NOVEL NEXT Chapter 175- Three Musketeers
The sky had cracked open with a ray of pale-golden light, pouring from a spiral of clouds like the hand of a god pointing to treasure. Every cultivator within three provinces had seen it. Word spread faster than sound: the legacy of the Puppet Master had revealed itself.
And like hungry dogs to thrown bones, they ran.
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Far beneath that holy beacon, deep in the moss-covered belly of the Withered Fang Forest, three men tore through the undergrowth—mud on their robes, sweat on their brows, swords trembling in their fists.
"Whose brilliant idea was this again?!" roared the one in the front, a lanky man with patchy facial hair and eyes that screamed regret.
"Don't look at me!" barked the short one with a crooked nose. "You said—you said, 'Let's go early as we got seceret map for shortcut to the legacy, beat the crowd by arriving inside first, get the loot, become rich, find hot wives!' I just nodded!"
"I was joking! JOKING! Not a damn invitation to run into a graveyard with legs!" shouted the third, his voice cracking as he glanced over his shoulder.
Behind them, a horde of undead was sprinting. Not limping, not groaning—sprinting. Arms flailing, rotted teeth grinning, eyes glowing dimly. These weren't your garden-variety zombies. These bastards were hungry and fast.
"I told you we weren't ready!" Crooked Nose wheezed. "We're outer sect disciples! Outer sect! The only thing we fight regularly is our own poverty!"
"Shut up and run!"
Branches whipped across their faces. Roots clawed at their boots. The air was damp and stank of death.
"Why are they so damn fast?!" Lanky gasped. "This one just parkoured off a tree!"
"No one said the Puppet Master was going to leave behind CrossFit zombies!"
Suddenly, there was a squelch—a scream—a loud thud.
Lanky had tripped.
"NO—WAIT—"
One of the undead pounced, straddling him, teeth gnashing mere inches from his face.
"IT'S GONNA EAT ME!" he shrieked, flailing.
Crooked Nose, panting heavily as he skidded to a halt, stared for a moment... then squinted.
"...Bro."
"WHAT?!"
"It's not about to eat your face…"
There was an awkward beat of silence.
"…It's aiming for your butt."
"What?!"
"I'm serious! It's fully naked—LOOK! It's got a boner, I think—"
"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! NOT LIKE THIS!"
He flailed harder, managing to stab upward and knock the thing back with a desperate cry. The undead fell off him with a slosh, only for two more to leap over its body and continue the chase.
All three were running again—now with Lanky slightly more traumatized than before.
"I want to go home!" he screamed. "I'll marry whoever my mom tells me to! I won't argue again! Just get me out of here!"
"You can cry later! We're almost—Shit—!"
They burst into a clearing.
Dead end.
A circle of stones. No paths. No trees ahead. Just open ground.
And behind them?
Dozens of undead.
Limbs missing. Faces rotten. Moving like cursed beasts. Some still clutching bits of robes or weapons from older cultivators. Their steps were fast. Their hands ready. Their hunger infinite.
The three stood back-to-back, breathing heavily, swords raised with trembling wrists.
"This is it," said Lanky, his voice hollow.
"We're gonna die for a legacy we can't even claim."
"...And my butt's probably already cursed."
They swung as the undead closed in. Arms flew. Heads rolled. But the undead kept coming.
"WHY WON'T THEY DIE?!"
"They're already dead!"
"That's not a helpful answer!"
The three cultivators stood there, swords drawn, chests heaving, mud on their faces, and absolute doom closing in from all sides.
Dozens of undead lunged—until—
They stopped.
Dead silence.
The screeching groans vanished. The running corpses skidded, stood stiff, then—like rats seeing a lion—turned on their heels and ran, whooshing past the three terrified men like they were scenery.
The trio blinked, blades still up in the air.
"…What?"
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Someone walked into the clearing.
A young man.
Maybe in his twenties.
He wore a dark robe with silver linings, casual, as if freshly laundered and worn just for the breeze. His eyes glowed crimson, flickering with streaks of gold, bored and unreadable. In one hand, he held a cat. In the other, his pinky finger was digging casually into his ear as if trying to scrape out a particularly annoying itch.
The undead parted around him like frightened pigeons before a hawk.
"…"
The three watched in silence, heads slowly turning in unison as the young man strolled right past them. Not even a nod of acknowledgment. Not a flicker of interest.
Just pure, effortless apathy.
"…He just walked past."
"W-With a cat."
"W-Was he poking his ear?"
The undead vanished like bad memories.
And then it got worse.
More footsteps.
From behind the trees, a group of women emerged.
No—not women.
Visions.
The first: a goddess in mortal skin. Black hair tied into a tight bun. Pencil skirt, white silk top clinging to her curves like it was tailored by the heavens. Sapphire eyes, cold and sharp enough to freeze air. High heels that didn't make a sound.
The second: a silver-haired phantom, skin pale like moonlight, two swords hanging on each hip. She glided like a ghost, purple eyes unreadable. Her aura said one thing: talk to me and I will end you.
Then came the twins—or sisters—red-haired wildcats with devilish grins and eyes that screamed chaos. They laughed as they passed, one of them licking a lollipop, the other tossing a flaming pebble like a bored pyromaniac.
Lastly, a woman in loose crimson robes, her long red hair draped over one eye, hand tousling it lazily as she walked behind them all, yawning.
Silence.
The three men stood frozen.
Mouths open.
Flies could've taken residence.
"…Are you… are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Crooked Nose asked, barely whispering.
"…That's an immortal," said Lanky, reverent.
"Forget him—LOOK AT THOSE WOMEN!"
"My heavens, he has a harem!"
"At that age?!"
"Are you seeing the one in the skirt?! Wasn't that woman looked familiar?"
"Shh, shh! The silver-haired one just glared in this direction! I think my soul almost fled my body."
"They're all real?"
"Bro, they're not real. They're transcendent. They don't walk. They glide. I think I saw a halo—no wait, that was just the way her butt jiggled when she turned."
"SHUT UP, YOU'LL JINX IT!"