The gloom over the Southern Continent plummeted to its lowest point under the cruel backlash of the deadly rat poison.

The ultimate poison bait Everett had created was nothing but drinking poison to quench thirst. The rat swarm was nearly wiped out, but non-degradable toxic substances lurked everywhere—in the soil, streams, and roots of grass, forming an invisible deadly net over the entire continent.

Sheep in pastures continued to collapse one after another. Crops in fields were too contaminated to harvest. Citizens suffered chronic poisoning: dizziness, fatigue, and liver and kidney damage became common. The continent, once wealthy from wool and farming, completely collapsed economically. No more ocean freighters docked at its ports. Sorrowful faces filled the streets, and despair grew like wildfire in every heart.

The state government and Academy of Science halted all chemical interventions. Everett locked himself away, devoting every day to neutralizing the toxins, but every experiment ended in failure. Staring at the withered pastures outside his window, he was consumed by guilt.

The scientific community and citizens finally reached a unified truth:

chemical methods only created greater disasters.

The only path forward was to follow nature’s original food chain—to balance biology with biology.

They had to restore natural balance, not forcibly rewrite it with human technology.

After dozens of ecologists’ repeated research, a species introduction plan was placed before Parliament.

They chose the Li Hua cat—a domestic breed from the ancient eastern kingdom of Huasang, with a natural, powerful hunting instinct, agile speed, sharp senses, and strong adaptability. They were natural predators of rodents, gentle toward humans, and had long been trusted pest controllers in Huasang. They were seen as the safest, most natural solution.

The plan passed unanimously.

The government spent heavily to import the first 2,000 healthy Li Hua cats from Huasang. After strict quarantine and observation, they were released in batches around pastures, farmlands, granaries, and town corners where rats still lingered.

On the day of release, many citizens gathered voluntarily. Watching the colorful, alert cats, they finally regained hope. They would no longer live in terror of poison—and could finally heal their wounded land with nature’s own power.

Within the first month, a miraculous change appeared.

The Li Hua cats quickly adapted to the Southern Continent’s climate and terrain. They hunted at night, using their natural instincts to track the last remaining rats. If rats hid in burrows, the cats waited patiently in ambush. If rats darted into grass, the cats struck with lightning speed.

The few surviving rats on the poisoned land could not escape. In just thirty days, all wild rats vanished completely. Even the last rodents in homes and granaries were wiped clean.

With rats no longer devouring grass roots, the pastures slowly recovered. Tender green shoots pushed through the yellowed earth. With no rats destroying crops, the remaining plants survived. Though the soil remained toxic, there was no further destruction.

Scientists confirmed the rat population had dropped to historic lows—the plague was truly over.

The research team was relieved, and Everett smiled for the first time in months.

The government held a press conference, declaring biological control a complete success. Media called it the victory of following nature. Citizens relaxed, laughter returned to the streets, and everyone believed the long catastrophe was finally over. The continent would soon regain its former glory.

But the peace lasted only two months.

Ecologists soon spotted a terrifying pattern.

The cats’ targets began to shift.

At first, they hunted rats. But as rats grew scarce and hid deeper underground, hunting them became exhausting. Meanwhile, the Southern Continent’s wild was full of easy prey: fast-breeding rabbits, rare ground-nesting birds, and small native creatures—slow, defenseless, and effortless to catch.

This was the optimal foraging theory in action:

all wild creatures instinctively choose prey that costs the least energy and gives the most reward.

Li Hua cats were no exception.

At first, only a few cats abandoned rats for birds and rabbits. But this strategy spread rapidly through the colony. They no longer waited by rat holes. They roamed the grasslands, forests, and riverbanks, killing vulnerable native species.

Worse still—Li Hua cats had no natural predators here.

With ample food and perfect weather, they bred uncontrollably. From 2,000, their numbers swelled to nearly 10,000 in just six months. They had become invasive.

The research data was horrifying:

Native grassland rabbits dropped by 60%.

Unique rare birds and ground-nesting species—never having evolved to fear cats—lost their nests and young. Their populations collapsed by over 70%.

Many were pushed onto the endangered list, toward extinction.

By the time citizens and the government realized the danger,

a new ecological catastrophe was already unstoppable.

The feral cat invasion shattered the Southern Continent’s fragile ecosystem.

Native species neared extinction. Biodiversity was devastated.

With rabbits gone, small native predators starved and disappeared.

With birds gone, insects multiplied unchecked, threatening plants and farmland again.

Worst of all—humanity was trapped in a hopeless dilemma.

If they killed all the cats, the remaining rats would multiply unchecked, and the plague would return. The poisoned land could not survive another invasion.

If they let the cats spread freely, native species would go extinct, the food chain would break completely, and the continent would be lost forever to foreign invaders.

The cats brought to save the continent—meant to follow nature’s law—had become the cause of a new disaster.

Humans had tried to heal nature, yet once more, blind intervention had dug them into a deeper grave.

Everett stared at the reports, at the endangered birds, at the overpopulated cats, and sighed deeply.

He finally understood: nature’s balance is delicate and precise.

Every time humans intervene with arrogance—even with good intentions, even in the name of nature—they bring new chaos, as long as they defy the evolutionary laws of the ecosystem.

Parliament held another emergency meeting, arguing fiercely, but no perfect solution emerged.

Sunlight shone over the damaged grasslands, as cats slipped through the bushes.

The shadow of rats had not fully lifted,

and the shadow of mass extinction now weighed heavier than ever.

The Southern Continent’s suffering was unending.

And nature, through one cruel backlash after another,

was teaching humanity the unbreakable laws of survival.