Chapter 1394: The Creeping Disaster

Pittman was a highly skilled druid—though he also claimed to be a professional archaeologist, psychologist, sorcerer, diviner, and even a cook. This string of self-proclaimed titles had earned him a rather ambiguous reputation among acquaintances. But make no mistake: the old man was truly a master druid.

After all, he had once risen to a mid-level priest position within the Cult of the End of All Things (and if he hadn’t been slacking off, he might have climbed even higher). Even after fleeing that cult, he managed to seamlessly integrate into the Sleeper’s Order at a similar rank. Such seemingly erratic moves weren’t just random jumps—only someone with real skill could navigate between two ruthless dark sects like that.

In fact, given Pittman’s shameless style—far more brazen than Amber’s—his longevity and lack of any permanent injuries spoke volumes.

After his initial exclamation, the seasoned druid circled the mass of biological tissue on the platform twice, finally confirming that the “hair” sprouting from the flesh were actually fine root-like tendrils. Inside these tendrils were nerve nodes, a unique structure that made his eyes narrow in interest. “Interesting… Where did you find this thing?”

“Dug up at the front lines, over in that open area to the east,” Rebecca explained quickly. “We noticed a large gathering of mutants and bio-synthetic beasts there, so we sent a dragon combat squad to wipe them out. After the battle, the dragon commander detected residual magical energy underground and dug this up.” She added with a wry smile, “Though I suspect they bit off more than they could chew during the excavation…”

Pittman nodded knowingly. “No wonder. When I arrived, I saw a black dragon perched on the railing, retching so hard it looked like it was about to throw up its gallbladder…”

The researchers nearby exchanged increasingly awkward glances, but fortunately the strange topic didn’t linger. Rebecca quickly refocused on the biological mass. “Old man, can you tell what this is?”

“A large neural tissue, composed of countless nerve fibers, nutrient channels, and a tough ‘skin’ layer. There may be even more complex support structures inside,” Pittman said casually. “The ‘tentacles’ on the surface still show some nerve activity. It likely functioned to send and receive information—though that’s no longer possible. The host is dead; the remaining nerve signals are just the last biochemical reactions of the cells. You said there were lots of mutants and bio-synthetic beasts gathered around it?”

“Yes, it’s a gathering point,” an assistant researcher chimed in. “But we haven’t caught the dark priest commanding those mutants…”

The main forces of the Wasteland Legion were now concentrated near the Deep Blue Well battlefield. The mutants encountered at the Alliance front lines were mostly disorganized mobs lacking leadership. But that didn’t mean they were completely uncontrolled—mutants without orders would go feral, and bio-synthetic beasts would scatter chaotically. Such units were useless for holding back the Alliance forces. So even now, the Wasteland Legion’s units at the front had at least basic command. Even if that command was reduced to merely keeping the monsters clustered, a command system still existed.

This was well understood not only by the Alliance commanders but also by the experts studying the wasteland and mutants on site. There had to be a command node behind the mutants—even if it was just one, it had to exist.

“Come to think of it, it’s strange,” Rebecca murmured, stroking her chin. “I don’t know when exactly, but we haven’t seen any dark priests on the battlefield recently… They’ve always kept their distance from the front lines, but no matter how far, they never completely abandoned their legions. Yet lately, they’ve been nowhere to be seen…”

“Then my guess is probably right…” Pittman tugged at his thinning beard and looked seriously at the mass of flesh on the platform. “This is the command node for those monsters now…”

“…What?” Rebecca was startled. Though her imagination was wild, she hadn’t considered this possibility. “You mean this thing is… commanding the mutants and bio-synthetic beasts? It’s a…”

“I suspect our enemies have learned something from fighting us,” Pittman said slowly. “This neural tissue might be a crude imitation of a ‘synthetic brain.’ The Cult of the End of All Things shares technological roots with the Solin Great Tree. The synthetic brain is a biological computing unit cultivated by the Solin Great Tree. So the cult, knowing about this, probably managed to replicate something similar—though given the time constraints, they only produced this rudimentary version. Still, the concept is clever…”

“I think the mainframe of the Dawn of the World ship looks a lot better than this thing,” Rebecca muttered, frowning. “Don’t you agree, mainframe?”

Several surveillance devices on the lab ceiling focused on the biological mass, and the mainframe’s neutral voice came through the voice synthesizer: “Thank you for the compliment, Creator. However, I do not fully understand the concept of ‘aesthetics.’ As a tool, I consider a design good if it fulfills its purpose and meets cost-benefit standards…”

“Don’t take it so seriously, I was just making a casual remark,” Rebecca waved her hand and turned her gaze back to the sample, frowning again. “But seriously… could all the command nodes at the front lines now be these… ugly ‘synthetic brains’? Have all the dark priests retreated near the Deep Blue Well?”

“…Hard to say. Our allies on other fronts have reported similar situations. They haven’t seen dark priests on the front lines either,” a researcher murmured, stroking his chin. “But no one really knows what the center of the battlefield looks like now—only that it’s swarming with monsters. Hopefully, the high-altitude reconnaissance team that left at noon today can shed some light…”

Before he could finish, an urgent voice suddenly blared over the ship’s broadcast system: “Attention! Medical team and flight engineering unit, proceed immediately to landing platform C-331. Repeat, medical team and flight engineering unit, proceed immediately to C-331…”

Rebecca jumped in alarm and called out to the Dawn of the World’s control center: “Mainframe, what’s happening?”

“The high-altitude reconnaissance squadron has suffered a fatal attack. Of four aircraft, only one barely made it back. The pilot is severely injured,” the mainframe’s calm but rapid voice reported. “The fire on the aircraft has been controlled, but the pilot remains in critical condition.”

“Prepare the transport pod,” Pittman said as soon as the mainframe finished. Without hesitation, he strode toward the door with surprising speed for an old man. “Keep those young medics alive until I get there—I’ll be on site shortly…”

“I’m coming too!” Rebecca hurried to catch up. As they headed toward the transport tube, a huge question gnawed at her mind—how could the reconnaissance squadron be shot down? And almost wiped out? When did the Wasteland Legion develop such formidable anti-air defenses?

It was known from early in the war that the Wasteland Legion had flying units—grotesque creatures with swollen heads resembling mutated flesh balloons. They could fly as high as dragon cavalry and wield various aerial magics. They posed some threat to small and medium flying units, but the Alliance had more than just dragon cavalry: massive airborne fortresses, fully armed dragonborn, and the exceptionally powerful Talrond expeditionary force. Against such overwhelming power, the Wasteland Legion’s air forces had always been suppressed, and their ground-based anti-air firepower was notoriously weak.

As for the Dawn of the World’s high-altitude reconnaissance drones—they were newly designed ultra-high-altitude aircraft. Built on the dragon cavalry platform, they featured closed-loop life support systems and incorporated dragon-provided high-altitude flight technology. They could even fly for extended periods in magical turbulence layers—altitudes far beyond the Dawn of the World’s own flight limits, higher than many ordinary dragons. There was no way the Wasteland Legion’s weak anti-air missiles or useless aerial units could bring down a drone flying in the turbulence layer. They’d need to launch their own mothers to reach that height!

Cursing under his breath, Cecil of the Empire soon arrived with Pittman at landing platform C-331. There, they saw the battered reconnaissance drone—its rune-augmented rings cracked, cockpit scorched and peeling, anti-gravity rings dimmed, and one wing-like structure torn off at the root. It was a miracle the drone had managed to limp back to the airborne mothership at all.

Nearby lay the pilot, gravely injured and unable to be moved to the medical center. The medical team was performing emergency treatment on the spot. The pilot rested on a concave metal platform inscribed with numerous runes and mounted on wheels. A translucent, sac-like sealed cover filled with diluted biomass solution enclosed his body, leaving only his head exposed. Druids and holy light sisters stood nearby, continuously casting healing and purification spells. It seemed the pilot’s condition had finally stabilized.

A team leader handling the situation spotted Pittman and Rebecca and hurried over. “Princess Rebecca, Master Pittman, you’ve arrived—”

“How’s the patient?” Rebecca cut in anxiously. “How did they get shot down?”

“The patient is still in critical condition but stable. Barring complications, they should survive,” the leader nodded. “The aircraft was severely damaged by a high-energy glancing attack. There was no direct hit, but even a near miss caused heavy damage. We’ll need further analysis to understand the specifics…”

“I’ll go check on him,” Pittman said, turning toward the patient. As he approached the medical apparatus, his furrowed brow finally relaxed.

Though the leader said the pilot was still in danger, Pittman believed the young man’s life was safe—and his recovery prospects looked good.

“You’ve got a tough constitution,” the old druid said, tugging his beard as he activated several runes beside the medical device and bent down. “If you’d arrived any later, some of your vital organs would have failed…”

The pilot briefly regained consciousness. He blinked hard at the old druid standing before him. His arm, submerged in the biomass solution, struggled to lift. Pittman frowned, then looked up toward Rebecca. “He might have recorded something—check if the reconnaissance drone’s data recorder is still intact!”

Rebecca turned her head toward the mage-engineers bustling around the nearly falling-apart aircraft. Before she could even ask, one of the engineers, half his body already inside the mechanical compartment, suddenly emerged holding up a small pale blue crystal chip, no bigger than half a palm. “The magic network terminal’s destroyed, but the recording crystal is intact!”

Moments later, this recording crystal—protected by layers of armor and completely unharmed—was delivered to the command center of the Dawn of the Mortal Realm. Once inserted into the command center’s magic network terminal, the stored footage was successfully extracted—

The first half showed normal high-altitude reconnaissance footage. Specially designed sensory crystals magnified the surface conditions, revealing the battlefield near the Deep Blue Well for the first time to the mortal army. The twisted mutants and bio-synthetic beasts surged across the land like a black tide of sludge, sending chills down their spines. A purple-black mist hovered near the surface, as if some alien corrosion was spreading—impressive, but at least something they could comprehend.

—Until the final scene of the footage.

Suddenly, the screen filled with a writhing, grotesque, and utterly terrifying “living thing.” Its main body sprawled across a hill, with countless branching structures extending outward like walls or mountain ranges. Between these branches, a lattice of flesh and blood was gradually taking shape. This colossal, horrifying mass covered nearly an entire plain. It pulsed and writhed on the ground, with countless “branches” that looked like a forest or limbs reaching up toward the sky. And the mutant hordes gathering like tides around it? Compared to this behemoth, they were nothing more than tiny ripples around a boulder.

Jenna Prince and Rebecca stood staring at the holographic projection for a long time before they finally realized that this vast, land-covering, forest-like, constantly moving thing… was a single creature.

One individual. A growing individual. A “monster” commanding the wasteland armies while continuously devouring them, absorbing them as nourishment to become even larger.

Not even the “False God’s Body” created by the ancient End of All Things had ever shaken Jenna Prince with such pure, nightmarish horror. At that moment, she couldn’t help but blurt out, abandoning all decorum: “What the hell… is that thing?!”

(End of chapter)