Chapter 66
As night fell completely, the heat from the scorched earth gradually dissipated.
Sprout 12 did not leave immediately, but watched 237 from a distance.
He was closing his eyes to regulate his breathing; the branches were cracked, and the light was faintly visible.
He looked extremely vulnerable, yet people dared not approach him.
A complex emotion welled up in Sprout12's heart—
Fear and dependence grow simultaneously.
He was afraid of the mark left on 237's body by the "shadow" he saw in that instant.
At that critical point, the light of 237 was not pure, but mixed with unfathomable darkness.
The light blade he wielded was less like protection and more like judgment.
—Are they really still "their guardians"?
Or is it that some indescribable being is slowly descending through 237's body?
At the same time, Sprout12 also knew that if it weren't for 237, he would have already vanished.
It was he who, with his broken body, forcefully repelled that lurking hand.
It was he who gave the Light Domain a chance to breathe.
"...I am both afraid of you and unable to live without you."
Bean sprout 12 murmured to itself, its branches and leaves trembling slightly.
He suddenly realized that his trust in 237 was no longer just a simple comradeship.
It was a deeper, even dependent obsession.
No matter what 237 becomes in the future, he cannot let go.
The crack in the night sky remained open, like an unblinking eye.
Sprout 12 stared at it, a tightness gripping his chest:
"If one day, he really is no longer himself..."
Which side will I stand on?
After the flames in the realm of light died down, the plains fell into a brief silence. But this silence did not signify peace; rather, it was the low pressure before a storm.
The news spread rapidly amidst the undercurrents:
The shadow within Seed 237 has already manifested on the battlefield.
—The elders of Guanggen were the first to panic.
They had always regarded the "Pure Light" as their sole faith, but the existence of 237 had now become the most dangerous flaw in that light. In the elders' council hall, the debate raged on all night: some demanded that 237 be isolated immediately, or even eliminated in advance, to prevent the corruption from spreading; others hesitated, because they knew that without 237's fighting power, they would have no chance of survival in the next siege.
—The council of the Shadow faction is also in turmoil.
"Parasite" was supposed to be their weapon, but it unexpectedly spiraled out of control. For them, 237's uncontrollability was not a weakness, but a threat. If the "parasite" fully awakened within him, it might even backfire and devour the very essence of shadow. Thus, a new conspiracy quietly unfolded: either reap the rewards early or gain complete control.
—The most chaotic sounds were heard in the camp where the freedmen rested.
Some warriors of the Podki were discussing in hushed tones around the campfire, their eyes filled with hesitation and awe:
"He saved us... but was it really him?"
Many more young people remained silent, gazing at the stars, unsure whether to place their hopes on this guardian on the verge of collapse or to begin searching for a new path.
At the highest levels of the alliance, a new question was raised:
"If Seed 237 completely succumbs to darkness, are we prepared to be its enemy?"
This single sentence, like a sharp blade, cleaved the fragile alliance.
Cracks have already formed within the three factions.
In the distance, in the quarantine camp, Sprout 12 quietly stood guard beside 237.
He couldn't hear these sounds, but he could feel the growing hostility in the air.
His gaze fell on the sleeping 237, and a thought quietly surfaced in his mind:
"Perhaps... the next battlefield will not just be between enemies, but between us and the whole world."
The night was heavy, and the quarantine camp was shrouded in a silent mist. In the distance, the patrolling guards moved slowly, each step accompanied by a low, shimmering light, as if warning: those imprisoned here are not ordinary soldiers.
Inside the tent, Seed 237 lay quietly on the bed, breathing shallowly, the light on its forehead flickering. Sprout 12 stood guard beside it, its gaze focused, yet always carrying a hint of suppressed vigilance.
At that moment, the camp gate was gently pushed open.
—The first to visit was an envoy from the Guanggen Council.
He was dressed in a white fluorescent robe and held a scepter symbolizing "purification" in his hand.
“Sprout12, we need to confirm whether he still belongs to the light.”
His voice was cold and solemn, but his eyes kept scanning the spot of light on 237's forehead, as if examining a piece of jade that had been stained.
Sprout 12 didn't respond, simply standing in front of 237. The messenger remained silent for a moment, then left a low, cold warning:
"If darkness completely takes over him, you must end it yourself."
—The second visitor was a secret agent from the shadows.
He emerged silently from the shadows, as if the night itself had sculpted his silhouette.
“The parasite is growing stronger,” he said in a low voice, with an irresistible allure. “Let it take complete control; it will become the perfect vessel. And you, Sprout 12, can be the one to witness the new king.”
Sprout 12's fingers clenched silently, his palms already damp with cold sweat. He didn't answer, only coldly staring into those dark eyes. The spy chuckled softly, disappearing into the darkness as if he had never existed.
—The third visitor was an elder who lived a life of freedom.
He dragged his weary body in, his eyes filled with contradiction and pain.
“The children were saved because of him, but they were also plunged into fear because of him.” The elder sighed. “If there is a glimmer of hope, we are willing to protect him… but if his existence brings utter destruction, Jiaxi cannot be buried with him.”
His voice was hoarse, like a broken piece of dead wood, yet it made Bean 12's chest tighten.
Silence returned to the tent. The voices from the three sides intertwined in Bean Sprout's heart, heavy as iron chains.
He turned around and looked at the sleeping Seed 237.
That face, taut with pain, twitched occasionally, as if it were experiencing a struggle of the soul.
Sprout 12 murmured:
"They either purify you or corrupt you, but no one is willing to give you a choice."
His fingertips trembled slightly as he tucked the blanket back over 237's shoulders.
The wind howled outside the window, carrying the scent of distant war.
Within the quarantine camp, trust, suspicion, and conspiracy have spread like three invisible poisonous fogs.
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