The outskirts of Ursus were covered in permafrost.
Snowfields and forests stretched as far as the eye could see, while the deep ruts left by the wheels of a merchant caravan wound endlessly through the snow.
Mo Hong ran along those ruts behind the caravan with all his strength.
Every breath felt as though it might be his last.
If not for the physical constitution of a Wendigo, Mo Hong probably would have collapsed before covering even a few kilometers.
The one who was strong was the Wendigo—not him, an athletic failure.
“Boss, I keep feeling like someone’s following us.”
The Liberi assigned to lookout duty lowered his binoculars and glanced toward Roman, who was sprawled in the passenger seat, casually gulping down alcohol.
“Doesn’t matter. If they want to follow us, let them.”
Roman took another swig.
“Drive slowly. If they try to make a move on us, they’ll be kicking a steel plate. My crossbow isn’t just for show.”
He patted the Rapid-fire Crossbow beside him and continued drinking without a care.
“Yes, yes, yes. Who around here doesn’t know our boss is a sharpshooter who retired from the Army? I doubt they have the guts.”
The Liberi scratched his head and laughed, no longer taking the matter seriously as he turned back to continue his watch.
Behind him, however, a cold glint flashed through Roman’s eyes.
He narrowed them slightly, seemingly thinking about something.
After driving for a while, the caravan reached a predetermined resting point and stopped to rest.
As the caravan came to a halt, a figure in the distant woods quietly disappeared deeper into the forest.
Deep within the forest, inside a cave, more than twenty Ursus sat around a fire.
Obvious black crystals covered their bodies.
They were all Infected.
The Infected sat silently around the fire as if waiting for someone.
“Ursus profanity. Peter, is your information actually accurate? Our food is running low. If this trip fails, we’re all going to die here.”
“What’s the rush? Will panicking help?”
Peter glanced at him.
“This is the only route the caravan can take. There’s absolutely no mistake. If I weren’t starving to death, I wouldn’t have broken the rules and told you about their route.”
Before contracting Oripathy, Peter had also been a merchant on the snowfields.
He knew the caravan routes better than anyone.
“They’re here! They’re here, just as we planned!”
A scout hurried in from the woods, panting heavily as he pointed toward the direction of the caravan.
“I told you, there’s nothing wrong with my information.”
Peter stood up.
“Everyone, our chance has come. Whether we live or die depends on this one gamble. Act according to the plan. Move out!”
At Peter’s command, the Infected in the cave stood one after another and moved toward their assigned positions.
Meanwhile, Mo Hong was still running for his life several kilometers away from the caravan.
The caravan had long since disappeared from his sight.
He had to find them before the wind and snow covered the wheel ruts, or he would become completely lost in this vast snowfield.
“Damn it. I knew two legs couldn’t outrun four wheels.”
Mo Hong gritted his teeth as he carried a load of scrap metal and pushed himself to his limit.
“I’m not motorized infantry. I’m exhausted.”
For a Wendigo, this speed and distance were nothing.
For someone who loved being lazy, however, it was absolutely miserable.
During the journey, Mo Hong had more or less adapted to his Wendigo body.
The physical strength of this body was truly astonishing.
Even though Mo Hong himself had possessed practically zero physical fitness in his previous life, he could still gallop across the snowfield at incredible speed thanks to his current body.
As for strength…
Based on his extensive experiments, splitting mountains was obviously out of the question, but crushing rocks was easy.
With enough force, one punch would surely leave an ordinary person’s guts and brains scattered across the ground.
Mo Hong wasn’t particularly eager to test that theory.
He ran from dawn until sunset.
Finally, the caravan reappeared in his field of vision.
But along with the caravan, Mo Hong also spotted the Infected stealthily surrounding it from the forest.
Seeing this, Mo Hong immediately decided to hide and play the role of a war correspondent.
He squatted in a secluded corner and watched the situation unfold.
As the saying went:
Knowing there was a tiger on the mountain, you shouldn’t go to the mountain.
And a gentleman didn’t stand beneath a dangerous wall unless he was there to watch it being demolished.
Following one’s heart—or, more accurately, being a coward—was the way to go.
Once the Infected reached their assigned positions, they prepared to launch their attack on the caravan.
Oripathy, a disease caused by Originium, was fatal.
However, it could also enhance an Infected person’s Originium Arts, granting them considerable power.
In other words, they could gain greater strength at the cost of shortening their own lives.
Among this group of Infected were five Casters.
Although the power of their Originium Arts wasn’t particularly impressive, they were still lethal against ordinary people if used correctly.
The dozen or so other Infected possessed practically no combat ability.
Instead, they carried Originium Shards in their hands, intending to adopt a strategy of mutual destruction.
Essentially, they were using themselves as walking dirty bombs.
As for crossbowmen, snipers, and other long-range combatants, those positions were controlled by the military.
Without the necessary connections, it was naturally impossible for the Infected to possess such personnel.
A group of desperate Infected certainly had no formal tactical training.
The noise they made while surrounding the caravan was quickly noticed by the guards.
A sharp whistle rang out from the camp, startling a flock of birds into the sky.
Hearing the whistle, Roman’s eyes snapped open.
He immediately blew his own whistle to assemble the group, grabbed his crossbow, and rushed outside.
After two whistles, the entire camp quickly entered a defensive formation.
Under Roman’s command, the caravan members used their vehicles as cover and warily watched the forest.
“Why is there an ambush here? Wasn’t the caravan route supposed to be secret?”
“No one among us leaked it. The other side must have someone from another caravan who broke the rules. They definitely didn’t come here with good intentions.”
The gathered caravan members spoke loudly among themselves.
In the middle of the crowd, Roman narrowed his eyes, took a large gulp of alcohol, and casually tossed the bottle into the woods.
It struck an Infected directly on the head.
The Infected clutched his bleeding forehead and shouted furiously.
“Ursus profanity! Kill them!”
He charged toward the caravan.
A crossbow bolt flashed through the air.
It struck him directly in the head, killing him instantly.
The Infected’s death ignited the flames of conflict.
The tense standoff between the Infected and the caravan was instantly broken.
Under the cover of the Casters’ Originium Arts, the attacking Infected charged toward the caravan one after another.
Roman organized the caravan members and ordered them to retaliate with various projectiles.
However, the caravan’s attacks were largely ineffective under the interference of the Infected Casters’ Originium Arts.
The Infected, meanwhile, threw Originium Shards toward the caravan.
This was highly effective against caravan members who feared contracting Oripathy, successfully disrupting their formation.
Roman’s crossbow lived up to his reputation as a sharpshooter.
He prioritized the targets with the weakest defenses within his range, successfully taking down one Infected after another.
However, as a restricted civilian weapon, Roman’s crossbow had a limited supply of bolts.
Once they were exhausted, even someone like Roman would have to engage in close combat, where he could be infected with Oripathy at any moment.
The battle continued fiercely.
Eventually, Roman’s final crossbow bolt was fired.
Only Roman and two other people from the original team of more than ten remained capable of fighting.
The Infected, however, were also in terrible condition.
Relying on his superb marksmanship, Roman had successfully killed all five Casters before running out of ammunition, exploiting the flaws in the Infected’s attack patterns.
The remaining Infected had also suffered heavy casualties.
Even so, they had succeeded in trapping the caravan inside the camp.
From his hiding place in the distance, Mo Hong watched the battlefield.
He felt that the timing was about right.
If he intervened now, neither side should have enough strength left to resist him.
Though, judging from the situation, they probably hadn’t possessed much strength to begin with.
If he saved the caravan from the Infected, he would have a legitimate reason to stay with them.
And since the caravan had suffered heavy losses, its remaining members wouldn’t have much ability to resist him.
They would have no choice but to cooperate.
…
Although, thinking about it carefully, it seemed they hadn’t had much ability to resist him from the beginning.
Without special mechanics, overwhelming stats were enough to sweep everything away.
As for the Infected…
Mo Hong silently apologized to them.
Everyone had their own fate.
Respect other people’s destinies and let go of the urge to help.
Reject unnecessary mental exhaustion.
And if something happened…
Just go wild.
Thinking about other people when he could barely guarantee his own survival?
What a joke.
It was time to begin.
This would be his first battle since arriving on Terra.