Chapter 181 The Plague (2)
The beastmen quickly controlled the epidemic.
They “persuaded” all the beastmen in this enclosure with axes and spears to isolate themselves, resulting in two horned beasts sacrificing their lives to demonstrate to the others the fate of defying the shaman chieftain’s will.
The beast enclosure was a cave, and when the logs blocked the entrance, it became a prison.
In the dark cave, the sound of scratching from claws filled the air, sending chills down people’s spines and making them feel as if countless worms were crawling beneath their skin.
The baldy with curly hair couldn’t help but scratch his arm again, and amidst the scratching sounds, another red pimple sprouted on top of the already festering white pus-filled one. Unable to restrain himself, he dug his pus-covered claws into the wound and scratched hard.
White pus mixed with blood dripped onto the ground.
After a moment of pain, there came a fleeting relief from the itch, but it was short-lived.
The scratching sounds in the cave reached a peak.
It seemed that every pore on his body had a red pimple pushing against it, forcing its way out.
The baldy with curly hair found it unbearable, and his symptoms were relatively mild.
A moan came from behind him, and he turned to see a horrifying sight.
Patient number one, the yellow-haired beast, had lost all his fur, and his back was covered in a myriad of bleeding and oozing small holes. A blood-soaked knife lay beside him; being the most severely affected beastman, he couldn’t help but use the knife to scrape at his pimples.
But the direct cause of his death was not the strange illness but rather the rock thrown by his own kind.
“Why didn’t you die sooner?”
“Weakling! You’ve harmed us!”
The other beastmen hurled stones at the barely breathing yellow-haired beast, starting from his back, blood splattering everywhere to avoid seeing the disgusting red pimples, then slowly moving upward, breaking his ribs and neck.
As the yellow-haired beast’s cries of agony fell with each rock thrown, the final blow from a large stone struck his head, caving it in.
He lay weakly on the ground, blood flowing from his mouth. In his final moments, his hand twitched and crawled toward the knife, gripping the handle tightly. He lunged for the knife and forcefully scraped at his blood-soaked and uneven, pimpled arm.
“That feels good.”
After uttering his final words, the yellow-haired beast died.
The surrounding beastmen scattered like birds and animals, wanting to avoid being contaminated by the deceased patient number one.
Seeing his comrade die in such a manner, the baldy with curly hair, a mild case himself, stood up abruptly, ignoring everything, and strode to the corpse of the yellow-haired beast.
He spat on the body of the yellow-haired beast.
His pair of sheep-like eyes were filled with anger.
If it weren’t for this weakling, who had poor constitution and contracted the disease, how could the strange illness have spread to him? It must be because he was blind and ate that strange roasted lamb leg; I should have killed him back then. He dragged the entire tribe down.
Thinking of this, the baldy with curly hair spat on the yellow-haired beast’s face again and turned to leave.
He looked at the cave entrance blocked by logs and couldn’t help but hope that the shaman chief would give him a chance to prove he wasn’t weak. Unlike his frail brethren behind him, he was so close to the yellow-haired beast without having many pimples; if only the shaman chief would return the axe to him so he could prove himself in the wild.
But the baldy with curly hair knew this was wishful thinking.
Survival of the fittest was the only truth.
From his experience, their group of nearly a hundred sick individuals would only be locked in here until only three or four of the strongest beastmen remained alive, at which point the door would be opened again.
The gods would favor the surviving strong and reward them for their contribution to eliminating the weak.
Thinking of this, the baldy with curly hair tightened his grip on the knife’s handle; it was the yellow-haired beast’s knife, which he had secretly taken while spitting.
Most beastmen avoided this pus-covered knife for fear of infection. But the baldy with curly hair was confident in his constitution.
This group of weak and foolish “brethren” truly did not deserve to live in this world.
The baldy with curly hair turned his head, a tuft of slightly curled black hair falling in front of his bloodthirsty sheep-like eyes.
Unfortunately, when the logs at the entrance were moved aside, sunlight streamed into the dark cave, interrupting the baldy with curly hair’s ambitions.
Almost all the beastmen looked toward the glowing cave and rushed toward the entrance.
Some beastmen whispered, “Did the shaman find a remedy?”
The baldy with curly hair nearly laughed out loud; how could that be possible?
It must have been an order to distribute weapons, letting them survive in the wilderness. Only those beastmen who survived and killed enough enemies could return to enjoy their honor.
This was the tribe’s tradition.
Thinking of this, the baldy with curly hair tightened his grip on the knife’s handle again.
“Get in there!”
The strong voice of the shaman chief rang out.
More than thirty beastmen surged into the cave, ranging from weak horned beasts to regular horned beasts, even including a robust great horned beast.
It seemed that the isolation spell the shaman chief had mentioned previously had limited effect.
“You weaklings!” The logs continued to close, and the shaman chief yelled, “Spreading the plague everywhere! Only when you are dead can the entire tribe be spared from disaster!”
The baldy with curly hair felt a twinge of guilt.
He watched the great horned beast reprimanding the other beastmen and scratching his own back; this was his greatest enemy, the highest obstacle blocking his path to becoming stronger.
The baldy with curly hair tightened his grip on the knife’s handle, deciding to take advantage of the moment while pretending to scratch an itch to swiftly eliminate him, showing the other weak and foolish brethren that he was the strongest beast in the cave.
The entrance logs were pushed open again.
It was still the newly infected sick beastmen and the furious cries of the shaman chief.
“You bunch, weaker than humans, beasts!”
This time there were particularly many beastmen; the cave was practically shoulder to shoulder, hoof to hoof.
In the struggle for limited space, small-scale disputes broke out continuously.
The baldy with curly hair took down two weak horned beasts, making a minor contribution to optimizing the tribe’s population structure.
But the entrance logs were pushed open once again, this time the shaman chief’s complaining voice rang out:
“Even the gods disdain your weakness.”
A bunch of sick beastmen forcibly squeezed into the cave.
The beastmen were pressed together, chests against backs, faces against faces, their horns getting tangled, hooves stepping on corpses.
In such crowded conditions, even scratching became a problem. This paradoxically reduced disputes as they needed others nearby to scratch each other’s itches, but the space was still too tight, and hands couldn’t stretch out to reach other spots.
The baldy with curly hair scratched at the red pimples on the backs of other beasts, enduring the bursting sensation while feeling the person behind him rubbing his chest against his back, the red pimples pressing against each other… that warm sensation made his scalp itch almost to the point of falling off.
At that moment, he couldn’t help but envy the beastmen by the cave wall, as they could rub against the rough cave wall to relieve their itching.
Amidst the noise of arguments, the baldy with curly hair gradually realized what had happened earlier.
This strange illness showed no signs of abating, spreading through the tribal camp; even the scouts stationed outside had become infected.
The shaman chief had exhausted all methods, from potions to curses, even killing some human captives to appease the god of disease, yet he could not halt the tide.
Uncertain how long this painful time had passed, the entrance logs were moved again.
A gust of foul wind and heat surged out of the cave, the sweaty breeze moistening the logs.
This time, there wasn’t a single sick beastman; only the tired voice of the shaman chief.
“Come out; this is not an ordinary plague.”
This concern made the baldy with curly hair feel that the shaman chief had become weak.
The beastmen in the cave poured out.
The baldy with curly hair saw the shaman chief and momentarily failed to recognize him.
The shaman chief had a strong physique, curved horns with sharp spikes, and a pair of black raven wings that had once been filled with thick feathers.
But now, the feathers on his wings had all fallen out, leaving behind a pair of bald wings that looked like a featherless chicken.
In comparison, the few pimples on the shaman chief’s face appeared insignificant.
Not just him, the beastmen around him, whether they were minotaurs or horned beasts or weak horned beasts, had all lost fur to varying degrees, constantly scratching at themselves.
The entire tribe had been infected with the strange illness.
The shaman chief scratched away as he spoke: “We must have been abandoned by the Four Dark Gods to contract this strange illness, so we must hold the Reckoning Ritual.”
The Reckoning Ritual…
Hearing this, the baldy with curly hair gasped. This ritual involved the beastmen of the tribe killing each other, with the soul of the loser being sacrificed to gain the attention of the Four Dark Gods through bloodshed.
