"We were caught in an avalanche. Everyone died..."
The woman in the snow began to sob as she spoke, her low whimpers sounding exceptionally terrifying in the dead of night.
"They're all dead. I'm the only one who made it here. Gentlen, please, save . My na is Lesta Innard..."
An icy wind whipped across their faces, stinging like a blade. It was no illusion; the light from the distant train was growing fainter, and a boundless darkness was gradually closing in. And in the deeper shadows, sothing even more bizarre and dangerous seed to be hiding.
A soft, shuffling sound ca from behind the woman, and another figure erged from the distance. It was a brown-haired man carrying a backpack, his face just as deathly pale, stumbling toward them. He held a climbing pole in his right hand, while his left seed to be broken, hanging at an unnatural angle. Dark, dried blood stained his face.
His hair was a tangled ss, as if it hadn't been washed in ages, and the sleeve of his overcoat was missing its lower half, seemingly sliced off in a hurry with so sharp tool.
"Oh, gods, thank you! Gentlen, please help ! We were hit by an avalanche, and I'm the only one who survived. I've been wandering out here for half a month and finally found the train tracks!"
Compared to the woman, this man seed more like a lunatic. His accent was thick, unlike the familiar Nolan or Bel Diran dialects Jenkins knew. His features also differed slightly from the people of the eastern Fidektri Kingdom; he was most likely from one of the minority ethnic groups in the southern mountains.
The only thing he had in common with the woman was the dense, black spiritual aura clinging to them both.
The man staggered to the edge of the lantern's light and promptly tripped, collapsing into the snow. He gasped for breath and looked up, frantically brushing the snow from his hair. His eyes imdiately fell on the nearby woman.
"Lesta Innard? Oh, gods, you're not dead? I saw you take your last breath in my arms with my own eyes!"
"Donald Severus? Oh, but weren't you... taken by the wolves...?"
They both shrieked hysterically, their voices echoing in the wind. Then they scrambled away from each other, crawling through the snow, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
"I think... I know what this is," the man standing opposite Jenkins said, his expression one of weary resignation. "Sothing very troubleso. I never thought I'd actually run into one. A-11-02-3046."
"I know it too."
A tremor ran through Jenkins's face, but his heart was pounding even more fiercely. Although this Cursed Item's danger level wasn't a '1', the highest possible, it was in fact more perilous than any other strange phenonon he had ever encountered.
He hadn't seen this thing described in the Church's records, because information about it was itself a form of ntal contamination. But he had heard about it during a conversation with Miss Stuart in Ruen.
"The Victim in the Blizzard."
He murmured the na, and Mr. Alexander nodded grimly, not daring to take his eyes off the two figures.
A-11-02-3046, the Victim in the Blizzard, only appeared in snowstorms on plains or similar environnts, making it more common in the northern Hamparvo Kingdom. The number of entities could range from two to five, and in extrely rare cases, a group of ten or more had been sighted.
Each individual of A-11-02-3046 would claim to be a mber of a group that had t with disaster, insisting that all the other mbers were dead. Consequently, when the event occurred, they would react with severe panic upon seeing the other entities present.
After encountering A-11-02-3046, if a witness failed to offer aid within a certain ti fra, they would be killed instantly by one of the resentful spirits. Conversely, if one was unlucky enough to help a spirit, they would be killed all the sa.
These spirits were incredibly powerful. According to the information Miss Stuart had provided, not even an 8th-level Enchanter could handle them.
The only way to survive was to identify the truly living individual among the A-11-02-3046 entities. The difference between a living person and one of those powerful malevolent spirits was minuscule. If one possessed a special ability to discern spirits, it wouldn't be too difficult, but without it, survival was purely a matter of luck.
"I suppose our luck isn't all bad..." Mr. Alexander said under his breath.
"Yes, only two have appeared so far. We have at least a fifty-fifty chance of choosing correctly."
"No. There have been cases where everyone was alive, and even cases where everyone was dead. We must be cautious. Although I'd get this oil lamp for free if you died, I have absolutely no desire to face them alone."
He paused for a mont, then asked, "Do you have any special abilities or items for identifying spirits?"
The Eye of Reality could indeed do it at close range, but the problem was that Jenkins didn't dare get anywhere near those two. The lantern light was clearly the boundary of their safe zone.
"No, do you?"
"I don't either..."
Alexander's last word dissolved into the snow-filled wind, which now seed to be blowing even harder. The train's light appeared increasingly blurred to their eyes. The mountain and the train both seed to recede into the distance, while the darkness steadily crept in.
More and more things were writhing in the depths of the blackness, punctuated by whispers, mumbles, and low, mocking laughter. If Miss Stuart's intelligence was correct, those were the souls of the innocent victims who had died in A-11-02-3046 incidents over countless years.
"Do you rember what the ti limit is?" he asked the man opposite him in a low voice.
"Nineteen minutes and twenty-three seconds. Or maybe thirty-two. Either way, I think we need to hurry."
Alexander wasn't putting on an act. Enchanters were all too aware of how dangerous these numbered Cursed Items were. And having survived to beco a 6th-level, he certainly knew what mattered most.
"You damn evil spirit, why are you haunting ? Gentlen, please, save !" the woman was still shouting, holding out a hand, begging the two n to pull her to safety.
"Gentlen, she's the evil spirit! I rember it clearly—Innard froze to death two months ago. Damn it, did you follow all the way here just because I used your corpse for food? Here, take it back! Now go away!"
He fumbled inside his clothes and tossed several pieces of jerky onto the snow. The dried at punched small holes in the snow's surface, but the woman, as if she hadn't heard a word, continued to scream hysterically.
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