Chapter 224: The Town You Can’t Return To (End)

Chapter 224: The Town with No Turning Back (Complete)

White spores ascended into the sky, dispersing like clouds in all directions. The fine threads of spores carried the message Jason wished to convey, drifting with the wind to reach every ascetic.

The spore threads nimbly climbed into the ear canals, making contact with the auditory nerves and simulating auditory information, which was then transmitted to the brain. Constant Luck murmured the intelligence she received:

“To leave the town, we must first shed our identities as undertakers?”

The long-standing teamwork and trust within the group meant that Constant Luck had no doubts about the escape method her leader had discovered, yet her face remained somber, her fists clenched tightly as she struggled with the decision.

For it was the black robes of the undertakers that shielded them from the deathly aura and spirits of the old district—allowing them to walk through the pitch-black, cold stone buildings that resembled graves while still maintaining their vital signs within normal limits.

Without this protection, the harsh winter of death would descend upon them directly.

—Not to mention, some unseen “shadows” were closely following them.

At this moment, even through the black robe, Constant Luck could feel the icy limbs of the woman behind her, her long hair occasionally brushing against her cheek and the back of her hand, and the increasingly heavy weight pressing down on her spine...

The woman clung to her intimately, her limbs like cold, soft snakes, tightly coiling around her, greedily siphoning off the warmth of the living.

Constant Luck could hardly imagine the peril she would face once she removed the black robe.

Time ticked away, and a difficult choice lay before them.

After hesitating for a few seconds, Constant Luck gritted her teeth, tore off her pale mask, and quickly undid the buttons at the collar of her black robe, urgently barking at her companion:

“Hurry up and take it off—then run!”

Without hesitation, Feet of Time followed suit without needing any further urging.

Soon, they cast off their masks, shed their black robes, and, suppressing the bone-chilling cold, fled desperately forward.

The moment they shed their identities as undertakers, the scene before them transformed abruptly. Towering buildings curled and shrank, eventually becoming rows of black stone tombs inscribed with the names of the deceased.

Biting cold winds howled between the mounds, as if carrying the sighs and roars of the dead, sweeping towards Constant Luck and her companion.

This was the true appearance of the old district—a vast, boundless cemetery!

Constant Luck lowered her head, evading the woman's hands that sought to strangle her, and charged forward recklessly.

At first, it was Feet of Time who ran faster, pulling Constant Luck along in a sprint;

But gradually, the force propelling her forward slackened, slackened...

Feet of Time began to fall behind, his throat wheezing like a broken bellows, gasping for breath.

"There... behind you..."

As soon as Constant Luck opened her mouth, an abnormally icy breath rushed down her throat, making her shiver uncontrollably, "Are there more and more 'people' behind you?"

"...Yes."

Feet of Time had no strength left to give a fuller response.

More and more hands reached out from behind him, weighing him down as if filled with lead.

There were the wrinkled hands of the elderly, like tree bark; the small, delicate palms of children, carved like white lotus roots; and the long, neatly manicured fingers of young women...

These hands of the dead either rested on Feet of Time's shoulders, clutched at his collar or hem, or pressed tightly against his neck—feeling through a thin layer of skin, the pulsing veins and the hot blood flowing within...

The numerous dead clung to him as if countless survivors were crowded onto a narrow dugout canoe, preferring to drag the canoe down into the deep sea rather than let go.

With each step, his feet grew heavier, and his muscles sent signals of soreness;

With each breath, the cold seeped down his trachea into his lungs, the bone-chilling cold filling his organs, causing the internal organs of Feet of Time to be soaked in the aura of death, gradually weakening...

In this process, the condition of Feet of Time deteriorated.

In contrast, Constant Luck maintained her steady and powerful pace.

Due to her extraordinary luck, apart from the "woman on her back" who initially drew her attention to the anomaly, no dead targeted her... Because of her luck, the hands reaching out from the graves bypassed her, focusing instead on the back of Feet of Time.

Constant Luck realized that once again, her luck came at the cost of her companion's misfortune...

A mist of moisture gathered at the bottom of her eyes, and she held back the impulse to shed tears of guilt, asking anxiously, "How are you feeling now?"

"If... we split up and run, would your condition improve?"

Feet of Time blinked slowly, his eyelashes already covered with a layer of white frost, turning everything he saw into a pale, corpse-like hue.

His ears buzzed, and apart from his own heavy breathing and the weary thumping of his heart, he could hear nothing else. He could only vaguely express his most profound sensation—

"Cold..."

"So cold."

Constant Luck assessed that her companion had lost his clear consciousness. If they separated, the likelihood of Feet of Time escaping the town alone was virtually zero— even if he could return to a past time point, it would be difficult for him to handle such large-scale, rule-based dangers, likely falling repeatedly before escaping, until the cumulative number of deaths led to his ultimate demise.

Thus, Constant Luck did not let go, using all her strength to pull Feet of Time forward.

However, no matter how far they ran, before them stretched an endless, desolate graveyard.

The tombstones were inscribed with curving lines of text, like twisted, cold eyes watching their futile struggle.

Constant Luck began to doubt herself:

Had she really made the right decision?

Did she violate some rule that kept them from escaping this graveyard?

Would she... end up killing her companions here?

Feeling the grip of Feet of Time on her hand gradually weaken, Constant Luck's heart grew increasingly anxious, as if consumed by flames.

What should she do now?

What to do, what to do, what to do...

In her distress, a sudden inspiration flashed through her mind, making her eyes light up.

She abruptly remembered the silver key personally bestowed by the Apostle to open the gates of Sombera—its side effect was precisely to revert the holder’s physical and mental state to a certain point in the past!

Fortunately, because Constant Luck's Ability could minimize the negative effects of such side effects, the leader had entrusted her with this special item before they split up.

Constant Luck took out the key to the Lost Kingdom, its uneven teeth pressing into her palm like a piece of ice that couldn’t be warmed, so cold it almost felt scalding.

Her breath condensed into white mist in the air, but a flush of excitement rose to Constant Luck's cheeks, and a smile curved her lips.

"Praise fate..." Her lips moved, praying in broken phrases between her panting breaths, "May the Lord also kindly protect us this time!"

Saying this, she firmly pressed the key into the hands of Feet of Time.

The moment his fingers touched the cold surface of the key, Feet of Time instinctively trembled and tried to pull away, but Constant Luck held his hand forcefully, making him grip the key tightly.

"W-Wh...at?"

Feet of Time's gaze was unfocused as he slowly turned to look at the figure dragging him forward, his sluggish mind still trying to seek an answer.

"Hope," Constant Luck said, "We need to wait for a hope—granted by fate."

Before Feet of Time could fully grasp her meaning, it seemed as if a bright star had risen before his eyes.

The silver surface of the key began to emit a scattering of light, which quickly spread, momentarily turning the ground beneath their feet and the tombstones around them pure white.

The silver light, like pristine frost, rapidly climbed up Feet of Time's arm. Whether it was his imagination or not, he vaguely heard the wails and cries of the dead. The ghostly hands that had clung to him seemed to scatter and retreat, unable to bear the burning heat, as if they were intolerant of the scorching sun...

In an instant, the light enveloped Feet of Time's increasingly pale and weary face, forming a large white cocoon that wrapped around him entirely.

Under the influence of divine corruption, time rewound at that moment.

A divine force enveloped a weak little fish, carrying it upstream against the current.

When the light faded, Feet of Time's condition had returned to what it was two days ago—before he had set foot in the Shadow Realm, when he was ignorant yet healthy.

His mind was still blank, but his legs, as if driven by some mechanical memory, continued moving forward on inertia; behind him, several icy hands, cold and lifeless like corpses, caressed his neck with their soft, slippery touch, trying to grab hold of him.

These hands were so limp and lacking elasticity that they reminded Feet of Time of earthworms in mud. As their fingertips lightly traced his neck, goosebumps rose wherever they passed.

The Feet of Time, caught off guard, stumbled in disgust and nearly lost balance, almost being pulled down by Constant Luck.

"What happened? Where are we...?"

Hearing her companion's voice regain vitality, Constant Luck felt a warmth well up in her eyes, as if tears were about to spill over, but the corners of her mouth couldn't help but curve upward.

...Praise fate, hope has finally arrived.

Relieved, Constant Luck let out a long breath, murmuring to herself.

She paused for a moment, then spoke again, her voice slightly hoarse, urging, "Don't ask so many questions now, just run with me!"

Amidst the rapid footsteps, a beam of light appeared at the end of their vision, gradually expanding as they pursued it, like the rising sun.

They finally ran out of the cemetery.

The chilling aura of death that had enveloped them began to dissipate. Constant Luck steadied her breathing and looked up to see the leader standing before them, nodding reassuringly.

"Now we are outside the Twelve Cities' boundaries, and the town rules no longer apply," Jason, understanding the young people's insatiable curiosity, informed them, "If you're curious, you can look back."

Taking a few deep breaths, the joy of successful escape began to fade from Constant Luck, replaced by a growing anger—

She wanted to take a closer look at what had been holding them back so desperately!

Turning around angrily, Constant Luck saw once more the desolate, dark graveyard, and at its edge, she could faintly make out some ruins... It turned out that the so-called "new district" had long been abandoned, with no signs of normal human life.

At the boundary between the graveyard and the outskirts of the city, a signpost stood, painted with bright flowers and a sun, and in the center, a line of text read— "Welcome to Sombera's Twelfth City, the City of Eternity!" The final exclamation mark was thick and round, evoking the writer's enthusiasm and joy.

This had once been a sincere welcome and anticipation from the town's residents, not the malicious lure it is today.

The signpost before the ascetics was now covered in dust, with messy cobwebs clinging to its corners. The once vibrant colors had faded, leaving it dull and lifeless, standing alone before the desolate graveyard.

It would no longer await flowers, sunshine, or throngs of travelers; only indistinct figures of the dead lingered before the signpost.

Among them were elderly figures, bent with age, and small, frail children. They stared greedily at the outsiders for a long time, their gazes fixed and intense, before finally turning away with regret, continuing to drift aimlessly through the graveyard.

The town was abandoned, yet the spirits remained trapped here—trapped in the false prosperity of what the town once was.

Gazing at the scene before her, the fury in Constant Luck's heart gradually dissipated without her noticing.

She whispered, "Sombella... What truly happened back then?"

How many more towns like this, eerie and tragic, could there be?

"Perhaps one day, fate will give us the answer," Jason said, lowering his eyes. "—But until then, we must move forward."