Chapter Fifty-Six: The Innocent Fawn

In the silent forest, Zhang Shuping and his companions were frozen in place, their heads lifted as they stared in stupefied awe at the scene before them.

What they saw was the head of a deer.

But this deer’s head was unimaginably enormous, its fur bristling and whipping about, as if alive, swirling like floating threads. Yet in contrast to the terrifying fur, the antlers atop its head were pure and luminous, crystal-clear, radiating a sense of sanctity.

The three were utterly stunned, unable to find words to express the shock that overwhelmed them.

The portion of the head visible alone dwarfed several human heights, and what emerged was only the head. If the entire body were to appear, one could only imagine the monstrous size of such a creature.

They gazed at the deer’s head, and its eyes regarded them with a curious, probing look.

After a few seconds, the eyes seemed to recall something, and the head slowly withdrew, vanishing behind the bend in the forest corridor.

With the disappearance of the colossal deer head from their sight, the three finally snapped out of their daze.

Yet in that moment of regained awareness, they were struck by a strange sensation in their bodies.

“That... that was...!”

“What’s... happening? My head hurts... ah!”

Zhang Shuping reached out a trembling hand to point at where the deer head had vanished, his entire body shuddering. The pain in his head crashed down with such force that it drowned his consciousness.

With a sharp cry, Zhang Shuping collapsed sideways onto the ground.

His senses spun in dizziness, his body convulsed and retched. The chaos in his mind brought hallucinations and agony, and the spasms wracking his body intensified the torment.

But this was only the beginning.

In the next instant, Zhang Shuping forgot entirely that he had just seen a deer head. Now, what haunted his mind was a giant skull, dry and bone-like, wreathed in black smoke and violet fire, from which countless writhing tendrils of flesh extended.

Those tendrils lunged at him, terrifying him so that he kicked wildly at the ground, screaming in horror.

“Don’t come near! Don’t come near!”

“Ah! Monster!”

“Monster!”

“Get away! Stay away from me!”

From a perfectly sane man, he was reduced in a heartbeat to a frantic, deranged figure.

He was not alone in his affliction; the other two, Xu Hui and Li Dong, suffered symptoms of varying severity.

Xu Hui, on regaining his senses, was hit by a wave of dizziness and promptly passed out.

Li Dong was faring slightly better—he merely fainted from vertigo, his vision blurred, seeing double wherever he looked.

In his memory, the deer head remained as it had appeared, without further confusion or hallucinations.

Even so, Li Dong felt miserable, and his fear soared to a new height.

He saw Zhang Shuping beside him, writhing in agony and sobbing for several seconds before suddenly losing consciousness, and Xu Hui, who had collapsed without a sound from the start.

He was truly petrified.

He wanted to run, to scream, but he could do neither.

His vision blurred, his mouth stiffened, his limbs weakened and lost all strength.

All he could do was lie silently on his side, helpless as a lamb before the slaughter.

Everything had happened so suddenly, so swiftly that none of them could comprehend the horror of the creature they had witnessed.

They had seen the deer head for barely ten seconds before they were reduced to their current state.

Such terror and unknowns etched an indescribable fear deep into Li Dong’s soul.

Li Dong regretted it deeply, truly regretted it.

But no matter how much unwillingness burned in his heart, he could only lie there, awaiting the miserable death he imagined for himself.

Through the haze of double vision, Li Dong saw weakly.

A group of small deer approached him.

These were the deer they had pursued earlier, but now, the once harmless herd had become Li Dong’s greatest nightmare.

He was terrified beyond measure, desperately willing himself to move, but ultimately gave in to despair.

The herd of deer drew near.

Under Li Dong’s fearful gaze, the blurry deer surrounded the three men. Then, Li Dong felt a hoof tap his head, not too hard, not too soft.

His neck bent limply toward the earth, and then a hoof pressed down firmly on his head, forcing his face into the dirt.

All three, whether unconscious or not, received the same treatment.

Li Dong’s terror reached its absolute peak; he imagined his head crushed beneath a deer’s hoof.

Yet, that was the extent of the deer’s actions.

After several dozen seconds, with his face pressed into the soil, Li Dong heard the ground tremble—a sound neither loud nor quiet.

In that moment, Li Dong understood.

The terrifying, colossal deer-shaped monster was approaching.

This time, Li Dong abandoned all hope, quietly awaiting death.

He had given up any thought of survival.

———

The fawn felt deeply guilty and sad.

He had made a mistake.

He had only been patrolling the paradise his father had created for him, preparing to welcome the arriving herds.

Now, seeing the three miserable humans before him, the fawn could not help but feel that all of this was his fault.

“Human”—that was the name his elder brother Adam, whom he had never met, had taught him for this species, which he vaguely recalled.

His memories of humans were unpleasant, especially when he remembered being beaten to death by humans in green clothes wielding sticks.

Yet, despite his dislike, he had no intention of seeking revenge.

The fawn only wanted to live quietly in the forest, playing with his kin, nothing more.

He did not wish to witness death, nor did he want conflict or harm any living creature.

Now, seeing the three humans suffering because of his appearance, he felt a strange sadness and pity.

But more than these emotions, what he dreaded most was his father’s disapproval.

Whenever his father visited, he brought a sense of safety and warmth that the fawn had never known.

It was an experience unique in his life as a deer.

His father was merciful, generous, and omnipotent.

His father’s grace had saved him, and brought his brother back to life, so he was compassionate to all.

His brother had said that their father likely detested death and conflict, like a benevolent deity, but now?

Had he done something his father would abhor?

His brother had also mentioned that their father would be more forgiving toward him and his brother, advising them to protect themselves first.

But the precondition, his brother had said, was not to actively provoke conflict.

Now, humans had suffered because of him; would he be chased and beaten again by their kin—the ones in green clothes?

The thought filled the fawn with fear and confusion.

He did not know how to handle it, so he thought of his brother.

He had considered contacting his father, but he did not want Ji Yu to know.

So, this time, the fawn reached out to his brother.

What he did not know was that Adam, under Ji Yu’s instructions, already had an emergency plan.

As the prophet of their kind, it was inevitable that many deer would be drawn, and humans would follow.

Ji Yu had made preparations the night before.

No matter whom the fawn contacted, he would receive the same answer.

Yet, compared to Ji Yu’s understanding of the fawn’s naive, hesitant consciousness, Adam was far better suited, having acted as the fawn’s teacher these past three days.

And so, Ji Yu had reached out to Adam the night before to ensure everything was ready.