Soulbound Destiny

Chapter 28: Shadows on the Desolate Path

Once again treading on the lands of the Southern Spirit Wastelands, Gene felt a stark difference from his journey before.

Gone were the raucous voices of Haolan and the others. Gone were the braying of the mule. Only he remained, stepping through the overgrown grass, listening to the wind whistle across the barren plains.

A suffocating loneliness clung to him, as inescapable as his own shadow.

He patted the few remaining morsels of dried food in his pack. Supplies were dwindling fast. He had to find sustenance soon, or his body would betray him in these desolate lands.

By evening, he reached a narrow creek, hoping to catch some fish or shrimp. But the water was icy cold, biting at his fingers and feet. He fumbled for hours, only to come away empty-handed, exhausted and short of breath, with old injuries throbbing painfully.

Resigned, he pressed on, scanning for wild fruits or edible plants, though the sun had nearly disappeared beyond the jagged horizon.

Twilight fell, turning distant ridges into shadowy silhouettes. The wind whispered through the barren fields, carrying with it an eerie, mournful sound. The world felt hollow and endless.

Gene finally found a small, sheltered earthen slope and gathered some dry twigs, lighting a modest fire. Its flickering flames offered little warmth or comfort, but they did illuminate his lone figure, stretching his shadow unnaturally across the barren ground.

He gnawed at the tough, dry rations, listening intently to the distant cries of unknown beasts. Nights in the wasteland were ten times more dangerous than the day.

Then—a faint, distinct “rustle” came from the darkness beyond the firelight.

It was no ordinary rustling of grass in the wind. Something moved—sliding, scraping against the ground.

Gene’s body instantly tensed. He snatched up his long knife, eyes narrowing toward the source of the sound.

The noise grew nearer, accompanied by a slow, heavy… hopping?

Gene’s heart clenched in horror. A thought he had hoped never to entertain flashed through his mind.

No… it couldn’t be!

He stared unblinking into the blackness, gripping his knife until his palms were slick with sweat.

Then, just at the edge of the firelight, two stiff, dark figures appeared, bounding into view—jerky, unnatural movements, yet deliberate.

It was them. The two relentless zombies.

They had followed him. From the ancient temple in the deep mountains, across untold distances, they had found him—the one who had just departed the Zhenhun Alliance.

A cold wave of dread surged from his feet to the top of his skull. How had they tracked him? Weren’t protective arrays set up around the Zhenhun Alliance? Had they slipped through, or had they been waiting outside the gates all along?

The zombies stopped roughly ten paces from the fire, their hollow eye sockets fixed on the flames with an almost hesitant awe. They did not advance, but stood rigidly, stubbornly, as if acting as some twisted, loyal guardians.

Gene’s scalp tingled with terror. He did not sleep a single wink that night, keeping watch over the flickering fire, the shadows, and the two eerie silhouettes that would not leave his side.