Chapter 738: Chapter 626: Analysis

Nine people stood on the hillside, scrutinizing each other.

Silence lasted a few seconds, then a middle-aged warlock in a dark blue robe spoke.

"It seems everyone has chosen this place." His voice was calm, his gaze sweeping over everyone’s faces, "I didn’t expect so many people to choose here."

"Perhaps because they chose more obvious targets," another young witch interjected, her voice carrying a cold analytical tone, "This spot’s enigma kills slowly, not the kind that destroys a city outright. Many might think this ’mild’ enigma isn’t valuable."

"Not valuable?" A burly warlock sneered, "Should the value of such rule-bound creatures really be judged by their killing speed?"

The young witch gave him a glance, not refuting, just saying flatly, "I’m only analyzing others’ psychology, not representing my viewpoint."

Jeming stood on the edge of the crowd, not rushing to speak.

He realized that the atmosphere among these wizards wasn’t as tense as expected, but neither was it enthusiastic, more like a group of temporarily assembled colleagues probing each other before officially starting work.

No fools among those who secured a spot.

They all knew that on this battlefield, where output levels were restricted and large-scale destruction prohibited, going solo wasn’t necessarily optimal.

Especially against such undefined perils, an extra person meant extra security.

The middle-aged warlock in the dark blue robe, with the strongest spiritual power fluctuations, seemed to become the temporary convener.

He spoke again: "Since everyone is here, I propose we first find the manager of the Artificial People to get first-hand information before deciding the next step. What do you all think?"

No one objected.

Nine figures rose from the hill, flying toward the town center.

To avoid alarming ordinary people, they descended before entering the town sky, skimming the rooftops, finally landing in front of a three-story stone building.

A wooden plaque hung at the entrance: "Town Office".

An old man stood at the door.

Or rather, someone who looked like an old man.

He was hunched over, wearing a washed-out gray coat, his face full of wrinkles, his graying beard neatly trimmed.

His eyes were amber, exactly the same color as the sky of this plane.

The group, who had just learned about this plane, knew this was the characteristic trait of the Artificial People’s manager.

"Old Herman?" The warlock in the dark blue robe stepped forward.

The old man slightly bowed, his movements imbued with an old-fashioned politeness: "Indeed. Lords, you have finally arrived."

His voice was hoarse, carrying a tone that could not discern whether from fatigue or resignation.

"Let’s talk inside. Outside is inconvenient."

The first floor of the town office was a spacious conference room, with a long table flanked by more than ten chairs.

The nine wizards took their seats, Old Herman stood at one end of the long table, his hands on the tabletop, his amber eyes scanning everyone present.

"Let me first confirm the information you already know." He said, "The report you saw on the Magic Network Terminal is from three hours ago. In these three hours, two more people have died."

The atmosphere in the meeting room turned heavier.

"The same family?" Jeming asked.

Old Herman looked at him, nodded: "Yes. That finger appeared in blacksmith Hans’s salt shaker yesterday. Hans’s family of five had dinner last night. Early this morning, Hans and his eldest son passed away. By the morning, the wife and younger daughter also passed. The youngest son is still struggling, but..."

He shook his head, not finishing the sentence.

"Take us to see the bodies." The young witch stood up and said.

Old Herman gave her a glance, said nothing more, just nodded and immediately turned to lead the way.

The basement of the town office was temporarily converted into a morgue.

Forty-nine corpses were neatly arranged on metal tables, each covered with white cloth.

A strange odor permeated the basement, though it didn’t smell like rotting, it was more... fishy and salty.

"Like the smell of fish drying on the seashore."

Jeming thought silently, eyes lowered.

Old Herman unveiled the white cloth on the most recent corpse.

Jeming and several wizards stepped forward.

The deceased was a middle-aged man, his body severely bloated, his skin showing a semi-transparent pallor, as if soaked in water for a long time.

But more striking were the skin’s textures, resembling pickled meat, with unnatural contraction and hardening between muscle fibers.

"No more detailed autopsy?" The warlock in the dark blue robe asked.

"We temporarily lack the conditions here, and I don’t have the corresponding technology loaded in my soul."

Old Herman shook his head regretfully, looking up at the earlier corpses:

"For now, relying on the doctors’ basic anatomy knowledge loaded there, we’ve managed a preliminary inspection, more details are beyond reach."

Listening, Jeming didn’t hesitate.

He raised his hand, a thin strand of wind blade gathering at his fingertip, lightly tracing along the deceased’s abdomen.

The skin parted.

The state of the subcutaneous tissue changed the eyes of all wizards present.

The subcutaneous fat of a recently deceased should be pale yellow, soft in texture.

But this body’s subcutaneous tissue appeared grayish, with a texture as hard as wax.

Jeming continued, his wind blade delve deeper, slicing open the kidneys.

The kidneys had shrunk nearly half, with a wrinkled surface of dark red turning black.

He used the wind blade’s tip to pick up a small piece of tissue, observing it closely.

"Interesting, this tissue’s internal sodium content is normal," Jeming said, "but the tissue’s state indeed seems pickled, it appears the opponent’s method isn’t merely altering matter, but..."

He paused, searching for the right expression.

"...an alteration at the existential level."

The young witch came over too, she stretched out her right hand, a faint blue glow at her fingertip, lightly touching the kidney tissue.

Seconds later, she withdrew her hand, her expression turning serious.

"My detection witchcraft tells me this person’s kidney has ’conceptually’ become salted meat." Her tone was calm, but the content made everyone present feel a chill, "It truly wasn’t salted, but redefined by some power of ’what it should be." In that power’s perception, this piece of tissue should have been salty, hard, cured."

Silence descended in the basement for a few seconds.

The warlock in the dark blue robe took a deep breath: "So the food too, it’s not that too much salt was added, but the food itself became salty on a ’conceptual’ level."

"Indeed." The young witch nodded, "And it’s not just the body. Feel the soul remnants on these bodies."

The other wizards instinctively reached out with their spiritual power to perceive.

Jeming’s spiritual power penetrated the soul traces of the corpses, feeling an unprecedented "distortion."

In the fragments of the deceased’s soul, there was no fear or pain... or rather, those emotions had been entirely overshadowed by some power.

Overshadowing them was a pure sort of "inevitability" similar to "saltiness."

Like you asking a piece of salted meat, "Do you feel salty?" the meat would not answer because it already is salty.

Salt is its essence, not its perception.

Jeming withdrew his spiritual power and exchanged a glance with the other wizards.

At that moment, the nine achieved consensus.

"This isn’t a curse." Another wizard said, voice small but clear, "This is a redefinition of the concept of ’saltiness.’ The finger didn’t poison the food, it declared... ’you were salty to begin with.’"

The meeting room was silent.

Old Herman stood aside, his amber eyes watching these High Tier Wizards reach a conclusion, the corners of his mouth slightly moved.

Then he turned towards the staircase, leaving a sentence.

"That finger is currently in butcher Hans’s salt shaker. If the lords are ready, I can lead the way."

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