it existing peacefully. Without contact with former relatives and friends, they can fantasize that they have lived out their lives safely.

But this illusion will always be cruelly shattered. The messengers will reveal the truth, plunging the people in the fog into extreme suffering. Only with this premise can taxation officially begin.

The groaning man had no intention of stopping. Amidst the pitiful wails, he calmly read aloud, delivering the cold truth to everyone's ears.

"Now we will begin reading the account of the deaths of Allied soldier Wolfkach's wife and daughters."

"For four years after Wolfka joined the Allied forces, his wife and daughter frequently argued with the townspeople, defending their husband's image and thus becoming unpopular. After the outbreak of the Firefly Horde, the couple followed the crowd to the port, but failed to secure tickets to leave the island, missing the last escape ship and becoming trapped in the Kingdom of Lenna. At this time, the Fireflies surged towards the port, causing a commotion. His wife, in an attempt to protect her daughter, was injured in the trampling and became incapacitated, being the first to be devoured by the Fireflies. His daughter…"

"Stop talking!!!"

Large tears mingled with blood and fell onto the sand; the man's wails were no longer human. The vengeful spirit looked down at the sobbing figure. Was it pity, or contempt? He spoke words of comfort.

“There’s no need to be so sad,” Luo Hun said indifferently. “Even if you hadn’t joined the Allied Forces and had stayed in the kingdom, what was destined to happen would still happen… Your wife and daughters would still have died in the same way. That’s fate.”

"—I told you to shut up!!!"

Wofka scrambled to his feet, howling, and charged frantically at the messenger. The difference in strength between them was too great; his fingers were broken, his bones shattered, and his desperate charge only resulted in his own devastating injuries. Yet, the man continued to howl, smashing his emaciated hands against the heretic messenger. He cared for nothing anymore—nothing for life or death, no matter the pain or the fall; he only wanted to kill these heartless heretics, he only wanted the annihilation of the Scourge's lackeys!
But that pitiful power only added a few drops of blood to Luo Hun's black clothes. Luo Hun pulled a dark sphere from the book, grabbed Wofka with one hand, and pressed the sphere against the man's chest.

“Indeed, I don’t need to explain any further,” Luo Hun said calmly. “This is drawn from the past, the emotions of your wife and daughter before their deaths. Just use your own spirit to personally experience their death and their fear.”

"This is the tax you have to pay!"

Wofka was held like a puppet in one hand, his tears and blood dripping from between his fingers. The sphere of fear touched his clothes, threatening to strike his heart. But the sphere stopped before his clothes, because another hand gripped his wrist tightly.

He looked down and saw a fist with bulging veins. That fist pierced his face, sending the messenger of fear flying!
A glimmer of light ignited in the soul-destroying eyes, a light so dazzling it was almost blinding, as brilliant as the blazing sun. The flames pierced the mist, shattering the astonished monster, and transformed into a sharp sword that slashed straight into the sky. The bystander, Nightwalker, drew his sword with one hand; his blade, dim as the night, neutralized the purifying fire sword with just the right amount of force.

Luo Hun landed using the opening, wiping the blood from his lips. He saw the source of the hostility: the blonde woman carrying the flaming greatsword, and the man protecting Wolfka.

"This place is a gathering place for cowards; quickly extinguish your swords!" the Fallen Soul declared. "According to the rules of the Nightmare City, those who have lost their courage must not light a fire!"

Chu Hengkong laid down the severely injured man and allowed the Pure Fire to heal his wounds. He stood before the envoy, unyielding, like a steel blade drawn from its sheath.

"This rule is hereby abolished, effective today!"

(End of this chapter)