Chapter 15: The Lost and the Enforcer

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Upon hearing Zorn’s kindly reminder, the refined young man hurriedly picked up his eyeballs and tried to push them back into his eye sockets. But no matter how he tried, the eyeballs kept rolling out and falling back into his hat. Meanwhile, the skin on his cheeks began to peel away extensively, exposing some of the facial muscles beneath. Flesh buds sprouted rapidly on his face, swaying in the air. A horrifying, grotesque mutation writhed before them.

“Oh! Sorry.” The refined young man’s voice grew hoarse. “I don’t seem to be able to put them back in.” He raised his head, revealing one eye that was normal and clear, while the other was a bloody hole, gushing like a spring. Within moments, blood had already pooled at the bottom of the carriage. At some point, the carriage’s glass windows were stained with a veil of blood. The terrifying power of this distorted spiritual entity was contaminating and reinforcing the carriage.

Zorn calmly and naturally observed this strange, warped scene before him, sniffing the pervasive scent of blood in the air. He truly missed this feeling—being chased by the lost in the gray mist until one forgot their own name; bathing in a witch’s cauldron, melting away, then being drunk by the witch, crawling out of the gate of life and greeting her; lying on the surgical table of an evil flesh alchemist, watching oneself being dissected, being told the technique wasn’t refined enough, that the cuts had to be made in a certain way to perfectly remove the heart.

These were unforgettable, exquisite memories for Zorn, solid footprints along his path of growth. Without spending a night chatting with the lost in a carriage, one wouldn’t dare call oneself a terrifying calamity spirit.

“If you want, I can help you put your eyeballs back in.” Zorn shrugged, indicating his willingness to help.

“Thank you, kind sir, but I don’t think I need that.” The young man, sinking deeper into the path of mutation, declined Zorn’s offer, his voice growing ever more hoarse.

“Oh, nearly forgot—I don’t even know your name.” The mutated youth spoke.

Here came the crucial test for the lost. Every lost soul would ask the name of the kind person they encountered. If you revealed your name, well, your name would become theirs. The old lost would grow stronger by feeding on your name. Simultaneously, the unlucky one who lost their own name would be thoroughly corrupted, giving birth to a new “lost.” This new lost would continue to seek new names, and each name acquired would empower the terrifying sealed overlord behind the lost, until it devoured the entire city of Ogrun.

If the process was done incorrectly, it might enrage the lost, causing mutation, rebellion, and eventually a bloody tragedy. Judging from his appearance, this lost seemed newly born and not very strong. If a conflict arose, it would likely be this lost who would be pinned to the carriage floor.

With both sitting there, Zorn was unflustered. Whether the other panicked or not was none of his concern.

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Besides... panic wouldn’t help. Once on Zorn’s carriage, the following events wouldn’t be up to this unfortunate lost to decide.

“I think you should tell me your name first—that’s the gentlemanly thing to do,” Zorn said, reclining slightly in a relaxed posture. This was a long journey; with the lost on board, it wouldn’t be dull.

“My... my... name!” The young lost’s facial muscles twisted as if caught in a memory.

“I seem to have forgotten my name.” He raised his head, his face growing increasingly grotesque. Zorn noticed his teeth becoming sharp—better suited to tear flesh and swallow.

“Oh? Leaving your name at home before going out—that’s not a good habit,” Zorn lamented. “I used to be like you, not only leaving my name at home but my head as well. That day, the whole town chased me—the Headless Horseman. What rude fellows. I had no choice but to wipe out the entire town.”

“Your deeds are truly admirable,” the youth sneered. “But now, I’m a bit hungry—really hungry. Sir, would you share dinner with me?”

By now, viscous blood had covered the entire carriage interior; the small carriage had become a cage of flesh and blood. The terrifying power of this mutation seemed fully formed. The strong scent of blood intoxicated even Zorn. The lost showed greed and madness, baring claws and fangs, as if ready to enjoy this exquisite meal.

Zorn shook his fist, as large as a clay pot, revealing a cruel smile full of malice. He opened his palm and ripped off a piece of writhing flesh clinging to the carriage window, then, with lightning speed, stuffed it into the lost’s fang-filled mouth. A fierce uppercut with his right hand forced the lost to clamp its mouth shut and sent it flying, its head smashing sharply against the carriage roof.

Then Zorn launched a flurry of blows, it was time for the Skull-Splitting Fist. Each strike echoed with a bone-chilling thud. Zorn unleashed his “Skull-Splitting Fist” with exhilarating ferocity.

After days of grueling training, Zorn had mastered this technique. Now was the moment of real combat testing.

Block, seize, counterattack, punch, suppress, explode the head, strike weak points… His attacks were as refined and seasoned as antelope horns—seemingly slow but each blow sent the lost sinking deeper into confusion.

Compared to a seasoned veteran like Zorn, this fresh and naive lost was merely a child. While brutally beating this creature who dared bring disaster and death, Zorn joked, “I can see you’re very hungry. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll stuff the whole carriage into your belly.”

The lost’s face stiffened, its head like dough under Zorn’s fists, flying left and right. The eerie flesh curtain imbued with spiritual energy was being torn apart by Zorn’s hands, suffused with the star-marked energy of his martial aura.

Pure brute strength was insufficient against spiritual flesh. The fighter’s aura had the unique property to counteract such spirits.

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Whatever you spit out today, you’ll have to swallow it back. What? You don’t want to eat? That’s not up to you anymore.

Though the lost struggled fiercely and occasionally let out eerie howls, it faced Zorn Corric, a seasoned old fox and fearsome head of the evil gods.

Just as Zorn pinned the lost to the seat, ready to crush its skull, the moving carriage abruptly stopped.

A radiance of order and silvery light pierced through the carriage window, illuminating the interior. The grotesque flesh curtain seemed to shrink away, even partially avoiding the silver light outside.

“Sizzle, sizzle…” The blood mist in the air emitted a scorched, burnt smell.

Zorn paused briefly, then withdrew his hands. With the light of order shining, there was no need for him to continue.

“Good afternoon, Officer,” the carriage driver’s slightly stiff voice sounded.

“Damn, this gray fog is really cold!” The driver wrapped his coat tighter.

Standing in the gray mist, keeping a distance from the carriage, the law enforcement officer Ansel Hall, holding a silver lantern, loosened his tie. His sharp eyes, like a hawk’s pupil, fixed on the carriage without missing a detail.

He was certain: the carriage was thoroughly contaminated.

A slight frown crossed his brow. Just days ago, he had handled a similar case. That unlucky passenger was eaten up by a lost, leaving only half a body behind.

Though he dealt with the lost scum, when the poor middle-aged woman with two young children wailed heart-wrenchingly in the funeral home, he felt as if his legs were filled with lead, unable to move an inch beneath the eaves.

Another shattered family. Another irreversible tragedy.

Just like that pale afternoon when his mother fainted from crying and his father left them forever. And that damned criminal still roamed free.

“Sir in the carriage, I am Officer Ansel. Please step out for an inspection.” As he spoke, Ansel raised the silver lantern and gripped his baton.

The lamp oil, infused with purifying and dispelling effects, could burn the cursed lost and illuminate direction to prevent him from getting lost in the gray fog. The baton could deliver a brutal beating to that bastard.

With a creak, the carriage door opened.

Before Ansel’s eyes unfolded a scene that sent a chill through his heart.