Wasteland Lord: Starting from Thirty Days to Live

At the bottom of that bottomless pit, there were tiny flashes of light; upon closer inspection, they turned out to be the strange light reflected from the scales of some kind of creature.

The creature writhed at the bottom of the pit, its scales colliding like millions of hard shells, producing a deafening sound. This sound, after echoing through the hollows, eventually formed a torrent of sound that penetrated everyone's eardrums, striking their hearts like drumbeats.

But what was truly terrifying was not just the sound, nor the carapace, but the monster's enormous size, which made it impossible to see its entire form.

No matter which angle you look at it from, you can only see part of its body and you can only sense it wriggling under your feet.

When you actually try to imagine its size, the disharmony in your perception creates a huge sense of shock and eeriness, which in turn generates an uncontrollable fear.

Titan? World Serpent? Mythical creature?

No matter what name you use, nothing can compare to the impact of seeing this behemoth with your own eyes.

The dean felt dizzy just from imagining it for a moment.

But what terrified him even more was not what was beneath his feet, but the boundless truth of the world he could imagine and expand upon.

The purpose of the research institute is to observe those magical creatures that cannot be captured or moved.

However, Research Institute No. 17 was just one of them, or rather, not a very prominent one.

In other words, there are at least 17 such creatures, or even more than 17, within the vast territory of the empire.

The dean previously conducted theoretical research at the Imperial National University, and was appointed dean due to his outstanding contributions in theoretical research.

In confronting fear head-on, he is not even as good as frontline researchers.

For example, right now, he's standing on the open rooftop outside Research Institute No. 17, gripping the railing tightly with both hands.

"The Dean?"

The researcher beside him, puzzled by the dean's reaction, immediately asked him a question.

To conceal his emotions, the dean waved his hand, signaling him to continue his report.

Is this peristaltic movement common, or does it occur only occasionally?

The researchers ignored this anomaly and continued their report with great interest.

"Your Excellency, this kind of creeping is not normal; it only happens once or twice a year."

"If I'm not mistaken, a creature of this size would create huge cavities underground, which would have unpredictable geological effects. Has there never been a collapse?" The dean calmed down a bit and raised some questions.

The researcher's eyes lit up when the dean mentioned this.

"To be honest, we had thought of this problem before and sent steam guards to survey and sample the areas where it left traces."

"The results were astonishing; it left behind a kind of slime in the area it passed through that did not conform to the surface of any subterranean worm in existing biology."

"This mucus has strong supporting properties, forming naturally reinforced tunnels in the areas it opens up."

The researcher explained.

"The relevant research findings have been submitted to the main institute and may contribute to architectural research."

"In addition, we have made another amazing discovery: this creature has been swallowing and spitting out soil, and what it excretes is soil rich in minerals, the most of which is gold. If it is allowed to stay here for hundreds of years, the soil here will eventually become gold-rich soil."

The dean didn't care about these trivial matters. He simply waved his hand to indicate that he understood, then eagerly made some summaries and prepared to leave.

"You've done a good job. I appreciate your work, and I'll consider recording it in your file. But it's a bit stuffy down there. Can we leave now?"

The researcher then snapped out of his frenzied explanation, as if waking from a dream.

"Ah, of course, Your Excellency can leave through this passage."

The researcher led the way, preparing to leave with the group, but after taking only two steps, he suddenly lost his footing and knelt on the ground.

"Are you alright?"

The researcher knelt on the ground and saw that as he fell, his ankles were exposed beneath his trousers. They were not very noticeable in the darkness, but there were indeed some tiny, worm-like growths floating in the air.

The researcher quickly pulled his socks up and continued to smile.

"Oh, I'm fine, this way please."

…………

……

"So, the gold mine you're talking about is the one I understand, right? The gold mine in the Reach?"

Vittorio had already settled into a position leaning against the wall, even holding a water glass while listening, because he was completely engrossed.

"That's right."

"If I enter the gold mine now, will I encounter the 'earth dragon' you mentioned?"

Lapland's expression was inscrutable, and he seemed somewhat frightened.

"I believe it never left."

…………

……

The dean won't stay here forever, just like a powerful carnivore in the forest won't always stay in one place; it always has to patrol its territory.

So, after bidding farewell to the director, Research Institute No. 17 once again enjoyed a rare period of peace.

Since the dean's last visit, the researcher with glasses, short hair, and dark circles under his eyes was promoted one rank for his outstanding performance and is now the deputy director.

Meanwhile, the deputy director and researcher found a new research direction.

"These burrowers are eerily calm."

The researcher picked up a piece of raw meat and threw it into the cage where the burrower was being held. The burrower was neither agitated, angry, nor disdainful; it simply picked up the piece of raw meat calmly and held it in its palm.

One bite, and blood spurts out, just like a human holding bread in their palm and taking a bite—as commonplace as that.

"Isn't peace a good thing?" his colleague asked him.

However, the researcher shook his head.

"Perhaps you haven't observed the enemies of the Empire—I mean those cultists, every single one of them is a madman."

"Moreover, this madness is not psychological, but a mental illness, an irreversible brain lesion caused by being contaminated by indescribable knowledge."

"Most of them are like frightened birds, muttering things like 'He's coming' or 'He has descended'."

The researcher toyed with the pen in his hand, swinging it from one end to the other, and then from the other end to the other, but his colleague just shook his head.

"don't know."

The researcher had no choice but to dip his quill pen in ink and drip it onto the scrap paper. The ink quickly smudged a large area, and the researcher picked up the scrap paper.

"It's like a blank sheet of paper; once it's stained with ink, it's no longer a blank sheet. It can never go back to its original state, understand? That's how cult doctrines transform people."

My colleague raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe you understand?"

The researcher, too lazy to explain, pointed to the guy in the cage.

"That's why I said this guy is weird. Doesn't he feel any disgust or horror at his appearance and behavior? He was once a human being, after all."

My colleague took the unusable piece of toilet paper, crumpled it up, and threw it into the trash can.

"Maybe he was always a black sheet of paper."

The researcher's eyes widened suddenly, as if he had received some kind of revelation.

"Hey, what did you just say?"