Chapter 26: Ninth Fortress Part 2

Asta’s stern calls swelled, dominating An He’s mind. Amid the piercing shouts, An He jolted awake, back to reality.

She straddled the pit bottom now, the skeleton she’d pinned beneath her. A jagged stone clutched in her hand had pulverized the skull beyond recognition.

No mycelium remained—just her and the shattered bones.

Asta was counting down to “two.”

An He flung the stone and hit the radio: “Teacher, I’m fine—just tripped, no big issue. Back now.”

Asta fell silent for a moment, as if steadying her emotions, then said helplessly yet fiercely, “As long as it’s not a big deal, hurry back!”

“Got it, Instructor.”

An He switched off the radio. The ferocity in her eyes hadn’t faded yet. She stood, crunching over shattered stones to the edge of the pit, picked up the half-can of gasoline and lighter, and dealt with the skeleton inside. To save time, she even used up one White Phosphorus Button.

While waiting for the fire to burn, An He glanced at the mechanical watch clipped to her straps. Not much time had passed—from when she’d fallen into the hole and lost her mind until now, only about five minutes.

Good. I can still make up for it.

Her pants were just torn in one spot; the rest was intact, spared from the flames.

But when An He hiked up her pant leg, she saw the mycelium on her leg was gone. Her skin was perfectly fine, as if everything before had been her hallucination.

So what was real? What was fake? The Fungal Nucleus? The Parasite Innate Talent?

An He pondered for a moment, picked up her dagger, and sliced a cut into her calf. The instant the skin parted, her pupils dilated. Just beneath the skin tissue, not deep at all, a Fungal Nucleus connected to her flesh pulsed slowly.

She couldn’t tell who was feeding on whose flesh and blood—her pulse synced perfectly with the nucleus’s throbbing. An He didn’t dare delay. She angled the blade and pried the entire Fungal Nucleus out.

The nucleus was still soft, just mycelium condensed into a flesh-like mass.

An He unceremoniously crushed it with a rock. It turned into a puddle of bloody sludge, already gestating sub-entities inside. Soon, countless spores would scatter from them.

An He was immune to it, but the “God” had told her to use the stuff to “baptize” others. Was this how Bone Erosion Disease spread? Those out-of-control, hyper-aggressive patients in the disease’s third stage—they spread spores too.

So the third stage of Bone Erosion Disease even had a theological explanation.

An He kicked dirt and stones into the fire together.

Her leg had a gash now—perfect. She’d tell Asta it was from a sharp rock scrape during the fall.

With the compound’s help, the skeleton burned completely to ash. The intense heat killed off the fungal colony. An He timed it, smothered the flames with a layer of soil to bury the pit’s ashes, then backed out while stuffing large stones into the gaps to seal the path.

She straightened her clothes and gear, retraced her steps out of the Mines, and resumed her interrupted training route.

For the second half, An He had no mood left to take in the street scenes. Her mind replayed the cave events over and over.

These fungal colonies can last a long time. Once they touch living things and fresh blood, they can regrow. She’d read that in the Thorn Lamp handbook—high heat was the only sure way to eradicate them.

But the murmurs and Fungal Nucleus? No scientific explanation in the handbook.

An He mulled over the “God’s” words. She spoke of sisters. A new Innate Talent.

An He was certain she’d never had any sisters. She was an only child—her family had just her, no cousins either.

Either the “God” was fake, her hallucination spouting nonsense.

Or her own past was fake.

The suspicion she’d deliberately ignored finally surged up. An He had wondered for a long time: Why was her mother’s alma mater linked to the First Fortress? Why had she awakened a Nestsoul?

Twenty-odd years of life experiences lingered in her mind, but when she tried to recall details, the memories faded, growing distant. She couldn’t even picture her mother’s face anymore.

Last night, Lola had said the First Fortress was running experiments.

Was she some “test subject”? What experiment? Success or failure? What was the goal?

An He couldn’t be sure yet. She could only guess like this, then seek answers and solve the problem.

Sisters?

If I’m a test subject, I don’t want any damn sisters!

An He ran faster and faster, turbulent emotions lashing her like a whip, propelling her like a gale through the central district’s main thoroughfare.

The straight avenue stretched from the Mines all the way to the Ninth Fortress’s entry gates. At this hour, she was the only one sprinting heedlessly.

The sun emerged slowly behind her, growing brighter, more dazzling.

Asta wasn’t waiting at the Training Field. Encumbered by her heavy mechanical gear, she stood at the end of the main road. In that short time, she’d even summoned Lola with her medkit.

When she saw An He—disheveled but healthy—standing before her, Asta’s furrowed brow eased imperceptibly. Her first words: “Are you hurt?”

An He braced her knees, gasping for breath. She’d run too hard, forgetting proper breathing amid her thoughts, leaving her face flushed red. Her body was caked in dust from the rubble pit, her feet reeking of gasoline.

She handed over the emptied, deliberately flattened gas can: “Instructor… I fell into a mine pit by accident. The gasoline spilled, and I crushed a Button…” She panted raggedly, lifting her head to reveal a touch of grievance and innocence in her eyes. Oxygen deprivation made them redden slightly, lending a pitiful air.

Lola rolled her eyes from behind. She knew what An He was like—she’d never buy the crying act.

Asta took the can, persistent: “Are you hurt?”

“Just a scrape. It’s fine.” An He pulled up her pant leg. But she paused slightly.

She knew exactly how deep she’d cut it, yet now the gash on her calf was just a shallow scrape.

“Good, not a big deal.” Asta glanced once and didn’t inspect further. A wound that minor wasn’t even as bad as a worker’s careless nick—nothing worth noting if An He could still run and jump. She turned slightly to Lola and bowed: “Assistant Lola, I overreacted and wasted your time. Go ahead with your work.”

“Mm, no problem.” Lola left with her medkit, casting An He a silent glance as she turned.

An He was still eyeing her wound. Now calm, she felt a faint, prickling itch circulating there, like something mending her flesh. She squatted, peeled back the skin layer—red muscle visibly wove together, sprouting fresh tissue.

The healing was slow, not some rapid-regeneration Innate Talent. More like… the red mycelium had turned into flesh, assimilated, becoming part of her body.

An He jolted in shock and dropped her pant leg.

She’d already removed the Fungal Nucleus… It must’ve fused with me without me noticing.

Is it harmful? Contagious? No discomfort at all. These death- and doom-omen mycelium, assimilated by her—did that make her ominous now?

An He recalled the “God’s” blessing: implanting that Fungal Nucleus into her. Could she really have more than one Innate Talent?

She flipped her hands over repeatedly—no pink mycelium appeared.

“Something wrong with your hand?” Asta eyed her. “Fractured it in the fall?”

“Uh, no.” An He quickly lowered her palms.

“No then, let’s continue.” Asta said, “Stretch, then push-ups.”

“Huh?” An He’s eye twitched. Asta’s words meant she’d passed the full-gear route march, but the bad news: no rest today. An He nearly teared up for real: “Instructor, can’t I claim injury now?”

Asta ignored her. An He dragged her weary body after Asta. They switched directions, heading one behind the other to the Training Field.

Asta’s towering back shielded An He. An He stepped on her shadow, matching her stride.

An He looked up, unable to help thinking: If gods really existed, they should lead from the front like Asta—not cower in the back, sending followers to die.

In that surge of inner turmoil, she felt her palm itch faintly. An He looked down—fluffy mycelium curled around her fingertips, probing toward Asta, sensing someone there.

An He clenched her fist instantly. The mycelium squelched, nearly pulped. She darkened her gaze.

She wasn’t too surprised.

She’d gained a second Innate Talent: Parasite.

Whether from the “God’s” gift or her unusual body parasitized by the Fungal Nucleus, she didn’t know.

After all, her origins were mysterious—maybe she was special.

An He schemed inwardly.

The “God” wanted her to control others with mycelium, spread Fungal Nuclei, use her as a tool. Not happening.

She’d smashed this nucleus; if another grew, she’d pry it out too.

As for the Parasite Innate Talent—now it was hers. Who the mycelium parasitized? Her call.

An He clasped her hands behind her back. The limp mycelium struggled feebly in her palm before giving up and yielding. She retracted it.

She wouldn’t tell a soul.

Couldn’t say in the Ninth Fortress—no one had a second Innate Talent. If they caught her for study, her hard-earned trust would crumble.

Not Lola either. First Fortress folks might be allies, but not friends yet.

As for Gu Xianqing… An He narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t block mind probes. If Gu Xianqing found out, An He would just test Parasite on her.

Controlled by her dream manipulation for so long? Time to see who controls who.