Everyone in the outpost cast horrified gazes, but the loli plague doctor, lying on the floor like a discarded doll, continued to speak in her emotionless voice:
“Next… Someone come pick me up and put me back in the chair… Damn… That hurt.”
Thus, all eyes swiftly shifted to Ashley once more.
She was the closest; she had stood by curiously observing during the plague doctor’s consultations.
“At your service, Ashley Jenkins. Please give five-star reviews.”
The blue-haired loli realized this was a chance to build reputation. She loudly introduced herself while pretending to be gentle as she picked up the little loli, placed her back in the chair, and even brushed the dust off her clothes—service with a smile.
At this point, it was hard to tell if she wanted to be a good person or just farm favor.
Meanwhile, the black spike that had pierced through the sky began to rotate, twisting uniformly from a sharp cone into a helical shape. The entire process remained vertically stable, like a machine tool machining a component—cold and merciless.
The freshly killed corpse, soft like a hot water bag, danced along with the spike’s rotation and was lifted into midair like a prize from a claw machine. Until the skull hole could no longer bear the weight—it dropped with a splat, spilling a long trail of brain fluid from the cranial cavity.
The air seemed to freeze; no one in the outpost dared to breathe.
Once the spike fully retracted, heavy thuds echoed from upstairs—thump, thump, thump—each one slamming into people’s hearts.
The atmosphere grew so oppressive that everyone wanted to bolt, yet an invisible force pinned them in place, forcing them to listen as that terrifying sound drew nearer!
Hiss—
An icy chill seemed to seep down the stairs, making the nearest people shiver uncontrollably.
From the shadows of the stairwell, a “person” crawled out—limbs reversed against the ground, head twisted 180 degrees to face forward!
Ashley clenched her teeth, her cheeks twitching despite herself.
A black robe woven from shadows draped its body. From the tattered hanging strips extended hands and feet twisted from iron spikes, and one of those spikes had pierced the fugitive’s skull—it could apparently extend suddenly for assassination.
Up close, its body wasn’t ordinary iron; its surface was riddled with wormholes like Swiss cheese, interconnected tiny holes filled with small, wriggling flesh beaks—like baby birds hiding in a nest. Such a bizarre, twisted existence belonged only in the worst nightmares.
Countless iron edges, spikes, blocks, and wedges layered into a chaotic yet rule-bound aesthetic: a slender, distorted body.
A crown-like ring of prismatic iron spikes framed the eyeless upper half of its face, while the only proof of its human origins was the remaining lower half—a woman’s face amid rampant steel and flesh growth. Her beautiful red lips and pristine white teeth gleamed strikingly, exuding an unsettling solemnity.
From what Ashley knew, there were poriferans using faux chitin frameworks filled with minerals for exoskeletons, and animals that absorbed metals to reinforce bones. But she had never imagined an evolution via biotech that directly fused biometal into cells, even metallizing the intercellular matrix.
The woman descended step by step, her terrifying spiked limbs clacking one after another like a human-faced spider. When her full body came into view, everyone finally understood why she didn’t walk upright—her body length exceeded three meters; she couldn’t stand straight indoors!
Following her down was a Tribunal agent: a man in a bowler hat and crisp suit.
He didn’t seem quite normal either. Ignoring the corpse, he first selected an apple from the shelves, washed it in a bucket, and meticulously dried it with a handkerchief. His gaze thoughtful, his fingers caressed it like a lover’s cheek.
Then, he knelt halfway to the ground and held the apple to the woman’s mouth. She sniffed lightly at the tip of her nose, rubbed her red lips against it, then slowly opened her mouth—mechanically biting one mouthful at a time. He rotated the apple to ensure each bite hit the plump, juicy parts and avoided the bitter core.
Ashley eyed the woman’s eerie iron body, lost in thought.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Maggie loves apples—the crisp, juicy kind. She used to reward herself with one after missions, but now… I have to do it for her.”
The agent strode straight to the corpse, his patent leather shoes clicking. He pulled out a notebook and scribbled rapidly.
After finishing the report, he went outside to the pigeon coop, rolled it up, stuffed it into a messenger pigeon’s leg tube, and released it with a flick of his arm.
“Who would’ve thought Edmund was a wanted man—probably a fake name too. Sigh, he was a pretty humorous guy. I was thinking we’d have plenty of time yesterday, but he’s dead today.” A burly man in a dirty shirt with thick chest hair awkwardly rubbed his nose, but no one responded.
Yinsu Helin continued calling “next” in her emotionless voice. The rest were minor injuries, handled quickly.
Once the last patient left, Yinsu Helin reached into her thick, light brown long hair at the back of her head, unfastened the beak mask’s buckle, and removed it—revealing a sweat-dampened, unusually tender white little face, her deep-set almond eyes gleaming with cold, melancholic light.
She rested a moment, then plucked a 1-pound note from the pile of medical fees on the table and tossed it to Ashley.
“Here, a tip.”
Ashley gladly accepted it.
“Hey, why don’t you say ‘alms for beggars?’ at a time like this? Playing favorites, huh, stinky Ashley?” Chloe grumbled.
“1 pound is a huge tip, you potty-mouthed reporter!”
After consultations, Yinsu Helin sprayed disinfectant on her mask and hands, tossed the medical waste into the backyard incinerator, packed up, and headed to the hitching post in the yard to leave.
Her commute cadaver was a small swift horse fused with a four-legged flesh spider. Suddenly, she spotted the nearby Shriek Devil Crow draped in satin-smooth glossy black feathers. Her eyes widened slightly, staring for a full ten seconds.
It was so conspicuous, like a sports car parked in a public garage.
Yinsu Helin returned to the outpost entrance and asked in a tiny voice whose crow it was.
Ashley shot her a puzzled look.
“You’re Ashley, right? Sell her to me.” At the hitching post, the loli plague doctor tugged Ashley’s clothes with her little finger, pointing at the Great Raven. “I’ll pay whatever it takes—plus equivalent relics and materials.”
A doctor’s income went without saying; buying the Great Raven at several times the price would be easy.
Yinsu Helin looked like a child eyeing her favorite toy, unable to tear her gaze away. She took an instant liking, claiming it as her fated mount. A voice screamed in her heart—I want the Great Raven! I want the Great Raven!
“Not for sale.”
Ashley turned and walked away.
Joking aside, how could she sell her rice bowl? It was a vital productivity tool.
Yinsu Helin pursed her lips tightly, clenching her little fists at her sides, her resentful gaze following Ashley all the way to the door.
Then, she looked up at the Shriek Devil Crow and said, “Don’t worry, Great Raven. I’ll get you for sure.”
She donned her beak mask, stood beside the crow, hands on hips, twisting her body lightly and rising on tiptoes into various poses.
“Perfect match!” Applause came from nearby.
Seeing the little doctor glance over, Chloe hurriedly offered her business card with respect.
Well-informed as she was, Chloe had heard of this famous little plague doctor from the southern medical Scripps Family—her skills were exceptional.
Chloe wouldn’t miss a networking chance. She curtsied elegantly to the little doctor, but upon straightening, she smirked sideways and said:
“With my help, the evil Ashley will lose her Great Raven.”
