NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 51: God’s goat [ part 4]

The sky above the village suddenly turned pitch black, as if ink had been spilled across it. The clouds grew heavy, and the wind vanished. The air felt stifling and tense; there was a crushing weight on the chest with every breath.

Hundreds of birds began descending in silent circles. Not a single flap of their wings could be heard.

Children dropped the stones in their hands, staring upward without bending down. The hands of the woodcutters loosened around their axes. No one moved; they were frozen in place.

Every head was tilted toward the sky. Breaths were cut short, hearts thudding as if lodged in throats. No one dared to speak.

A woman was carrying a full jug taken from the river. Her steps suddenly slowed, her hand trembled. The jug slipped from her grasp, shattered against the stone ground, and water spread up to her ankles.

"What’s happening?" she whispered without lifting her eyes. But her voice was lost—everyone’s attention was fixed on the same point: the sky.

A short distance away, a man shielded his forehead with his hand and squinted upward. His brows furrowed, and tension crept across his face.

"Have these damn birds gone mad? Why are they flying like that?"

Someone standing next to him turned their head but didn’t answer. Their gaze was still locked on the sky.

No one understood what was happening.

But from within them, a strange, unplaceable instinct began to whisper—an undeniable urge: Run.

A child clung to his mother’s skirt. "Mom? I’m scared," he said. The woman placed a hand on the child’s head, but her eyes remained on the sky. She gave no response.

And then—it happened.

The birds suddenly shifted direction and dove downward. The sound of wings burst through the silence, stirring the air. What started as a faint hum grew louder, turning into a sharp, earsplitting roar.

Hundreds of birds descended upon the village. Some slammed into rooftops; wooden panels splintered and tore loose.

Others crashed into the streets, bouncing off stones. Some hit the ground, only for more to take their place.

Before the villagers could comprehend what was happening, they scattered in all directions.

A crow suddenly swooped low, diving with incredible speed into a woman’s abdomen. Its beak tore through her clothes and pierced her flesh; her body bent forward violently.

"Ahh—ahh...!"

She screamed, but the sound was fragmented—a moan more than a cry. Her hands pressed against her stomach, eyes widening.

In that moment, thin, wet tendrils extended from the crow’s body, touching her skin. It looked like fluid, but it was alive. The woman’s breath grew heavy.

She coughed as the foreign substance spread into her lungs, dropping to her knees. Breathing became nearly impossible.

Her vision blurred—then blacked out completely. Her hands still clutched her abdomen, but her strength was gone. Her fingers stretched out, as if clawing at the dirt, and then her body collapsed.

"Run!" a man shouted. In panic, he swung his axe. It struck an oncoming sparrow—shredding it into pieces that hit the ground.

At that very moment, a thick, dark liquid burst from the bird’s torn body. The substance splashed across the man’s face. He flinched back instinctively, stumbling a step in retreat.

"My hand’s all sticky... What is this—" he muttered, wiping his face. His fingers were slick and tacky. The skin where he touched burned as if it had been scalded.

His eyes widened in shock. He tried to breathe, but no sound came out. His mouth parted slightly—thick, sludge-like liquid oozed from between his lips.

The axe slipped from his fingers. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. He stayed still for a moment.

Then his body began to tremble softly; his fingers twitched involuntarily, and his head fell to the side.

At that moment, beasts burst from the forest—one after another. Bears, wolves, snakes, and other unrecognizable heaps of meat...

Their skin had been torn, bones jutted out from muscle. Their breaths came in hot, ragged gasps. There was no light in their eyes, but their direction was clear: toward the humans.

Wounded villagers writhed on the ground. Some crawled with severed legs, others pressed their hands to their chests, trying to stop the bleeding. No one was screaming—most of them couldn’t even breathe.

Some, driven by pure survival instinct, crawled into haylofts, behind barrels, or under overturned carts. Others fled toward their homes.

One man stood firm, holding a spear, facing a charging bear. His eyes gleamed with fear, but his jaw was clenched and his feet unmoving.

The bear’s fur was shredded, muscle bulging outward; a square-shaped mass pulsed rhythmically in its chest.

The man took a deep breath, gripping the spear. "Back off, you cursed thing!" he shouted, voice trembling.

He drove the spear into the bear’s belly. The tip tore through its skin—disgusting black fluid gushed out.

But the bear didn’t flinch. Its dark eyes locked onto him.

"Die, you son of a bitch!" the man roared, shoving the spear deeper.

The bear raised a paw—the air howled. With a single swipe, it split the man in half. His chest burst open—organs—stomach, lungs, bloody remnants of his heart—spilled across the earth. Blood splattered, intestines coiled into the mud.

In another wooden shack, a mother shoved her son under the table.

The boy curled into the shadows, pulling his knees to his chest, holding his breath. "Stay quiet, my love," the woman whispered, her voice trembling.

The boy, his eyes wet, murmured, "Mom... I’m scared..."

The door shattered with a deafening crack.

A wolf lunged into the room. Its fur was torn, muscles hanging out; its eyes were dark, hollow pits.

The woman gripped the table and shouted without looking at her son: "Don’t you dare come out!"

The wolf grabbed her by the chest with its claws and slammed her to the ground. She thrashed, pummeling its head with her fists, clawing its face with her nails.

"Get off me!" she screamed. But the wolf didn’t move.

It opened its mouth. A long, slick, gray tongue—covered in thread-like fibers—slid out and moved toward her face.

She tried to pull back, but the tongue slithered into her mouth, down her throat, and up into her brain. Her body convulsed. Her eyes rolled back.

In that moment, she looked at her son. "Sweetheart..."

The tendrils from the tongue invaded her nerves. Her mind clouded rapidly. Her limbs grew heavy, muscles went slack. Her eyes froze over. Her jaw dropped. She stopped moving.

The wolf stepped off her. It walked slowly out the door and vanished into the shadows.

The child burst out from under the table. "Mom!" he screamed, rushing to her.

He wrapped his arms around her neck, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Mom, please... wake up..."

The woman suddenly sat upright.

Her infected body twisted toward him with mechanical speed. Her hand plunged into the boy’s abdomen—her fingers tore through his flesh, blood spurted, intestines spilled into her palm.

The child gasped. "Mom... why?"

His eyes were filled with terror. His body trembled and collapsed into the pool of blood. His eyes closed. His breath stopped.

The entire village was wiped out within minutes.

Most of the people had been overtaken by the parasite. The ground was soaked in black fluid and blood; internal organs were scattered across the land.

The village square slowly began to fill. The infected—both animals and humans—emerged one by one from the streets, converging toward the center.

They moved forward without speaking, without hesitation, as if obeying an invisible command.

A faint breeze swept through the air. The scent of burnt flesh, earth, and metal lingered—strong enough to spark a brief wave of nausea. The birds had long fallen silent. Nature itself felt like it had withdrawn.

Then, all at once, their minds connected to a single collective consciousness. Every plan, every memory, every piece of knowledge from human minds—even muscle memory—was absorbed and understood by the parasite.

The process took exactly one hour.

Not a single movement occurred during that time. It was as if time had frozen.

And then, in perfect unison, they all lifted their heads and stared silently at the sky.

In every mind, the same sentence echoed:

"Now I understand."

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While the Parasite was infecting a village on the far side of the forest, a different kind of preparation was taking place in Lacrima.

On a wide training ground with a dirt surface, a group of about thirty had gathered. Among them were both fresh recruits and seasoned knights with years of battle experience.

All of them stood silently, focused on the man in front of them.

He had short blond hair, sharp facial features, and an undeniable charisma. His name was Lieno.

He was only one step away from reaching the highest rank in knighthood—senior knight. His promotion was imminent.

Lieno took a deep breath and spoke in a loud, commanding voice:

"Listen carefully. I received a direct order from the Lord. Starting today, we’ll be undergoing a special bandit training for the next two days."

As soon as he finished speaking, an older, battle-worn knight with a deep scar over one eye raised his hand.

"Captain," he said, frowning slightly, "why should we act like bandits? What good will it do us?"

Lieno narrowed his eyes at the speaker and responded without hesitation:

"Because this is a covert mission. We can’t afford to draw attention. The more convincing we are, the better our chances of success. Understood?"

There was a moment of silence. No one else spoke.

Lieno gave a short nod. "Alright then, let’s begin."

With that, the entire group launched into training with discipline and focus. In Lacrima, this small band of warriors was beginning to take shape—for a mission that could change everything.

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A mysterious voice whispered: "Only 17 hours remain until Ravien awakens."

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