"Immortality is still here, General."

"Mmm..."

Their conversation grew increasingly brief as the Moon Altars in the sky rapidly went dark.

But the moonlight didn’t dim; on the contrary, it grew ever brighter.

Beneath the increasingly piercing moonlight, the specks of light danced ever faster.

After a constant cycle of stagnation and flow, the last Moon Altar in the sky finally went dark.

Yet the moonlight remained, a suffocating, pallid white.

The Shadow at Mo Ling’s feet vanished, but the specks of light beside him continued to spiral upward into the air.

A chilling draft wafted from the depths of the mist, making him tremble.

’Where is the moonlight coming from?’

Mo Ling looked around but saw no light source, yet the surrounding mist remained bright.

The spotlights had disappeared, but the light remained.

What’s more, the light continued to grow even brighter.

Slowly, the moonlight grew unbearably bright. Mo Ling’s vision went white, and even his armor’s visual systems were affected, constantly flashing warnings of unknown light pollution.

Finally, when everything around him was bleached white, so much so that even the specks of light were no longer visible, the air solidified once more.

This time, the solidification seemed even more intense. Mo Ling waved his hand through the air and could feel a gelatinous resistance.

It felt, strangely, like he was pushing through a layer of Jell-O.

Then, Mo Ling felt a change beneath his feet. The soft, muddy ground was gone, replaced by a hard, stone-like surface.

It was also rough, with grooves that felt like carved etchings.

Once his eyes adjusted slightly to the white light, Mo Ling could finally see that he was no longer standing in an open field, but on top of a Moon Altar.

He didn’t know which part of the Moon Altar this was; the markings on the ground were indistinct, but the runic lines were unmistakably familiar.

’How did I get onto the Moon Altar?’ Mo Ling was completely baffled.

He didn’t remember moving at all. He’d been standing in the same spot ever since the Moon Altars appeared in the sky.

While he was still wondering, the faint conversation crackled through his armor’s comms again.

"How many times is this now?"

"The eleventh time, General." The other voice sounded ecstatic. "I think it worked! Immortality has been replaced!"

"Don’t get ahead of yourself. Check carefully with the rest of our people," Jeff said calmly.

"Yes, General."

A moment later, the voice came again.

"It really worked, General! Our knowledge, our records—everything about Immortality is gone. We’ve completely forgotten."

The other voice was beside itself with excitement.

But Jeff remained silent for a long time, as if lost in thought.

"What is it, General?" the other voice asked, confused. "Is something wrong?"

Jeff still didn’t answer. The other voice didn’t press the issue. For a moment, Mo Ling thought they had sensed him listening and cut the channel.

Thankfully, Jeff’s voice returned after a moment. However, it held no trace of excitement, only a profound gravity.

"Do you remember why we wanted to replace Immortality?"

"..."

Hearing this question, the other voice also fell silent for a long time.

He had likely fallen into the same state of confusion as Jeff.

"I don’t remember... General. I only remember that we needed to replace Immortality. I don’t remember anything else."

Now, neither of them spoke.

Listening to their conversation, Mo Ling suddenly understood everything.

For the Fishman, Immortality wasn’t just a "skill" they could use; it was a type of "knowledge." By replacing Immortality, they had erased that knowledge entirely.

The price of Immortality, the dangers it posed—they would forget it all.

And, of course, they could no longer remember why they wanted to replace it in the first place.

Knowledge of Immortality brought death, so the Fishman Race sought to forget it. But in forgetting it, they also forgot why they’d wanted to forget it.

"General, I asked the others. None of them know why we were so obsessed with forgetting this skill," the voice said, puzzled.

"How long did we spend?"

"Two thousand two hundred years."

"Why would we spend so long trying to forget a skill? What did we do?"

"I don’t know... General. The records... are all gone."

They fell silent again, both clearly unable to digest the situation.

Listening to their conversation, Mo Ling suddenly realized that these ancient Fishmen might have forgotten more than he had originally imagined.

They were probably completely in the dark now.

After a short while, the conversation started up again.

"Why are we all in this state?"

"I don’t know."

"Why are there so few parts left?"

"I don’t know."

"Let’s put that aside. If we paid such a heavy price to forget this skill, there must have been a very good reason. Our priority now is to assess our situation."

"Right, General. I’ve done a preliminary scout of the island, but the situation here is very strange."

"Go on."

"The island is covered in a mist that accelerates decay. The local flora and fauna have evolved a resistance, and there are some unique scavengers. But the strangest part is... our bodies are here on this island."

"Bodies?"

"Yes. Our bodies appear to be occupied by other souls. They also call themselves the Fishman Race and speak our language, but their level of technology is incredibly backward and primitive."

"Are they a race that can forcibly take over bodies? With our current strength, can we fight them?"

"We haven’t seen them take any bodies yet. We can test them first. If we can handle them, we’ll take our bodies back."

"Fine. Let’s do it. Have all our people assemble."

"Understood."

As the voice faded, Mo Ling saw the Moon Altar under his feet instantly dim. Only the runic lines glowed faintly, pulsing as if they were breathing.

A familiar buzzing sound echoed all around.

Within the mist, it was as if people were running across the Moon Altar, their figures flashing in and out of the dense fog.

At this, Mo Ling immediately went on high alert, his gaze fixed on the approaching figures.

But there were many of them. They darted continuously through the mist, seemingly dodging the glowing runic lines rather than charging at Mo Ling, but they were drawing closer all the same.

Finally, the group of figures rushed in front of Mo Ling...

At the head of the group, a familiar fish-headed figure stared at Mo Ling. The bright red Santa hat on his head was particularly conspicuous. The little white ball at the tip had flown forward from the sudden stop and now dangled comically in front of his face.

"Who are you!" Jeff spread his arms, conjured a torrent of water, and stared warily at the block-headed, armored figure before him.