Mystery: The Last Shepherd

Chapter 378 Sorry

A dark iron-colored mist mixed with pale yellow rapidly spread through the eastern district.

Soon, the sound of coughing could be heard from pedestrians in the fog-covered area. They couldn't tell which way was which in the thick fog, their foreheads were burning hot, and their lungs felt itchy and painful as if they were being eroded.

"Cough cough, help, help!"

The coughing stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of corpses falling to the ground one after another.

Not only the streets, but also the residents in the surrounding buildings were not spared. The elderly and infirm collapsed immediately and died shortly afterward. While the young and middle-aged did not die immediately, they also developed severe symptoms.

The witch's plague curse is spreading, and people are falling like straw.

This phenomenon was most severe in the Lehman Brothers' controlled area, the epicenter of the plague. There, the thickest and most powerful cursed mist clung to everything, killing not only the old and young, but even the healthiest young adults.

On the edge of the fog, the last vestiges of their expressions could be seen on the road. The joy of celebrating the New Year had not yet faded when extreme terror surged forth.

"Dengdengdeng!"

"cough cough, cough cough"

Oliver was running, swinging his legs to leave the billowing, iron-black mist behind him.

This is how he ran away when he rebelled against the deacon at the workhouse. The fat woman chased after him, cursing and swearing, and called on the others to join in. Usually, his escape was ineffective, and he would eventually be caught by the deacon, and the punishment would be to be locked in a small dark room and starved for a day or two.

But next time, Oliver would still stubbornly resist.

"Go for it! Go for it!"

A figure in a white robe followed behind him, smiling, urging him in a sweet voice, "Run, run! You're slowing down, I'm about to catch up!"

Panatia, the "Desperate Nightingale," had a beautiful face contorted with pleasure, yet her voice was so gentle, like a mother following her child, encouraging them. Dark mist surrounded her, moving with her, making her seem like a legendary witch of destruction.

Oliver didn't turn around at all to that alluring voice, because she was the culprit behind it all—

The red-haired Allen is dead. He collapsed to the ground and died as he cheered and ran towards the older sister.

The other friends also died. They were worried about Allen and ran over to try to help him up, but they inhaled the black mist emanating from the surrounding area and died from the plague.

The adults on the street died. They heard Oliver scream and rushed to save the children, but they were all engulfed by the fog and collapsed to the ground.

The elderly woman in the kitchen and her son died; their lives, just beginning to improve after their bankruptcy, were shattered by this disaster. The young son tried to escape with his mother, but they both perished.
The vicious Mr. Charles is dead. In the moment of crisis, he acted like a man, roaring and leading his henchmen and weapons to stand in front of the woman, only to be easily killed by her with a dagger.
Everyone shouted when they saw Oliver:

"Oliver, run!"

"Go find His Excellency the Missionary immediately!"

The lambs, with pure hearts, believed that the kind and powerful figure would save them!
Oliver's forehead grew increasingly hot, his vision went black, and he lost consciousness, only instinctively moving his limbs and running forward.

"Pfft!"

The hard texture slammed into his chin, and the force that returned made him completely lose consciousness.

"Oh dear, is this it?"

Panatia's voice was tinged with regret as she was about to walk over when she suddenly heard a high-pitched, ethereal voice:

"I come, I see, I record."

With that sound, a phantom gate appeared in the void, opened, and Lu Ze stepped out.

He looked around.

Death blanketed the once bustling streets; his lambs lay lifeless on the ground in various poses. In his spiritual intuition, the points of light representing his "lambs" were extinguishing one by one until they were all plunged into a black silence. In an instant, all his lambs were dead.

"You finally came."

"Desperate Nightingale" Panatia laughed as she said to Luze, "I thought you'd be too scared to come, so I had to kill your lamb to force you out."

Luze ignored her nonsense, instead bending down to turn Oliver's small body over, and then raising his hands high—

"puff!"

"Cough cough!"

The boy opened his eyes and coughed violently. His lungs were squeezed, and he coughed up pale green pus and bright red blood, which hung on his face like ugly, sticky slugs.

"Sir, cough cough... Priest, cough cough!"

Oliver opened his eyes and saw Luzer, and immediately called out. He was so weak that he couldn't even utter a complete sentence.

"Oliver, don't talk, just keep breathing."

Lu Ze's voice was eerily calm, like ice crystals flowing in water.

"Your Excellency, cough cough!"

Oliver's eyes widened in alarm. Ignoring Luzer's words, he urgently told him, "She killed...cough...everyone, she killed them all."

He sobbed and coughed intermittently.

“I heard it, Oliver, I heard it all.”

Lu Ze held the boy's arm with his other hand, looking directly at him. "Don't be afraid, keep breathing, I'll save you."

"Don't bother, you can't break my curse."

Panatia said cheerfully.

Luze ignored him; the boy's body gradually weakened in his hands, resisted by the demigod-level plague curse. But if he increased his output, the boy's frail body simply couldn't withstand it.

"Your Mightiness."

Oliver could feel his life force draining away, and he suddenly realized that he was going to die.

A flicker of fear crossed his face at first, but it quickly hardened into determination. With his last ounce of strength, he struggled to his feet. "There's something I must tell you."

"Oliver, breathe."

"Cough cough... I joined you only for survival; I've never believed in your Lord." He revealed his deepest secret, his eyes filled with guilt and relief. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Lu Ze paused, then gripped the little boy's right arm even tighter. "I know, Oliver, I've always known! It's okay, it's okay."

But the boy could no longer hear anything; a shadow fell over his once clear, glassy eyes, and his lungs stopped contracting. Lu Ze stared blankly at the child who was not his lamb, and slowly withdrew his hand.

Oliver's warm blood dripped down his arm, but it was quickly extinguished by the cold wind and froze into ice crystals.

he died.

On a Tuesday in the last week of 1349, Backlund was shrouded in a great smog.

(End of this chapter)