I Forged the Myth of the Ancient Overlords
Chapter 887 - 887 886. Flee in all directions

Chapter 887: 886. Flee in all directions. Chapter 887: 886. Flee in all directions. Above the Wasteland, Torrential Rain continued unabated.

The fierce storms, which many had never seen in their lifetime, surged toward Utopia. The sky had already darkened, as unprecedented clouds gathered, obscuring the dazzling sunlight.

Green lightning zigzagged through the dark clouds, and lightning bolts containing immense energy struck the rain-soaked sand, spreading electricity that made the desert emit a faint glow.

The green rainwater carried a disturbing odor, and the damp wind blew toward the dry City-state—it was the wind of disease, the wind of death, the wind of despair.

The first to realize something was amiss were the idle traveling merchants outside the city.

Initially, they had rejoiced at the impending rain, as thrilled as parched vegetation welcoming a long-awaited downpour. But when the wind touched their faces and gritty air filled their nostrils, these traveling merchants sensed danger.

Many immediately lost strength in their limbs and fell to the ground, struggling incessantly.

Seeing the reactions of others ahead, many immediately rode insects toward Utopia, but they couldn’t outrun the wind.

The insects lost balance, falling and convulsing, while the traveling merchants gradually became enveloped by the wind of plague, their eyes losing their spark.

Some people farther away witnessed this and, having lived long in the Wasteland, their instincts told them that this rain was more dangerous than sandstorms, earthquakes, or swarms of insects.

A portion of them headed toward Utopia, seeking the City-state’s protection.

Others, seeing further ahead, bypassed Utopia altogether, rushing to further distances since they knew this torrential rain was not something a City-state could withstand—it was an extinction-level rain, and only by fleeing as far as possible could there be hope of survival.

The soldiers stationed on the City-state’s walls noticed the situation, and the information was immediately relayed. Ares of the Wild Wolf Guard looked out from atop the walls, shrouded by a sense of crisis.

He could lead his troops against swarms of insects, fight warriors from other City-states and, if necessary, quell potential rebellions within the city.

But natural disasters were beyond his control.

Although he bore the name Ares, he was merely a saint skilled in warfare; facing this overwhelming storm, Ares could not turn the tide.

“Where is Plato?”

Ares asked someone beside him.

“The Hall of Philosophers hasn’t responded, Lord Hippocrates has instructed us to protect the citizens,”

the soldier responded.

“Does Hippocrates want to take his place?”

Ares was somewhat irate, not expecting that even at such a time, some still engaged in the power struggles of dark political games.

“This rain will permeate every corner with the wind, and we can’t avoid it,”

he declared.

“Utopia has reached the end of its life, and there is no need for us to be buried with it.”

Turning around, Ares looked toward the city.

Many citizens were still unaware of what was happening outside, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the rain.

Some citizens had encountered the fleeing traveling merchants and learned of the rain’s terror, beginning to panic. Some hid in their homes, some tried to flee the city, and others completely despaired, kneeling on the ground and sobbing loudly.

Chaos spread through the city, and people became terrified, scattering in flight.

At that moment, Ares stood on the city walls, speaking aloud with a resonant voice.

“The Torrential Rain is coming, run, run, this place is no longer fit for living, flee as far as you can!”

His voice intimidated all the citizens; regardless of what they had been doing, they all quieted down.

These words were so shocking that they couldn’t believe them.

The captain of the city’s guard, a saint, actually spoke such words.

And Utopia did not punish him for his words; normally, such rebellious statements would have been met with thunderous retribution.

But now, the thunder was indeed surrounding them, but it was the roar of the Torrential Rain, a backdrop of despair.

After speaking, Ares did not provide further explanations. He glanced at the sky, then led his guard down from the city walls. They mounted durable camels, taking food and water, ready to leave the city from the other side.

“My lord, my lord, are you really abandoning us?”

Some noticed Ares and questioned him.

“Run, run as far as you can, this situation is beyond my help.”

Ares did not rage, but spoke indifferently.

“The position of Saint in Plato’s city-state, and the dominion over Utopia, no longer matter at this moment.

“If Torrential Rain pours down, it’s uncertain whether this city will even exist. What significance would such a false position hold then?

“Moreover, Ares is himself a Saint; he doesn’t need to worry about his lifespan. But if he stays here, obviously, he would not have a lifespan to worry about anymore.”

Mounting a beetle, Ares prepared to leave the city. At that moment, he saw Cleopatra watching him from a building not far away.

“I’ll leave the city to you. I hope we have the chance to meet again in the future,” Ares said to the enchanting woman.

Cleopatra did not respond, only watching as Ares departed from the city, striding away.

Someone on the side could no longer restrain themselves and quietly asked the Queen of Beauty.

“Milady, aren’t we leaving?”

“Leave? Where else is there to go?” Cleopatra countered, letting out a sigh.

“All our wealth is here; once we leave, nothing will be left.”

“As long as there are people, we can always earn it back,” another person reasoned.

“Go then,” Cleopatra said melancholically, her tone serious and devoid of any sarcasm.

“Follow Ares, leave with a Saint. At the very least, it would ensure your safety.”

“But what about you, Milady?” the person beside her asked apprehensively.

After all, Cleopatra did not seem like one who would choose to perish with the city-state.

“Don’t worry about me.” Cleopatra spoke coldly, then pointed towards the direction out of the city.

“If you don’t start packing now, it will be too late.”

Hearing this, everyone hurriedly rushed around.

Soon, only Cleopatra was left alone on the building.

She deeply gazed at the approaching storm, then vanished into the shadows.

Moments later, within the Hall of Philosophers, a shadow gathered like a long serpent.

Cleopatra emerged in this silent hall.

She ascended the stairs, arriving swiftly at a terrace above.

Here, one could gaze at the distant storm, the destructive force gathering, shrouding the skies.

On the terrace’s bench, an old man sat.

Cleopatra saw that Plato’s body had grown white fuzz, his eyes tightly shut as if in deep sleep.

“It seems you were unable to stop this calamity,” Cleopatra sighed. She approached Plato, pushed the old man forward to reveal the back of his neck.

Then, Cleopatra reached out, a strangely shaped dagger materializing in her palm; she cleanly sliced open the back of Plato’s head.

There were no traces of blood, nor cries of pain, everything was exceedingly quiet, like a nap in the afternoon.

Cleopatra saw that, where the brain should have been, there was nothing.

Only a wriggling worm, continuously spasming.