[Chapter 57] The Laughing Man – Like Old Times

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I love maelstorms. It was especially wondrous when they made landfall somewhere unprepared, scraping everything away. That crushing despair when survivors can’t even recognize the barren landscape… Sometimes it’s nice to savor tragedies not caused by oneself. Variety was the spice of life.

Most of Nirvan had shut down except for four towns. Far inland from the Blue Abyss and deep under the earth, they’d resolved to strengthen their wards to celebrate into the night. Partygoers from all over had flocked to these islands of festivities. Former island in this case.

Relaxing on the tallest building, he soaked in the wails and muffled sobbing. Like old times. Staking hundreds to the walls had brought back a wave of nostalgia. I don’t do this much anymore. When toiling on grand endeavors, there simply wasn’t time for the little pleasures. Even now, he didn’t have the luxury to properly appreciate the chaos.

While the first village had gone down smoothly, he’d been interrupted the second time around. Two saints and an immortal had attempted to thwart him. Sadly, the latter had escaped, which meant others would be alerted. Hence an element of time pressure.

He sighed. I shouldn’t complain, tonight was a treat. On top of the maelstorm, foresight was on the fritz all over Enera. Torak’s work, I imagine. As a result, he’d enjoyed a rare freedom of operations.

The Laughing Man contemplated the saints struggling opposite him. I’ve changed. The old him would’ve been madly convulsing. I was once so naive and easily satisfied… Today such mundane suffering only elicited a serene smile.

He frowned. What happens when saints fall to Kain’s curse? Ah right, they get stronger. It’s immortals who grow weaker. They lost their sublime vagaries, artifacts, and centuries of skill. The end product was always inferior.

Faintly, ‘Eye of The Storm’ drifted to his ear. No more playing. He leapt, tossing a cannister behind. As he breached the wards and was embraced by howling winds, he heard the explosion. Another digit deployed. In truth, he thought poorly of the Isle’s recent outbreak. So wasteful.

He glanced back at the distant blaze on the horizon. That’s how you do it. Since despair was a vector for infection, preemptively staking victims obviously produced superior results. Bonus points if there were plenty huddling in fear nearby.

Enough self-praise. Soon frightening monsters would show up. Although those saints will help, fifteen thousand won’t be enough. I must use the third. He dropped towards another blissfully partying town.