"Congratulations, Master, for finding the medium before the deadline," the three individuals said as they lifted their heads, greedily staring at me as if my face was covered in silver.

I remained silent, knowing this wasn't the time to speak. Even if I asked, Wuka wouldn't tell me. The only thing I could be sure of was that I was the 'medium' they were referring to, and they intended to use me for some significant purpose.

There were four of them, so I had to act according to the situation. Impulsive resistance was useless. Besides, I was close to death anyway. In three days, I would turn seventeen years old.

Wuka seemed somewhat surprised by my compliance. He patted me and said ominously, 'Obey, and you'll live.'

I guessed he was just deceiving me, but I had nothing to lose. Deep down, I actually hoped Wuka was a demon, as in that case, he might truly have the power to save me. 'Hurry up, Master, we only have three days left,' the dwarf said eagerly, hopping around.

Wuka nodded: "Go in." His black robe spread out as he soared up and glided into the marshland. The white-haired old man and the burly man, holding me tightly between them, followed closely behind.

Damn it, are they in such a hurry to get reincarnated? The marshland was eerily silent, with entwined vines covering the sky, leaving only tiny gaps. The murky water, green and overflowing, meandered through the bushes, emitting turbid bubbles.

The fallen leaves had piled up thickly, most turning into rotten, decaying mud, giving off wafts of foul smell.

We gradually ventured deeper into the marsh. I found it strange because I hadn't seen a single animal, not even small flying insects or ants.

It's as if this marsh had devoured all life. "Move faster! Move!" the dwarf urged me fiercely. I really wanted to smash his ruddy nose with a punch.

A day quickly passed, and I had long lost my sense of direction. Wuka constantly held an old, yellowed sheepskin map in his hand, occasionally glancing down at it before continuing to lead the way.

"I can't go on anymore!" I gasped for air, collapsing to the ground. Wuka glanced at me: "Then take a rest." After entering the marshland, Wuka was quite courteous to me. I wolfed down a cold bun handed to me by the burly man.

Wuka stood with his back to me, again examining the sheepskin map, while the dwarf kept staring at me, making me feel uneasy. The white-haired old man sat on a tree stump, pulling out a dry tobacco pipe.

He tapped it on his heel, placed it in his mouth, and then "snap," the pipe suddenly fell as the old man began to cough violently.

The cough was both sharp and high-pitched, as if something was trying to crawl out of his throat. The dwarf turned around in surprise to look at him, and even Wuka's complexion changed.

"Wow!" Colorful things spewed out of the old man's mouth, fresh blood, tangled intestines, then red lungs and a yellow liver. The old man, in agony, clutched at his throat and collapsed to his knees.

A warm heart popped out and fell into the mud, faintly pulsating. At first, I thought the old man was performing a trick, but when he slumped to the ground lifelessly, I realized that the white-haired old man was dead. The burly man began to scream in horror.

"Shut up!" Wuka barked, his face looking terrible. He anxiously looked around, the red light in his eyes flickering bright and dim.

I wasn't afraid of dead people. Every year when heavy snow fell, a few beggars would freeze to death in Blue Castle city. I would rush up to them, rummage through their pockets, and take the one or two copper coins they had left.

But I had never seen a death as bizarre as the old man's. I was a bit scared but also felt a perverse sense of relief; if I really died, at least I wouldn't be alone. All night, the burly man didn't sleep, as Wuka had ordered him to keep watch.