The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

Chapter 1707 479: The Times Are Changing Too Fast 4

"What my master requires is obedience, absolute order and cohesion. These stubborn traitors are like rust growing under his authority. Yes, they...are 'waste'."

"And my mission," a hint of fanaticism appeared on his pale face, "is to transform 'waste' into... 'resources'."

Zerick no longer looked at the desperate Merfolk and Lizardman marauders, he just slightly lifted his chin toward the shadow behind him.

"Purify them."

The dozens of Guardian Clan acolytes he brought had been standing behind him like ghosts.

They did not recite any Tartak's familiar natural prayers or Holy Light Doctrine but began chanting sinister spells.

The ancient and deep voice was like whispers from Hell, carrying a scorching intensity that tore at the nerves of the living.

Tartak's face showed a trace of pain, but fortunately, he could still endure it, whereas the bodies lying at his feet could not.

Black fog spread visibly from the acolytes' feet, wisps rising next to that black mire and rotting tree roots.

"Roar—!"

The Merfolk leader, driven to the brink, let out a final roar and launched a charge with his men.

However, they stopped in terror just after taking two steps.

Something seemed to be moving in the swamp between them and the acolytes...

A pale, swollen claw suddenly reached out from the mud, seizing the ankle of the Merfolk warrior at the front.

Then one, two, ten...

The Lizardmen who had died in the previous battle suddenly came back to life, stiffly climbing out of the shallow water!

Their faces had already decayed, with only two clusters of ghastly green ghost fire remaining in their eye sockets.

They made no sound, just opened their mud-covered mouths, pouncing on their former companions like beasts.

"Ahhh!!"

The echoes of the screams rang out, as the living Merfolk fought desperately, yet they could not stop the penetration of the deathly air and the blades of the undead.

Bathed in that black fog of death, all the living Lizardmen's movements slowed, even their breathing became labored.

The Corpse Ghosts like walking cadavers, however, grew more agile in the fog, each move full of fierce energy.

This was no longer a war—

But unilateral slaughter!

Blood dyed the mire black, one Merfolk after another fell, their throats slit open, and moments later they stood again, joining in the slaughter.

Finally, a few Merfolk couldn't withstand the extreme fear.

They threw down their weapons and frantically dashed towards the estuary beyond the Red Forest, tumbling across the shoals, diving into the cold, surging sea.

They swam away without looking back, swearing never to approach this cursed land again as they had fled when driven out from elsewhere before.

As for the Lizardmen who couldn't swim and caused trouble with the Merfolk, they could only embrace their bleak fate amidst the screams.

The massacre ended quickly.

Hundreds of tenacious Lizardmen were all killed.

As for the ordinary members of the Gray Fin Tribe, they were hemmed in by the Guardian Clan warriors not far from the battlefield.

They didn't dare lift their weapons, huddled together kneeling in the knee-deep muddy water, shaking intensely, voicing not a sound, only their teeth chattering madly.

Merfolk cannot truly live in the sea; much like the Tide Clan of Gana Continent, they must build nests and lay eggs onshore.

Dozens of newly 'transformed' Corpse Ghosts, with stiff strides, joined the surrounding circle, waiting quietly for new orders.

Looking at their kind turned undead, those scaly faces were filled with terror. Their deepest regret was following Kun Jia's migration here.

Zerick, with a frightened Tartak, walked leisurely down from the highland, stepping on floating debris to face the survivors.

"And you?"

No one answered.

Zerick chuckled, seemingly very satisfied with their performance, slowly raised his arms, soothing these wounded souls in a calming tone.

"Do not be afraid, our Majesty and the great Dragon God are merciful. He has forgiven your sins. It's just that I... can't tolerate those ungrateful dead fish, so I gave them a bit of punishment."

Although he had already become a Corpse Ghost, he had learned from other Guardian Clan people about the Merfolk's past exploitation of the Guardian Clan and the calamities they had brought upon them.

That indeed was from his past life, but now that he was the Clan Leader of the Guardian Clan, he could of course express his grievances for his clan.

After all, the Demon King surely consented.

Otherwise, why let him come?

"Let bygones be bygones," Zerick smiled kindly, speaking with a gentle voice, "From today, there is no 'Gray Fin' tribe in the world. That name, along with your foolish past, has been buried."

"You are the 'Fishman Clan'."

"Your mission is to dig mud for your new master's city. With your own hands, you will create miracles here in this swamp, or... live in another form."

He glanced nonchalantly at the silently standing Lizardman Corpse Ghosts beside him.

Different from himself.

They were puppets controlled by acolytes, lacking independent personalities or souls.

Under the threat of death, soon a Merfolk responded, fiercely thrusting his fish fin into the mud, begging with a sobbing voice.

"I, we are the Fishman Clan! Dig, dig mud! Praise...Dragon God!"

"Praise Dragon God!" others followed suit, invoking Gutaf's name, the sound of kowtowing particularly harsh in the dead quiet of the Red Forest.

Only Taufu from the Great Graveyard kept sneezing.

Zerick smiled contentedly.

Turning around, those Corpse Ghosts and newly-born 'Fishman Clan' joined the acolytes in marching toward the busy construction site.

Players loyal to the Demon King would assign them specific work.

In corners beyond the Campbell people's view, they would become the River Bay Tribe Alliance's cheapest and most obedient labor force, contributing to the Southwest Swamp's development.

Until one day the Demon King forgave their sins.

Following Zerick side by side, Tartak witnessed all this without daring to make a move, let alone say a word in plea.

He felt not the slightest sympathy for the Merfolk, only pity for the Stone Lizard Clan lads who called him weak, without any regret.

At this moment, the thoughts racing through the old Chieftain's mind were deeply perplexed by the rapidly changing era that baffled him more and more.

What those black-clad figures chanted earlier were clearly not Dragon Language, but undead magic from Hell!

"I never expected the Campbell Duchy to be so debauched, allying with demons of Hell..."

He distinctly recalled that the Humans and Hell were mortal enemies.

Tartak could not help but lament.

The times outside were changing too fast...