Chapter Two: Mutation

“Lieutenant, look! Red light is flaring up from the eastern edge of the woods in the distance!”

“I’ve never seen such a powerful demon glow before—the people in Xintun City are probably…”

“Everyone, listen up! Second Recon Platoon, double time! Move out!”

“Yes, sir!”

Beyond the woods, over thirty soldiers—men and women alike—clad in quilted armor, rifles in hand and sabers at their waists, were galloping their horses wildly through the wild grass. Alongside them roared four or five military-green sidecar motorcycles, their gunners manning light machine guns in the sidecars. Leading them, a man in command wore a higher-grade armor: bright metal reinforced with red cords, a large scarlet-wood saber strapped under his cloak, and a drum-fed submachine gun in hand.

…

The blood-red borderland.

Crimson, icy cold.

It wrenched Du Huaishan forcibly from the agony of mutation.

Where is this place? The question barely formed before the shadowy figure slowly raised its head. Eighteen pairs of eyes, glimmering as bright as day, sent a chill down his spine.

He could vaguely see one of the nine misty tails suddenly ignite like a candle, a plume of blood-red flame illuminating the shadow’s body—a flash of russet fur revealed, and within the fire, the very four-horned beast with which he had just fought to the death!

The shadow’s eighteen eyes blazed ever brighter, its oppressive presence so intense that Du Huaishan’s eyes burned in pain.

Instinctively, he squeezed his eyelids shut.

When he opened them again—

A black crow, startled from a soldier’s corpse, took flight with a beakful of flesh, alighted on a treetop, and began preening, casting a watchful gaze below.

“Haaah!” Du Huaishan gasped for breath, hurriedly raised his hand to his forehead. Everything was as it had been—he was deeply relieved.

Around him, the wild grass was trampled, a chaos of hoofprints and gouges everywhere. The white frost on the brush hadn’t thickened; he must have been unconscious only briefly.

But beneath him, the corpse of the four-horned beast had already crumbled into a pile of ash, dispersing in the wind and snow.

He quickly snatched up the military saber, pressed his back to a tree, and stared unblinkingly at the dying embers, struggling to process what had just transpired.

Monster, red light, mutation.

This was far beyond anything Du Huaishan had ever known.

He had a sense that the reason for his arrival in this bizarre world might be tied to this blood-colored vision. As for that colossal creature atop a mountain of corpses, with eighteen eyes and nine tails—he had no idea what it was.

Judging from its suffocating presence, the nine-tailed giant was far more terrifying than the four-horned beast.

If it hadn’t dragged him into the hallucination at the final moment, he would likely have ended up no different from the monster.

It seemed, this world had the backdrop of a Republic-era China—yet was haunted by demons and ghosts.

Dangerous.

Extremely dangerous.

—

A soft, bitter laugh escaped Du Huaishan’s lips as he finally made sense of the world he’d landed in.

He’d fantasized more than once about being transported into a war-torn era, where he could put his skills to use. After all, in peacetime, violence was forbidden, martial arts were mere sport, and tournaments were riddled with commercial interests—martial prowess was losing its meaning.

Yet now that he truly had crossed over, he’d nearly lost his life several times.

Given the choice, Du Huaishan would never have come here.

Perhaps it was easy to lament the dullness of life, to say there was no hope or purpose, but in China, at least, safety was assured. The nation was always the strongest shield; there was no need to face the carnage of war, let alone the terror of being torn apart and devoured by monsters.

Only when something is lost does one realize its worth.

He wondered about the flow of time between worlds—had his parents already discovered his disappearance?

The thought of his family and friends rekindled his will to survive.

Though the pain of transformation had been awful, he’d also sensed a surge of explosive power growing within him—now, even if only a tenth remained, his physical abilities were undeniably enhanced.

At this moment, the soul of the four-horned beast dwelled in his mind.

A single thought.

Clang!

A chill raced down Du Huaishan’s spine as ripples spread through the air. A wave of rotting black mist appeared, and a towering shadow, nearly three meters tall, stepped forth. It had the body of a horse, human chest, tiger claws, and a ram’s head, its skin streaked with dark red tiger stripes, four black-red sickle horns atop its head, and a twisted, exultant smile—the very monster he had just slain.

Was this JoJo? Rakshasa Street? Nioh?

He could sense the shadow had its own will—difficult to control, but possible to fuse with.

Once fused, he could harness its power—though his body would begin to mutate, the pain excruciating, and the risk of being overtaken and lost to the monster constant.

Unbelievable.

This was Du Huaishan’s first brush with supernatural force, and he was filled with wonder.

He couldn’t yet tell if this was his unique advantage, or a common ability in this world.

Wherever the supernatural existed—

If the stories held true, the greatest masters could break through reality itself.

Returning to Earth might not be mere fantasy!

Perhaps the summoning had lasted too long—his head spun with dizziness.

Du Huaishan hurriedly dismissed the monster’s shadow. After this battle, he finally understood why cold weapons held such status here. Had he not struck from the flank and worn shock-absorbing armor, the first blow would have dislocated his shoulder.

As for the Mauser rifle, he hadn’t given up on it either.

He couldn’t figure out why wounds from hot weapons healed so quickly while saber wounds didn’t, but the way the four-horned beast faltered under gunfire proved firearms still had effect. Otherwise, the soldiers wouldn’t have carried them.

But that was a puzzle for later.

His first priority now was to leave the forest and find people or a town.

Dusk was falling; if he didn’t get out before sunset, he’d have to face not only the bitter cold and wild beasts, but also be ever on guard against horrors like the four-horned monster.

—

He figured it out.

The battlefield of corpses he’d crawled from—the culprit was the very creature in his head.

Judging by the number of soldiers’ bodies, it was at least an entire company.

In other words—

He’d only been able to kill the monster by sheer luck, picking up the scraps after others.

Without the soldiers’ sacrifice—maiming the beast, severing a leg and an arm, bleeding it nearly dry—Du Huaishan would have had no hope of resistance.

For these half-saviors, he could only do his best—straightening their bodies, stripping off any remaining leg and arm armor, salvaging an extra saber and some bullets for himself.

His body, now strengthened by the monster’s power, was much hardier than before; over thirty pounds of armor was no burden.

After bowing deeply to the last two fallen soldiers, he stood once more, eyes full of resolve, saber in one hand, rifle in the other, and strode on without a backward glance, following the tracks of a cart’s wheels.

Fragments of snow drifted and swirled, blanketing the wild grass in a thin white shroud.

His cotton-soled shoes crunched softly with every step.

Du Huaishan caught a glimmer of silver ahead, and for the first time in a while, a faint smile touched his lips.

A puddle.

Having just fought for his life and trekked with heavy gear for nearly half an hour, he was parched. He remembered hearing that “eating snow only makes you thirstier,” so he dared not lick the frost from the leaves.

He waited cautiously nearby for a while.

Once sure there was no danger, Du Huaishan approached the puddle.

The water was crystal clear, the bottom visible at a glance. In the mirrored surface, he saw a youth covered in blood and grime, clad in armor, standing at about 1.7 meters, well-built, with strong features.

Du Huaishan raised an eyebrow.

A cold severity, unbefitting his age, flashed from his eyes, enough to make one’s spine tingle.

He wasn’t trying to look intimidating—the water showed his pupils were black and red, reminiscent of the Sharingan from Naruto.

He doubted this was natural.

Was it the hallucination, or had fusing with the four-horned monster left its mark?

He couldn’t say. He scooped a handful of water, sipped it lightly—the ice-cold snowmelt slid down his throat and sent a bracing chill into his belly.

Once his thirst was quenched, he reached to wash the blood from his face.

Creak.