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I checked the faces of the ones approaching the mountain.
It's humans.
They were just ordinary people, and there didn’t appear to be any other species among them. Their gait toward the livestock pen was light and carefree.
I observed them more closely—two, then three, came in pairs. Quickly, I could spot something they all had in common: black stains. Inkblot-like smudges stained their foreheads, neck, or beneath their eyes. I remembered clearly how those faint marks squirmed and expanded like living things. It was the Necron Society’s tattoo.
I can’t believe they’re here…
I recalled Rayleigh’s words.
Watch out for snakes. Statues, paintings, jewelry… tattoos. The real ones are worse. You’ll eventually learn.
He’d said I’d find out later, but he died that very night, without a chance to be careful or cautious.
"If this was going to happen, he could’ve said more," muttering to myself, I focused on their conversation as they got closer.
"Are we the only team that got...
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