Chapter 84: The Old Soldier Does Not Die

Chapter 84: The Old Soldier Does Not Die

"Grandpa Momu is back!"

Even before he reached the village, the old soldier Momu heard the excited shrieks of children from the settlement.

That heavenly sound instantly washed away Momu’s exhaustion from the journey, filling his body with boundless energy.

"Hahaha, lads, hurry up! If we don’t move faster, those greedy little rascals might swallow their own tongues!" Momu called out to the young men behind him.

"Hahaha…" The young men burst into hearty laughter at his words, their steps quickening immediately.

The goods on their shoulders and backs suddenly didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

As the young men stepped into the village, the elderly, women, and children—already alerted by the children’s cries—emerged from their homes, gathering around with excitement written all over their faces.

It was the depths of winter, and the biting cold made traveling to the city a grueling ordeal.

For their remote village, far from any town, the journey was even harder.

But necessities had to be traded for and purchased.

And so, Chief Momu had led the village’s young men, carrying cured meats and pelts, to exchange for goods in the city.

Unlike previous years, thanks to the grace of the Internet God, everyone in the village now practiced Battle Aura techniques, and some had even learned simple magic, greatly improving their hunting efficiency.

Every household now had cured meat hanging from their beams.

But that wasn’t all.

A few months ago, the mage lords of the Empire had sent winter mallow seeds. These seeds, when scattered in the wild, sprouted within days and could be harvested in just over a month.

Cut one batch, and another would grow in its place.

Following recipes shared openly on the internet, the villagers chopped the winter mallow and mixed it with black grain flour, shaping it into dumplings. A quick boil with a pinch of salt, and a steaming bowl in the dead of winter warmed them from head to toe—a comfort beyond words.

Pair it with a plate of thinly sliced cured meat, and not even the gods would trade such a life.

The abundance of food finally allowed the village to spare extra cured meat for trading in the city for finer goods.

"Oh my, Auntie Lei, look at this patterned cloth! It’s so beautiful!"

"Indeed! Where did you buy it, Old Man Mo?"

"Hahaha, I heard online that Auntie Nina in the west of the city weaves the most beautiful and durable linen. I made a special trip to check it out, and let me tell you, it’s truly impressive!"

"Such a sharp boning knife!"

"Grandpa Mo, where’s the malt candy you promised?"

"Here it is, here it is!"

The villagers crowded around the goods brought back by the young men, admiring and commenting, their faces alight with joy.

The skilled women were already discussing what could be made from the new fabrics.

Children ran around, laughing and playing with their malt candy.

The older boys, handed new weapons bought by their fathers, eagerly began practicing on the spot, their blood boiling with excitement.

Watching the villagers’ delight, a faint smile of contentment appeared on Momu’s lips.

From the goods, he retrieved the expensive candied fruit he had specially purchased and left the crowd, heading toward the center of the village.

There stood a small wooden house.

It was modest, with just one room.

Inside, the space was empty except for an exquisitely carved shrine placed opposite the door.

Before the shrine stood a small altar table.

Momu knelt reverently on one knee, removed the broadsword from his waist, and placed the precious candied fruit on the altar. Then, in a low voice, he began to chant:

"Great being from Azure Star, You are the Master of Language and Script, the Founder of the Internet. Under Your protection, I shall interconnect with all living things."

The webpage appeared before him as always.

Momu smiled. The Internet God was truly the most down-to-earth and diligent deity he had ever encountered!

He always answered prayers without fail.

I wonder, Momu thought, if responding to countless internet requests from so many people ever exhausted Him?

At this childish notion, Momu chuckled to himself.

"Grandpa Momu!"

A shrill scream shattered his amusement. In an instant, Momu snatched up his broadsword and rushed outside.

Before he could even ask what was happening, the sight before him made his pupils dilate, his skin prickle with goosebumps, and a chill crawl from his scalp down to his tailbone.

Above Deer Forest, a towering light gate, dozens of feet high, had suddenly materialized.

Within the gate, a black vortex swirled, and from it emerged massive bone dragons that circled ominously around the portal.

From the lower half of the gate, countless skeletons, ghouls, liches, and zombies poured forth in a relentless tide.

"Grandpa Momu, wh-what... what is that?"

The young men of the village ran toward him, their faces twisted in terror.

Momu stared blankly at the horrifying scene in the distance. After a long pause, he finally let out a hoarse, desperate roar:

"Run! Run to the city! That’s... that’s the army of the God of Death! The undead army!"

A deathly silence swept over the crowd.

Every villager stood frozen.

The next moment, chaos and screams engulfed the remote border village.

Some stood dumbstruck, staring blankly at the distant portal.

Others bolted in terror toward their homes.

A few trembled uncontrollably, curling up beneath their beds.

Some scrambled frantically to gather their valuables.

And some, utterly lost, dropped to their knees, praying desperately to the mage lords—or to the Internet God.

"Run! Don’t take anything, just run! Get to the city and you’ll be safe!"

"You fools, run! There’s no time, leave your things behind!"

"Ron, run!"

Momu raced through the village like a madman, urging the villagers to flee.

But there were too many of them, and reactions varied wildly.

Some acted decisively and bolted immediately.

But most hesitated, unwilling to abandon their homes and possessions.

To them, even a single spoon or needle was a treasure—there was simply too much to pack, too much to leave behind.

Seeing the undead army steadily assembling, Momu gritted his teeth. He could only rally the villagers and children who had already gathered and flee the village in panic.

The icy air filled their lungs but did nothing to cool the burning in their chests.

The crowd sprinted wildly, but as stamina varied, the fleeing villagers soon stretched into a scattered, broken line.

When Momu and the able-bodied men climbed a small hill and looked back, a terror so deep it chilled their bones and a despair beyond measure seized their hearts.

A dark tide of undead flooded into the village, only to surge out moments later, chasing the straggling line of fleeing villagers.

Enormous bone dragons swooped low over the crowd, unleashing breaths of agonizing corrosion.

Amid the dark vapors, villagers wailed in despair, clawing at their own flesh as it sloughed away. When bare bones were exposed, the cold hollows of their skulls ignited—transforming them into lowly skeleton soldiers.

Those with stronger bodies twisted into ghouls, their skin sloughing off as they lunged at family members who had narrowly escaped the deadly breath.

"Mom!"

"Grandpa!"

The young men and children gathered around Momu screamed hysterically at the sight of the distant crowd.

"Run!"

"Run now!"

"We'll be safe once we reach the city!"

Momu frantically held onto a child who was trying to break free to find their mother, holding back tears as he sprinted madly toward the city.

The path of escape felt endless!

His legs felt as if they were filled with lead, unbearably heavy, yet Momu had no choice but to summon every ounce of strength to lift them and move forward, step by agonizing step.

Above them, bone dragons occasionally tore through the sky, shrieking as they soared past!

Whether it was because Momu and his group were too insignificant or because the dragons had received new orders, they did not unleash their breath attacks. This left Momu and the others trembling in terror—though they had no time to tremble, for behind them was an undead army that stretched as far as the eye could see.

After what felt like an eternity, Momu and the others finally neared the city.

A pale blue magical shield, delicate as fine porcelain, arched over the city like an inverted bowl.

At the edges of the shield, countless fleeing villagers pounded desperately against the floating screens, wailing for the mage lords to let them in.

"Please, let us in! We beg you!"

"Mage lords, I won’t go in, but at least let my child inside, please!"

The heart-wrenching cries pierced Momu’s heart like countless icicles.

Above the magical shield, bone dragons circled, their hollow, azure skulls coldly observing, waiting for the city’s defenders to make their choice.

"How could this be?! How could things come to this?!"

Momu stood by the magical shield, stomping his feet and weeping uncontrollably.

As if hearing his despair, the city’s defenders suddenly dispelled the shield.

The countless people pressing against it stumbled forward, collapsing in a heap.

But instead of cursing, they were overcome with wild joy, surging madly into the city.

At that very moment, the towering Magic Tower at the city’s center erupted in a blinding flash of light.

Momu stared blankly at the radiance—he could clearly see the Magic Tower collapsing!

In that instant, the bone dragons circling above, undaunted by the surge of mana from the tower’s destruction, dove into the city. They bared their jagged fangs, filling every street with torrents of corrosive breath.

Momu felt as if he had been plunged into an icy abyss.

The fleeing masses stood frozen, stunned.

Despair and devastation swept through them like a tide.

After a long moment, Momu wiped away his tears. He grabbed the boy beside him, Ron, and opened the internet, pointing to a saved image. "This is Willis. Run there. Do you understand?"

The fourteen-year-old Ron nodded numbly.

Momu shut off the internet, removed the Interconnected Rings from his hand, and shoved them into Ron’s grip. "Run!" he roared hysterically. "Run like your life depends on it!"

Years of Battle Aura training kicked in—Ron instinctively clutched the rings and sprinted away with every ounce of strength he had.

As he ran, he suddenly realized what was happening and turned back to look at Grandpa Momu.

There stood the white-haired old man, drawing the broadsword he had never abandoned even in flight, turning to face the oncoming tide of the undead army.

The old soldier does not die.