Chapter 475: Chapter 355: Remorse

Caleb Manning remained in a coma within the cave, completely unaware of the outside world.

Perhaps it was the Holy Water fed to him by Malachi Arcanus that took effect, or maybe it was Caleb Manning’s destiny to survive; the once faint and nearly disappearing breath gradually grew steady and strong.

The high fever covering his body slowly receded. Though the festering blisters and rashes hadn’t disappeared, they showed signs of improvement, indicating he was out of life-threatening danger.

After what seemed like ages, Caleb Manning finally awoke, groggily taking in the unfamiliar cave before him, alongside the sunlight streaming in from the cave entrance.

He paused, seemingly unable to believe he was still alive.

He distinctly remembered being pursued by waves of beastmen, how many exactly he had killed was unclear, only knowing it was many, very many. All those intent on killing him eventually ended up dead.

Similarly, he was not in any better condition, heavily wounded, afflicted by high fever, and then terrifying rashes began to appear.

At first, he thought it was due to his injuries, until later when things worsened, and he began to vomit and suffer diarrhea.

It was then that Caleb Manning finally understood he had contracted the epidemic.

Just like the plague that swept the entire Beast World Continent thirty years ago.

At that time, he thought dying wouldn’t be so bad. After all, living had already become meaningless—a walking corpse.

He struggled to sit up, feeling as if his bones were scattered, without any strength, he could only lean against the cave wall while seated.

The blisters and rashes on his body were still horrifying, but the vomiting and diarrhea had ceased, and that deep-seated cold and feeling of impending death had vanished.

He blankly stared at the simple cave, with its entrance haphazardly covered with twigs, allowing streaks of sunlight to seep through.

A strange odor lingering in the air, the smell of blood, rot, urine, and excrement made one nauseous.

He lowered his head to glance at his own wretched state and noticed suspicious yellow stains on his beast skin pants and his face turned slightly pale, instantly sickened, a look of disdain in his eyes.

Caleb Manning never thought he’d find himself in such a pitiful state, worse even than a beast.

Dragging his filthy body, he stood up, wanting to find a place to clean himself.

Suddenly, a beast skin scroll fell from his arms onto the ground, seemingly with something written on it, which left him momentarily stunned.

He bent down to pick it up, and slowly unfolded it, seeing rows of names of herbs scribbled with a charcoal pen and methods for concoction.

The writing at the bottom was particularly careless: “Follow the prescription, and you won’t die — Malachi Arcanus.”

Malachi Arcanus?

Caleb Manning’s muddled mind instantly cleared; could it be that boorish guy? Was it him? Why was he here?

Why would he save him? And did he know that Caleb Manning was the source of this catastrophe?

He recalled Malachi Arcanus’s pure yet fiery gaze, remembered the times they hunted together in The Wolf Tribe, built houses together, and the laughing and cursing scenes.

Thinking about it made Caleb Manning chuckle involuntarily.

Malachi Arcanus, though reckless and coarse, sometimes speaking without restraint, always boasted about himself. Yet he was the most kind-hearted, never betraying his companions, unlike Caleb himself…

Who would slaughter heedlessly.

The filthy scene of Chloe Callahan’s tragic death once again forcibly invaded his mind, followed by immense anger and a destructive impulse.

At that time he only wanted those who harmed her, ridiculed her, or merely stood by, to be buried alongside.

Blood lust took over, from the pursuers to every innocent passerby beastman, bodies piled up like mountains… He cared nothing about the consequences, cared nothing about the vultures attracted by the decaying bodies, cared nothing about the epidemic silently spreading.

Until this moment, lying in the cave, seeing Malachi Arcanus’s left prescription, suddenly awakening from a dream.

What had he done?

All for a Chloe Callahan who had long disappointed him, insatiably greedy, who even led to her own demise.

Just for the sake of their past bonds…

He turned himself into a monster more terrifying than a beast.

He had caused countless innocent lives to perish, ignited the epidemic fire that swept throughout The Lower Domain with his own hands.

The desperate cries of beastmen, females, old ones, and younglings… Their despair, all caused by Caleb Manning.

Remorse, like the most poisonous vines, instantly tightened around his heart, making him unable to breathe.

A sweet tang rose in his throat, he coughed violently, pulling at all the wounds in his body, curling up from the pain.

Tears flowed uncontrollably…

What right does he have to live? What right does he have to be saved?

Suddenly, a clear image of Luna Sutton’s delicate and beautiful face flashed before his eyes.

Those bright and clear eyes, with an expression of insight, and perhaps… disappointment?

In his madness for Chloe Callahan, so many beastman lives he caused to suffer.

In her eyes, am I ridiculously foolish and despicable to the extreme?

Caleb Manning’s eyes flashed with pain, suddenly buried his head into the crook of his arm, his shoulders trembling slightly, and a beast-like, suppressed, desperate low growl emanated from his throat.

He once longed so much to stand by her side, to protect her forever.

But now, even the right to gaze from afar has been torn to shreds by his own hands.

What right does he have to live?

He doesn’t even deserve to live.

……

Meanwhile, in Beast King City.

The once thriving, bustling colossal city was now shrouded in a somber, dead silence, as if it were a ghost town.

There were few pedestrians on the streets, almost no one to be seen, with every household keeping their doors tightly shut, fearing that stepping out would lead to catching a dreadful epidemic.

At this moment, a patrol of Beastman guards passed through the street, their formation orderly, holding bone-crafted weapons, and each wearing a cloth mask over their faces.

The leading squad captain cast a sharp gaze over the dead silent street, frowning instantly when he saw a hunched figure in a corner. “There’s someone over there, go check. If he’s alive, carry him to the quarantine zone, if dead, drag him outside the city to be burned, and hurry up. Remember to splash that area with wormwood water three times.”

The voice was jarringly clear in the quiet street.

Two Beastman guards immediately stepped forward, skillfully flipping the person over, discovering it to be an elderly Old Beastman, his face covered with oozing red rashes, barely breathing.

“Captain, he’s still breathing.”

One of the Beastman guards turned and loudly reported.

“Take him, take him away, throw him into the quarantine zone. Move quickly.”

The squad captain frowned, waved impatiently like swatting a fly, “Damn it, how many is this today? If this goes on, the city will be empty.”

Those two Beastmen responded, swiftly bringing a stretcher to carry the plague-stricken Old Beastman to the quarantine zone.

Inside the Beast King Hall.

The once splendid and luxurious hall, redolent with intrigues and extravagance, was now permeated with the heavy scents of wormwood and other herbs.

The large windows were open for ventilation, yet the oppressive aura of death and suppression remained undispersed.

In the center of the hall, a figure was hunched over a mountain of Beast Skin Scrolls and a crude clay map.

He was tall and slender, wearing a plain moon-white Beast robe, with long black hair loosely styled with a simple wooden hairpin, a few strands hanging down, accentuating the delicately fragile outline of his profile.

But those slightly upturned fox-like eyes were bloodshot, his expression weary and languid, who knows how many days he hadn’t slept.

It was none other than the Beast King of Beast King City, Kian Sterling.

He rubbed his brow, looking at the Beast Skin Scroll spread out in front of him, where alarming numbers were scrawled with a charcoal pen: new patients 197, deaths 57,689, herbal shortage…

Each number weighed on him like a suffocating burden.

It was also the first time since his ascension that he felt so difficult and powerless.

“Beast King? Hah…”

Kian Sterling gave a self-deprecating laugh, irritably tossing the Beast Skin Scroll aside.

Just then, urgent footsteps suddenly echoed from outside the hall.

“Report to the Beast King, an enormous red-haired wolf with three heads and six eyes suddenly appeared outside the city, holding a clay pot in its mouth, claiming to be from The Wolf Tribe.”

A Beastman guard rushed in in a fluster, kneeling on one knee in the center of the hall to report.

Kian Sterling’s eyes flickered, instantly recognizing who the three-headed, six-eyed red-haired wolf was; other than Malachi Arcanus, there was no other wolf with such a unique form.

“Let him in, bring him to the Beast King Hall.”

He gave a cool instruction, recalling Malachi’s temperament, and added softly: “Remember to be polite, otherwise if you get caught, this king will not care.”

Although he didn’t know why Malachi would come at this time, he understood it must be under Luna’s instructions.

The Beastman guard was clearly taken aback, but quickly realized that the three-headed, six-eyed red-haired wolf was an old acquaintance of the Beast King.

That’s a terrifying eleventh-tier, even stronger than the Beast King; how could he dare be impolite?

Even speaking loudly was a fear, for if the other party was displeased, they might swallow them whole.

“Yes, Beast King.”

Though he thought this in his heart, the Beastman didn’t voice it, quickly and respectfully retreating.

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