NOVEL WEB Chapter 782
“Behold the sand of a land besieged by famine. They are dark, small, and winged, delighting in troubling and annoying those before them, while they sit upon human skin and bite with their mouths, inflicting pain. They, as small as grains of sand and as dark as the pieces of a decayed corpse, flutter close to you, enjoying the torment they bring, causing your flesh to swell red and scratching in an unimaginable itch until blood flows and ichor oozes.
But as mentioned, they emerged alongside the famine, so how could one summon the strength to scratch and chase them away? The heralds of famine tear at the skin of those too weak to resist, inflicting pain upon them, culminating in a shuddering death amidst agony and itching. The faithful may find themselves walking the irredeemable path of decay, blaming the God who allowed them to be eaten alive by insects in their suffering, begging idols and demons to repel the harbingers of famine, only to fall prey to their deceit, enduring fiery punishment until the day of judgement deep in the depths of hell.
Is this not the very definition of tragedy?”
“In the pitch-black night, it hides within the shadows and stirs. These creatures, spreading malignant disease and gnawing on flesh, render even the affluent impoverished and the whole healthy in distress. Can one not call them the wicked servants of famine, marauding creatures that bring about destitution? Where they scratch, ichor flows, bugs swim within the body, and fever erupts so violently that even the sturdiest man is reduced to a fool, leaving him incapable of lifting an arm to pray, let alone maintain control over his own body; can you guarantee this will not lead to death amidst famine?”
The writhing of the dark things.
Too small to be called flies, lacking the biting proboscis of mosquitoes, the invasion of these minuscule pests.
Just as ancient folk once proposed the theory of natural creation, black creatures were born from ashes, and from the vomit of regurgitated refuse, something invisible adhered to them, seeking a symbiotic relationship.
No, it is not symbiosis.
It is a relationship where one party reaps all the benefit.
A relationship where one party uses the other unilaterally.
It is parasitism.
Leishmania donovani. The protozoans commonly referred to as Leishmania cling to sandflies.
They latch onto sandflies, looking like sand, burrowing in with an invisibly small magnitude, propelling their flagella as they glide, eagerly anticipating their transfer to a host.
May they escape from such insects and cling to those with spines.
To canines.
And to humans.
The unyielding flutter of their wings.
They swarm darkly, their primary goal to bite human skin and consume their nutrients. And they create an entryway for the Leishmania housed within them, intending to introduce it deeper into the host.
And their intense desire, compelled by magical power and energy granted through spellcraft, dramatically enhances their flight capabilities. While sandflies typically should not stray far from their range of about 150m, they seemed to soar on the wind, winging far beyond, homing in on their targets.
Then, ever so naturally, they find a spot to settle within the intrusiveness of skin hairs, cautiously perching on the flesh.
A prick.
Their mouths bite into the skin.
“Ow, that stings!”
The bitten yelp in irritation as they swat at their palms.
In daring attempts to crush the insolent insect that dared munch on their flesh and suck their blood.
Or perhaps to strike the site of infestation, seeking to alleviate the pain and itch slightly.
*Smack!*
A palm slams down, and one of the bugs dies.
The hand claps again, but some bugs survive.
What remains is the mark left by the bite.
A round, swelling area.
The faces of soldiers grimace in response to the itching.
“Tch, what bad luck. What’s with these damn mosquitoes in broad daylight…”
“Doesn’t seem like a mosquito, though. More like a flying bug?”
“Ha! All this is because of those Sikh bastards. They definitely brought over some weird bugs to plague us. I knew something was up when they started yapping about some strange prayers and ominous rituals just by the border.”
“Well, at least they treated us to a meal. The food was good.”
“…That’s true.”
On one side of the border belonging to India, the soldiers grimaced.
They whined about the bugs they had never seen before biting them, both irritated and increasingly blaming the Sikh individuals they had often encountered around the borders recently. But they couldn’t continue that train of thought too far, as the meals they shared danced through their minds, cutting them off mid-complaint, resulting in grimaces instead.
For Indian soldiers, the Sikh people do not receive a warm welcome.
One reason is that most of them are Hindus, but it’s largely because this is the borderland.
Due to this peculiar circumstance, they must scrutinize and remain vigilant toward every individual approaching, especially since the Indian government maintains a discreet wariness regarding Sikh individuals. Naturally, this results in heightened tension from above, mandating soldiers to stay more alert than usual, leading to inevitable stress.
Furthermore, after having been stationed in a quiet location, the influx of individuals requiring extra scrutiny is bound to frustrate them.
Even when writing reports, they typically need only jot down “No Special Circumstances” but now have to specify, “Five Sikh men visited. They were treated to a meal and left, with the number of beneficiaries being…” and so forth in lengthy detail. Additionally, they’re tasked with tracking who ate, whether prayers were conducted together, whether any items were exchanged, noting the ages and appearances of the visiting Sikhs; as they dig deeper, the workload inevitably multiplies.
Had it not been for the tasty rice, a problem likely would have arisen ages ago.
No, the very activity of providing meals under the guise of “charitable service for the soldiers tirelessly protecting India day and night” probably would’ve barred any of them from even approaching the border. Ignoring the impure reasons, the burden of various concerns would simply be too taxing.
“Ugh, this is no ordinary pest. Where the heck did they come from?”
“Are we sure these bugs followed the Sikhs? Everyone knows they’re pretty clean.”
“Hey, I’ve been stationed here and never saw these bugs before. But they show up after the Sikhs arrive? Clearly, they’ve brought them along! And just because they clean often, doesn’t mean they won’t pick up pests—if anything, the frequent cleaning might attract the bugs since they’re a nice clean snack!”
“Good point there. People should be a bit dirty and wash moderately to stay healthy; they’re showering every day, after all.”
And so, these bugs quietly infiltrate the Indian frontlines, borne along by a tiny blasphemy that the Sikhs had brought them along.
And then….
“What the hell is this bug?”
“Ugh. These filthy Indian bastards. They aren’t human; they’re like savage beasts!”
The bugs take flight.
To the Chinese frontlines.
“True to their filthy nature, bathing in rivers filled with corpses and excrement; they’re flinging around these disgusting pests. Yuck!”
“Not quite a mosquito but more like a bug that drinks blood. Hey, did we have any livestock here?”
“I did raise some cattle at home. Could be similar…”
“Cattle? So then there’s a connection with those Indian bastards, right?”
“Exactly! They freak out over their cattle! Must’ve come from there!”
“Argh, what a hassle! Ow, ow! How many times can these suckers bite! Damn it! Let’s go eat some beef! Can’t afford the pricey stuff, but we can surely do hotpot!”
The Chinese soldiers curse, attributing all the blame to the Indians, asserting that these little demons have arrived because those filthy folk brought them over. In a quest to rid themselves of this annoyance, they decide to feast on beef with the intention of insultingly targeting the Indian people.
So, with this tiny misunderstanding that the bugs resulted from Indian soldiers, they began to establish themselves at the Chinese border too.
Neither side connected the dots that it was the sandflies biting them or fantasized what might dwell within the sandflies.
And as some time passed…
“Ugh, ughhh!”
“Ehh, ughhh.”
Strange symptoms began to emerge among the soldiers of both nations.
Only a few days after being bitten by sandflies.
The symptoms manifested swiftly without regard to an incubation period, initially presenting as headaches and fevers. Mild headaches, slight fatigue and lethargy, coupled with a hot and burning fever.
They appeared to merely resemble a common cold.
Accordingly, adequate remedies were provided across each unit.
“A cold? A Galgeun-tang pill will do the trick!”
“Colds can be treated easily with carbonated drinks mixed with spices.”
In some locations, they might have stocked cold medicine for efficient use.
“Cold… no medicine here. Guess we’ll need to go buy some.”
In spaces with limited supplies, soldiers were either sent out to buy their own or expected to return with purchased items.
Thus, across most units, the prescribed methods leaned toward the ordinary and quite familiar.
Seemingly simple and straightforward, as one might encounter in any nation or unit.
It seemed like things were resolving themselves without a hitch.
A cold is a common enough ailment, after all.
…But alas, what had visited them was not a mere cold.
It was something far more severe and dangerous.
Leishmania.
More specifically, the parasite classified as visceral Leishmania had taken residence inside them.
The embedded visceral Leishmania continued to divide and propagate within their tissues.
And then….
“Skin, my skin! It’s turned black!”
It unveiled its true nature by staining the host’s skin pitch black!