Chapter 501: Was Regret Useful Now?

Chapter 501: Was Regret Useful Now?

The cover of Oss’s Magic Weapon Summoning Book was a cute, cartoonish image of his little sister. Green’s cover showed a Forest. As for Fred’s, his design was fairly simple—just a fiery red background. Garcia’s was by far most plain; it barely changed at all, merely showing an additional emblem on the cover.

Dan Marina’s featured a Giant Dragon. Its appearance grated on Zheng Yichen’s nerves slightly. It looked just like an enlarged… or rather, a fully grown version of him. Still, his dragon form hadn’t grown at all, remaining locked in a juvenile state. Therefore, even though she’d illustrated his mature form, Zheng Yichen didn’t worry about his identity being revealed.

As a Human entirely faceblind where dragons were concerned, Zheng Yichen didn’t understand why his scarily intimidating dragon face—capable of scaring children into tears—was supposedly “handsome.” Why would anyone think that? Well, this all came from Augusta, the Red Dragon himself. During their mutual flattery exchange, the other let slip that, had Zheng Yichen been on Dragon Island, he could perhaps easily have wooed several female dragons… Thinking about the Red Dragon’s personality, that “perhaps” needed to be struck off entirely and replaced with an absolute “definitely.”

As for Augusta’s remark about Zheng Yichen still falling short in comparison to him… it could be safely ignored. Acknowledging such a statement would only inflate his ego further!

So, according to this, Zheng Yichen’s appearance was considered handsome among the Dragon Clan?

Bah! Like he said: he was completely faceblind!

“Uggghhh…!” Just as Zheng Yichen was busy chatting, a commotion broke out not far away. A Mercenary stumbled out of his tent, grabbing at his chest in agony before collapsing to the ground. His chest had swollen unnaturally, bulging rhythmically as though something inside it was pounding wildly.

A crowd quickly gathered around him. Among them were two Church Knights who had swiftly arrived. Under their sharp gazes, the fallen Mercenary’s teammates reluctantly stepped back. There was still hope for him, however slim… but realistically? It vanished.

Only a high-level Restoration Magic could save him now. Such a spell required him to be decapitated first, only then regrowing everything below the head. His entire body was already riddled with Flesh Seeds. Ordinary methods were useless. Even a Fixation Potion must be taken before bodily deterioration set in. Using one now would only trap him in this half-dead, agonized state. Besides, that treatment was financially out of reach for most. There was simply no saving him.

“Rest easy.” The stern Church member drew his sword. A single thrust penetrated the thrashing Mercenary’s chest. Immediately, the spreading tear marks that had risen to the victim’s neck froze. The piercing blow annihilated everything within his torso, obliterating all traces of the Flesh Seeds.

“Burn the body. If not, he’ll ‘rise’ again soon enough.” The knight stated gravely, scanning the surrounding faces. Many dropped their gazes nervously beneath his stare. “This Quarantine Camp may not enforce checks as strictly as the Temporary Camp… but its dangers rise accordingly. Anyone injured must step forward now! Reveal your status! Even if infection is present… It may be too late, but you’ll ensure others aren’t dragged down.”

Entering an Isolation Zone camp was straightforward. Primary screening focused purely on injury presence. Asking people to remove clothing for inspection? Impossible. Unlike the Temporary Camp, a fixed long-term position within the Containment Zone, these were transient Quarantine Camps, intended solely to last while the Lockdown Zone existed. If the Containment Zone dissolved, so did the Temporary Camp. Yet the Quarantine Camps? Disposable at will. Thus, scrutiny remained lax. Fighters returning after battling outside were exhausted; forcing them through repeated, rigorous inspections dampened spirits. Ultimately, this laxity compromised camp security—resulting in breaches caused by individuals, like the one writhing below, who concealed their injuries.

This knight understood. Those refusing truthfulness were numerous. Unseen here, others hid throughout similar camps elsewhere. Through the Magic Weapon Forum’s reports, several places exhibited even grimmer outbreaks, promptly quelled by enforcement units.

The knight scanned the area again moments later. Barely anyone approached despite his earlier warning. He merely nodded. His gaze fixed on the few who did step forth: “Follow me.”

He led them away, the self-accused. Those who had concealed wounds might possess courage for stepping forward at this critical juncture. Some deserved mercy. Relief from pain could be granted should their fates remain sealed. Without intervention? Infection meant excruciating body-rending agony as the thing eventually tore free. For those only mildly injured? Hope existed. He had offered everyone an opening. Those knowingly infected who clung to false optimism? Their own fault lingered. Choices always carry consequences.

The Church Knight had barely departed when new screams rent the tense air: two more victims convulsed nearby. Panic exploded through the Quarantine Camp. Even trusted allies began eyeing one another warily. Some outright confessed minor wounds or past concealments. While individual outbreaks remained isolated, none dared risk exposure during convulsions. What if someone lashed out randomly in suffering, spreading fresh Seeds unknowingly? And those things tearing free… their Human Forms possessed combat capabilities far exceeding mindless beasts. While dying victims might not attack, the post-tearing entities certainly would. Distance was protection.

The thickening cloud of dread compelled many hidden carriers into visibility. Under judging stares, some stomped furiously beyond camp boundaries. Others hesitated, gaze shifting desperately toward Sanctuary Church knights on patrol. Any attempts to beg the Church knights for leniency were instantly rebuffed. Later? Rules might relax. Today? This Isolation Zone framework remained embryonic, requiring harsh rigidity. Those refusing earlier chances to step forward… seeking new options? Too late!

Failing to impose structure now meant chaos later. Clear foresight demanded decisive ruthlessness upfront.

Rejected figures sank dejectedly to the dirt, silently pleading for aid. Sadly, camp morale was fractured beyond empathy. Willing hands lacked tools. Ordinary wounds? Perhaps ointments might soothe such obvious pain. Potential Flesh Seed infection? Entirely different. Those touched by a Human Form might not necessarily carry infection… or perhaps they already hosted dormant seeds. Without specialized Church detection, no one could know. Time remained the sole proof… and the cruelest test. Because when confirmation finally dawned? Death walked closely beside.

“Sigh…” Green gazed troubledly toward the unfolding tragedy nearby. “Clearing Human Forms gets harder and harder. Avoid wounds entirely? Fighting those Soul Spirits never demanded this level of hassle!” His Special Combat Suit, costly protection, shielded them all. Green’s near-disaster earlier stemmed purely from Negative Energy damage, not physical contact.

“I should check.” Oswald started rising, troubled. Fred’s powerful hand caught his arm. The Berserker Fred held immense innate strength. Oss’s heightened Blood Essence-aided might remained measurably weaker. Fred’s Lineage defined him: seemingly calm until combat ignited fury. His tribe maintained a distinct silence technique. Suppressing latent rage until warfare unleashed it prevented them becoming volatile social explosives.

“Best avoid interference, leader.” Fred rumbled deeply. “You cannot protect everyone.” Oswald remained a Demon Sword Cultist, wielder of novel Bloodline Power. Uniquely personal, unlike Magic Mana or Battle Qi. Strength derived purely from vital fluids, not soul-bonded Magic. Its cost reflected that: once death claimed Oswald, no lingering power would remain, just as Battle Qi vanished instantly but unlike the residual Mana held within a severed soul.

True life-force restoration might yet be possible… But should Oswald succeed even once, tides of troubles swamped them. Revealing his Cultist identity was merely the opening risk. Those saved might not even show gratitude! Demon Sword Cultists were accepted, begrudgingly. Yet “Cultist” still repelled decent company. Oswald stood alone. How many wounded filled the Isolation Zone? One hundred? More? No machine existed to endlessly replenish him. Each act drained Blood Essence, his very lifeblood. Rescuing one would trigger cascading demands. Stopping later meant creating swaths of bitter, spurned enemies.

Therefore: no aid would flow.

“I…” Oss looked down at the cover of his Magic Weapon Summoning Book. His sister had always been kind… Would she step forward now?

Oswald slowly retook his seat, feelings knotted—remorse wrestling resignation. He hadn’t fully internalized the ruthless logic defining a “power wielder’s” world. Unlike Fred and Green… he couldn’t simply accept events unfolding. Too many strange horrors filled existence. Witnessing this outbreak today promised encounters with far darker, more disturbing things later. Experience breeds detachment. Silence often becomes the only rational choice. He knew… his sensitivity stemmed partially from former adventures being comparatively ‘minor skirmishes’ alongside Fred and Garcia.

Previously? Exploration was purely small team-based. Seldom had they experienced massive congregation points like this camp housing swaths of Adventurers and Mercenaries together. The Border Great Wall? Their initial large-scale outing. Yet its Corruption entities long predated Oss’s involvement. His detachment persisted then; this tragedy directly unfolding was a first visceral confrontation before his eyes.

“Leader… There’s no shame in your desire.” Green kept his voice low. Oswald nodded thoughtfully. Acceptance settled.

Lena, nearby, smiled faintly. “Choosing inaction is the truly wise path. Observing that Church Knight’s actions? That’s Sanctuary Church deliberately framing new rules. Had healers aided concealed casualties today? A vast burden hampering Church efforts would follow. Establishing clear, unforgiving precedents makes everyone extra cautious. Later, rooting out concealed carriers drastically eases Church operations. Early infection? Still reversible.”

Flesh Seed propagation began gradually. Infected tissue cut away swiftly? Problem solved, provided no new seeds invaded later neglect. Only delayed discovery proved fatal—the seeds multiplying exponentially until only the head remained truly self.

“Consequently? Intervening successfully today, leader? Beyond merely exposing you? Subverts the Church’s entire containment strategy. That situation brings nothing but unbearable hardship.”

Green silently grimaced internally. That woman… consistently proved unnervingly astute. While their own clumsy, brute-force attempts to dissuade Oswald stumbled, her calm, reasoned analysis instantly cleared his troubled mind. Watching Oswald discard any lingering recklessness, Green and Fred refocused on the unfolding events.

Problematic individuals were immediately isolated. Some companions stepped in protectively. The Church knights halted… patiently waiting with folded arms. The interfering Adventurer friends froze awkwardly mid-objection… What now? An empty gesture turned into an absurd standoff. Perhaps negotiate their own exit now? But Sanctuary Church had perfected such counterstrategies. They stared unblinkingly past the desperate embarrassment. Since interference occurred… solve your problems yourselves. One clean execution blow sufficed.

Observant watchers grasped the Church’s meaning: establishing authority! Only firm rules ensured safety. Clear-headed individuals welcomed this sternness. Short-term unease fostered long-term collective benefit. Safety mattered to everyone.

Under this realization, reluctant friends eventually steeled their hearts, granting poisoned comrades merciful deaths. Failure to intercede granted the Human Form freedom… forcing an unwanted battle. Already shunned… why invite further hostility?

Following execution completion concerning the late-revealing victims, an interesting moment unfolded: two volunteers earlier escorted away by knights reappeared. Their faces glowed with salvation relief! Instantly, questions flew from eager, previously deceptive camp members. Zheng Yichen saw their schemes clearly… selfish ambition.

“Did the Church heal us? No! We returned simply because we were uninjured after all… nothing infected us!” One returnee displayed his bandaged upper arm. “Check this wound! Barely took a cut! During the knights’ inspection, my soul almost left my body… thought I was doomed. But they confirmed me clean—healthy. Their healer even kindly gave a quick magic-assisted suture.”

Silence. Concealment victims felt immense regret. Could it have been this simple!? Had they confessed injuries without infection carrying? No need to hide…

Moments later… the third returnee appeared. His face expressed a complex mix: relief battling confusion. He silently gathered belongings before trudging toward the Church knights’ double-layer Barrier-protected camp core. Curious onlooker approached him.

“…Stop asking. I was infected. Mildly. Church personnel fixed me.”

“That’s good, surely?” The Mercenary questioner frowned, baffled by his melancholic expression. Previously hidden sufferers felt worse than before: Curses! Uninfected returnees were understandable… But an actual carrier healed and returned?! Such stinging mockery! Didn’t the Church knights look like agents carrying victims to fiery punishment? Expressionless faces terrified everyone hauled away!

“Oh, it was lifesaving… And costly! They made me sign a Contract with Sanctuary Church. My debt requires a lifetime dedicated to repayment.” The Adventurer bitterly confirmed. “Entire life… gone to creditors.”

“Still seems positive…?”

“Until debt clears? Zero chance of becoming a formal Church member.”

“…Oh.” Now not positive at all. The difference between official Sanctuary Church members and ‘linked individuals’ like him remained astronomically vast. Respect deserved existed for thoroughly screened Church initiates. In essence? This saved Adventurer was now a ‘temporary worker’… error-intolerant, bound to obey Church regulations via Contract yet unrecognized internally. Completion? No automatic promotion pathway. Merely freedom… Perhaps reapplying afterwards as a civilian? Age likely disadvantageous by contract’s end. His heavy obligations implied decades of repayment ahead.

Still… intense regret washed over many!

If I knew then… why hide? Salvation existed! Myself concealing discarded opportunity. So… Was Regret Useful Now?

The Church’s resounding silence echoed refusal.