Boom—
The upper half of a blood-soaked monster was hurled high into the air before crashing heavily onto the ground, splattering apart like an overripe tomato.
Ging brushed back his spiky hair, glancing to the side.
"Germain, don't you feel like the enemies here are much weaker than before?"
"Mm."
Germain tossed the massive bull's head he'd been carrying onto the ground.
"The closer we get to the 'God of Flesh and Blood,' the stronger its influence becomes. The transformation into flesh usually grants a greater boost in strength."
This was something the two companions had already agreed upon.
Everything they had seen along the way had confirmed it.
But the situation here was different.
The entire region was leaning toward fleshification, yet the power of these flesh monsters was gradually declining.
It was strange.
After a short discussion that led to no answer, they decided to keep moving forward and see for themselves.
The world around them grew increasingly unnatural and bizarre.
Plants, animals, even stones, water, and the very earth beneath them had all mutated.
They had turned into fleshy, scarlet masses—bloated tumors and pools of blood.
Everywhere was crimson.
Everywhere reeked of iron and rot.
Ging and Germain often had to wade through pools of flesh as thick as swamp mud, or climb over grotesque hills made from swollen muscle fibers, countless limbs, and organs stitched together.
Disgusting chaos and suffocating stench ruled this place.
Cutting down the flesh monsters that attacked them along the way, they pressed forward.
Before long, they came upon a section of shifting, pulsating flesh walls, and between them was a thin, semi-transparent membrane.
Ging sliced it open with his nen blade.
A gurgling sound followed.
A massive wave of blood, stored behind the membrane, burst forth.
The two immediately leapt to the sides, avoiding the rushing tide.
Even though they had long since given up on keeping themselves clean in a place like this, avoiding unnecessary filth was still a priority.
"Eh?"
Ging suddenly noticed something unusual amidst the chunks of flesh, organs, and brain matter splashing out from the pool of blood.
Amid the gore, there was something perfectly square, standing out from the rest.
"I'll get it."
Germain had spotted it as well.
When it came to strange objects in a place like this, it was better for him to be the one to pick it up.
Ging had learned his lesson from their previous travels, so he didn't object.
Germain reached down, retrieved the object, and wiped away the blood.
Beneath the grime, it was clearly a book, with bold letters on the cover reading — New World Chronicles: West Coast Edition.
Standing beside him, Ging's eyes widened the moment he read the words.
New World Chronicles: West Coast Edition — wasn't this the very book that Don Freecss was in the middle of writing?
How could it be here?
Germain flipped open the cover and turned to the later pages.
The paper was yellowed with age, yet faintly infused with aura, preserving the clarity of the writing and sketches even through the bloodstains.
They leafed through several pages, all filled with records about the western coast.
Many of the documented creatures were ones they had personally encountered, proving the book's credibility.
Yet there was something strange.
The writing style shifted drastically every one or two pages, sometimes even including lines of foreign, unfamiliar script.
At times, one passage would be neat and orderly, while the next would turn wild and messy — as if two people with completely opposite personalities had been taking turns writing the book.
Naturally, it also mentioned the "Apostles of God," though the entries on the "Collector" and the "Deformed Limp Stalker" were far less detailed.
It seemed that Don had only observed those two Apostles from a distance.
Of course, he would not know them as well as Germain and Ging, who had faced them directly.
However, when Germain turned another page, he found no mention of the third Apostle of God — nor of the Flesh-and-Blood God.
From that point onward, the writing became a chaotic account of how Don had fled from the west coast all the way back to the east.
Through the alternating neat, sloppy, and frenzied handwriting, both Germain and Ging could sense the gradual shift in Don's state of mind.
Finally, they came across another section of neat human script — and it was clearly addressed to them.
"Germain, Ging, forgive me for not keeping my promise to travel alongside you. I have my reasons… reasons I cannot avoid, no matter how much I wish I could."
"After parting ways with you that day, I traveled alone. It wasn't long before I was consumed by the torment of the Flesh Curse again—this time, it lasted for nearly twenty hours."
"I soon realized that the moment I returned to the West Coast, the curse worsened rapidly. The time it tortured me and clouded my mind grew longer and longer… until it consumed more than half my day."
"When I reached the ruins of the Collector, I saw your markings, your accomplishments. I was relieved… but at that very moment, many memories I had somehow forgotten came flooding back."
"In that instant… I lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was already here. And then I understood. I understood what kind of monster was hidden inside my body."
"Once I realized that… I knew. I had to end this here. I couldn't let either of you bear the consequences."
"Ging, haven't you always wanted my New World Travelogue: West Coast Edition? I'm giving it to you now. Please take it."
"Though… it holds little value anymore. If you want to know what the West Coast is truly like… see it for yourself."
"Germain, I've thought deeply about what you told me. Maybe… you were right. I choose to believe you. Unfortunately, I don't have much time left… and I won't be able to witness that moment with my own eyes."
"When you're ready, come inside. By then, I may have succeeded… or I may have failed. Promise me—if I fail, do not show mercy."
"No matter what happens, once you destroy the final Ritual Stone Circle, my power will vanish completely. The map I gave you… and my Flesh Curse… will all disappear into nothing."
"If you're ready, come inside. See for yourself whether I cowardly shrank back… or fought stubbornly and won…"
"I have lived on the Dark Continent for centuries. Often, I forget what I once was… In the very end, I only wish to die as a human."
— Don Freecss, Final Words
Germain and Ging finished reading the last page, their hearts weighed down with a heavy silence.
It seemed what they had feared in their hearts had now become reality.
Germain did not hand the book to Ging.
There might still be remnants of the "Flesh Curse" clinging to it.
It had to remain in his care.
Ging understood.
Then he asked quietly, "Do you think Don succeeded? Did he reclaim the dignity of being human?"
"I don't know."
Germain closed the New World Travelogue — Western Shore.
"Let's go and see for ourselves."
"Alright."
The two stepped into the damp, sweltering corridor of flesh.
Their feet sank slightly into the swollen, pulsing meat as they walked.
Before long, they emerged into a vast, open chamber.
What greeted them was a mountain of corpses — the mangled remains of flesh monsters, torn to pieces.
Severed limbs hung from the walls, scattered like grotesque decorations.
Amidst the sea of broken bodies sat a bloodstained skeleton.
Its left leg was bent, knee pointing toward the sky, while the right leg lay flat against the ground.
This was unmistakably the remains of a human.
And within the hollow sockets of its skull… it seemed, just for a fleeting moment, they glimpsed that same sorrowful gaze they had seen in Don's eyes.
His flesh had melted away like snow.
His blood had evaporated like mist.
The bony fingers of his hand hung limply, pointing toward a colossal ritual stone array carved into the ground.
Don Freecss — the third Apostle of God — had fought for a month against both the curse that ravaged his body and the onslaught of flesh monsters.
And in the end… he had won the right to die as a human.
*******
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