Every ounce of sorrow.
Then, he forcefully cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the spacious room mine shaft.
“Warriors of Watkan! The evil false god Zi Luo Mo has been slain! The Strange have also been completely purged!”
“False god!?”
The appearance of that word immediately caused the dwarves to break into noisy chatter.
The Great Artisan God paused deliberately, letting the shocking news fully detonate in the dwarves’ hearts.
Seeing the surprise and rekindled light in his clansmen’s eyes, the Great Artisan God’s expression grew even more solemn.
He continued his announcement:
“Because of the greed of the goblin false god, we have lost many of our kin, our brothers. Blood has soaked our homeland, hatred is etched into our hearts. But our Watkan Tribe has never yielded to darkness! Our mission to guard the Holy Relic is complete, and this will to protect must also continue!”
He took a deep breath, his voice suddenly rising, carrying weight.
“To remember the sacrifice, to continue the glory of our guardianship! For the future survival and prosperity of the Watkan Tribe— I, the Great Artisan God of the Watkan Tribe, hereby declare: From this day forward, the Watkan Tribe, as a whole, belongs to the Light Church! We will follow His Holiness Pope Muxuan, heed the guidance of the Light, rebuild our home, guard order, until the darkness is completely dispelled!”
The echo of the Great Artisan God’s declaration hummed through the mine tunnel, like heavy drumbeats pounding on every dwarf’s heart.
A brief deathly silence enveloped the entire platform, heavier than the pile of bones at the bottom of the cliff just moments ago.
The expressions on the Watkan dwarves’ faces froze.
There was doubt, distrust, and worry.
“The tribe belongs to… the Light Church? Follow… Pope Muxuan?”
“SnoU——”
Hearing Sistine’s anxious voice, Muxuan gently waved her hand, using the Crosier to brace herself against the ground as she struggled to stand.
Her expression was somewhat strained, but the corner of her mouth still held a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
“Still not coming out?”
Muxuan slowly turned around, a hint of playfulness in her voice.
At first, she hadn’t figured out Zi Luo Mo’s meaning, but now, it wasn’t hard to guess.
“You really dare to think you can be the ones who win without doing anything.”
As Muxuan’s words fell, bubbles began to rise from a patch of shadow.
The dwarf lurking in the shadow slowly walked out.
Sistine’s brow furrowed.
She instinctively moved to Muxuan’s side, reaching out to protect her.
Half of that dwarf’s body seemed to have been corroded by something, already turned into stark white bone.
“Leopold…”
The moment the Great Artisan God saw that dwarf, he softly called out the Inteke Tribe chieftain’s name.
Leopold.
Leopold’s figure appeared especially eerie in the shadow filled with the dust of pale bones.
His face, half flesh and half bone, was expressionless, yet deep within his hollow eye sockets, two points of faint green light danced.
Muxuan merely smiled lightly at this.
She had been thinking about it for a while.
The Inteke Tribe neither possessed the construction method for Wonder Buildings nor had sufficient combat strength.
Their mere understanding of the Watkan Tribe was far from enough to make Zi Luo Mo, this false god, choose to cooperate with them.
Moreover, almost the entire Kostershka Mountains were occupied by goblins.
Zi Luo Mo was not short of cannon fodder.
Added to his utter disregard for even his own people, it was even less likely he harbored any goodwill towards the Inteke Tribe.
The most crucial point was that Zi Luo Mo’s goal had always been the Holy Relic, and he had long known its location.
He had no reason to cooperate with the Inteke Tribe.
Unless—
The Authority of Death.
Everything before her completely confirmed Muxuan’s speculation.
She could be certain that Zi Luo Mo was wary of something.
Now it appeared, what he feared was precisely the Fragment of the Authority of Death held by the Inteke Tribe.
Both sides were using each other.
Zi Luo Mo was the first to lose patience and make a move, but the result was his failure.
And the other side naturally wanted to take over everything he left behind.
This was why Zi Luo Mo would rather annihilate himself.
Only…
How exactly did the other party obtain the Authority of Death?
The Great Artisan God looked at Leopold, his gaze extremely grave.
Back when the two tribes were still in contact, Leopold was indeed a very open-minded person among the younger generation.
He didn’t understand why the other had become like this.
Meeting Muxuan’s and the Great Artisan God’s gazes, Leopold’s jaw bones clashed and scraped violently, emitting a piercing “clatter, clatter” sound, as if producing some kind of incomprehensible mockery.
The two points of faint green light danced wildly in his hollow eye sockets, revealing a deep-seated malice and icy stillness.
“Clack!”
With an exceptionally loud sound of bone friction, Leopold’s arm, still covered in skin, suddenly lifted, pointing at Muxuan and the others.
Without any warning.
The mountains of piled bones, as if pushed by an invisible colossal wave, instantly “came alive.”
Those pale white skeletons, whether human-shaped, dwarf-shaped, or twisted monster forms, all charged at the four of them simultaneously at that very moment!
Their speed was extremely fast, filling in an instant all the space illuminated by the light at Muxuan’s fingertips.
The silent bottom of the cliff was instantly overwhelmed by the terrifying sounds of bones colliding, scraping, and shattering.
The stench of decay mixed with icy killing intent, like a tangible tide, striving for everyone’s nerves.
The Great Artisan God reacted first.
The Rock Armor covering his body abruptly thickened.
A surge of dark red air raged from within him, wrapping around the enormous Forging Hammer.
The violent air wave exploded outwards!
Dozens of skeletons charging at the forefront were instantly smashed into bone fragments and powder flying through the air.
The residual force even momentarily halted the surging tide of white bones behind them.
Sistine moved close behind.
The moment the skeletons erupted, she gritted her teeth and ignored the burning pain from the wounds all over her body, standing her ground without stepping back, shielding Muxuan.
The blade of [Lyrasel] erupted with brilliant silver light once more.
Sword light scattered like a silver rainstorm, precisely slicing through every approaching skeleton.
Any skeleton that got close was either severed at the joints or directly shattered by the blows.
“Theodore, get down!”
Sistine shouted sharply, while struggling to cleave apart a gigantic beast skeleton lunging at Theodore.
Theodore, who had ducked with his head down, froze for a moment, then stopped hesitating.
The stone hammer in his hand suddenly enlarged, sweeping violently towards the oncoming skeletons.
In the brief vacuum before the bone piles surged again, Muxuan’s voice rang out, neither loud nor soft.
“You should stop now. Unless you want to lose the Fragment of the Authority of Death.”
She had already confirmed it.
Leopold had not truly obtained the Authority of Death.
It was merely a Fragment.
The flesh remaining on Leopold’s face twitched almost imperceptibly.
The green flame dancing in his eye sockets faltered abruptly, as if brushed by an invisible, icy wind, flickering as if it were about to go out.
The “clattering” mocking sound of his bones also stopped eerily.
Silence, as heavy as lead, pressed down on everyone’s hearts.
The skeletal army remained in their attacking posture, frozen in place.
Their hollow eye sockets collectively “looked” towards Leopold, as if waiting for the next command.
Sistine and the Great Artisan God exchanged a grave look.
Both of them tacitly concentrated their power into their legs.
They already had some guesses.
Leopold’s own power was not strong.
“Clatter… clatter, clatter…”
After a brief pause, the frequency of Leopold’s lower jaw opening and closing became more urgent.
“Ignorant… god… die…”
His voice was broken and intermittent, like a rusty gear forced to turn, each syllable steeped in icy killing intent.
His skeletal arm lifted again, pointing directly at Muxuan.
“You… must also… die…”
As the final hoarse syllable fell, the still skeletal army surged inward again like a tide towards the center.
Just as the Great Artisan God and Sistine were about to act, Muxuan stopped them with her hand.
Giving them both a reassuring look, Muxuan’s figure flickered, instantly appearing beside Leopold.
She gently pinched the Bone Staff in Leopold’s hand between two fingers.
Light burst forth!
The pitch-black orb at the top of the Bone Staff shattered instantly.
“I told you.”
“If you didn’t want to lose the Fragment of the Authority of Death, you should have stopped.”
“Unfortunately, you missed this chance.”
As Muxuan’s words faded, the cloud-like Holy Relic materialized beside her in an instant.
Without any hesitation, she directly stripped a Fragment from the Bone Staff and cast it into the Holy Relic.
Almost the moment the Fragment was stripped away and cast into the Holy Relic—
Leopold’s half-human, half-skeletal body began to convulse violently, as if all support had been drained from him.
“Urgh… ah…”
The light instantly faded from his remaining fleshy eye.
His bloodshot eyeball rolled upwards frantically, revealing large areas of white.
At the same time, the invisible strings binding the skeletal army snapped abruptly!
“Boom——!”
Thousands upon thousands of skeletons, having lost the force compelling them, crashed into each other from momentum, erupting in a deafening roar.
Pale bone fragments cascaded down like an avalanche, raising a blinding cloud of pale dust that instantly swallowed the last trace of Leopold’s existence.
The entire bottom of the cliff trembled.
“Cough, cough, cough——”
Sistine immediately shielded the weakened Muxuan in her arms, using her own back to withstand the impact and the flying bone chips.
Dust filled the air, blurring vision.
The ash mixed with bone powder and the stench of decay choked the air, making it almost impossible to breathe.
In the air, only the continuous “clattering” sound of collapsing bones and the suppressed panting of the group remained.
Dusk.
Beikeze sat at the cold desk, the parchment gleaming faintly in the candlelight.
He gripped the quill, but his wrist trembled slightly, the nib hovering above the document, unable to descend.
A sharp, piercing pain stabbed through his temple without warning.
He grunted, forced to put down the pen, and pressed his fingers hard against his forehead.
After His Holiness left the encampment for the Watkan Tribe, the entire Church had grown restless.
The Church appeared stable on the surface, but countless hidden dangers had already been sown.
Certain entities within the Black Mist were quietly seeping through, like invisible poison ivy, coiling around the unease and greed deep in people’s hearts, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Beikeze’s fingers were pale, and he breathed heavily.
As a Cardinal, he was the most targeted.
In his daze, Beikeze’s hand brushed against a bloodstained list nearby.
It was another batch of those who had been corrupted yesterday.
They had tried to stir up unrest within the encampment, incite panic, and even attempted to destroy the Nodes.
The candlelight flickered, casting his furrowed brow and the deep-seated worry in his eyes onto the wall.
He let out a long breath and leaned back wearily in his chair.
“The screening… is already strict enough, but the entities in the Black Mist are too insidious. They always find the tiniest cracks in human nature and slip in quietly.”
“Heh heh…”
Beikeze’s fingers pressed hard against the table, a flicker of madness occasionally flashing in his eyes.
After issuing the order not to accept refugees at the encampment, the situation had improved somewhat… but this was clearly not enough!
Not enough… far from enough!
He muttered, his voice hoarse, as if scraping against sandpaper.
The violent headache struck again, like countless tiny drills churning inside his skull.
Beikeze shut his eyes abruptly, cold sweat beading on his temples.
“Bishop Beikeze!”
Creak—
The door opened.
Seeing Beikeze’s condition, the Sister who had opened the door rushed over, gently holding a cloth in her hands, wiping the sweat from Beikeze’s face.
“I’m fine.”
He tried to push her hand away, but the dizziness from the headache made his arm weak.
Beikeze’s voice was raspy, trembling with forcibly suppressed pain.
“You’re pushing yourself again, Bishop.”
The Sister’s voice carried an unmistakable concern, but her movements became even gentler.
“You haven’t slept in two days. Is it… those ‘Whispers’ again?”
She lowered her voice, her eyes full of worry.
As one of the most trusted attendant Sisters by Beikeze’s side, she knew well what the Bishop was enduring.
“Now… get out!!!”
Beikeze’s voice suddenly turned harsh, not softening in the slightest because of the Sister’s words.
The Sister was taken aback.
She looked at Beikeze’s face one last time, then slowly lowered her head.
She picked up the cup from by the door, placed it on the table in front of Beikeze, and immediately withdrew.
After the Sister left, Beikeze closed his eyes, his knuckles white from pressing against his temples.
The “Whispers” were precisely the temptations and murmurs that constantly tried to erode his will through the gaps in the Black Mist.
They coldly entangled his thoughts, gnawed at his sanity, and tried to drag him into an abyss of madness.
The next moment, a tremendous sound suddenly came.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
A dull, horrifying roar exploded inward.
The thick oak door shattered as if struck by an invisible giant hammer.
The candle flame was pushed down by the gust of bloody wind, almost extinguished, and the room plunged into a swaying, dim darkness.
Through the doorway, several twisted figures squeezed in.
They were not human.
The foremost figure had limbs twisted at unnatural, reverse-joint angles.
Its skin was a rotting grayish-green, covered in sticky pustules and writhing black veins.
Beside it, another figure had a head that dripped downward like melted wax, revealing stark white cheekbones.
The figure behind had its chest cavity split open.
Inside, instead of organs, there was a black sac that kept contracting and oozing thick filth.
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Even strange black frost flowers condensed on the walls.
The maddening “Whispers” intensified tenfold, like countless icy snake tongues hissing in his ears, drilling frantically into Beikeze’s mind.
“…Heh heh heh.”
Seeing this, Beikeze let out a series of low, suppressed laughs that eventually became clear and unhinged.
The laughter was filled with exhaustion and pain, but more than that, it held the near-cruel excitement of a hunter finally seeing his prey fall into the trap.
“Finally… couldn’t take it anymore?”
“I’ve been waiting… for you for so long.”
Beikeze’s voice was hoarse, a grin splitting his face nearly to the point of tearing.
Madness and sharp light intertwined in his eyes.
The extreme pain seemed to be twisted into a source of fanatical power at this moment.
He didn’t even look at the Sister frozen by the door, her face instantly shifting from worry to terror.
Her “concern,” the cup of possibly tainted “medicine” she had offered, were only to confirm his weakened state and lure the lurking anomalies into striking.
Beikeze’s hand, which had been trembling just moments ago, darted with incredible speed into the inner pocket of his heavy clerical robe.
What he pulled out was not a Holy Emblem, nor a Crosier.
It was a silver hairpin.
The hairpin was simple and antique in style, with a small, somewhat dull milky stone set into its tip.
It emitted a faint glow but was also accompanied by a black aura.
Without any hesitation, without a moment’s delay.
In the instant those twisted figures charged at him with roars, Beikeze gripped the hairpin in his right hand and drove the sharp end deep into his agonizingly painful right temple.
“Aaaaah—!!!”
A scream of agony burst from deep within his throat, mixing extreme pain with an indescribable sense of release.
This was a Pollutant newly collected from a refugee, never processed by the Pope.
He could only piece together the Pollutant’s function from the refugees’ descriptions.
Likewise… this Pollutant also had severe side effects.
But so what?
Humm—
An invisible ripple expanded outward from the point where the hairpin pierced.
The few twisted anomalies that had lunged close suddenly froze in place.
Their decaying, pus-oozing limbs made a sickening crack sound, as if being crushed by an invisible force.
On that melted-wax face, which should have been nothing but empty malice, an indescribable fear bizarrely surfaced, then was quickly covered by spreading pale frost.
The temperature of the entire room dropped to freezing.
The black frost flowers on the walls spread wildly, covering every surface in an instant.
Even the flickering, dying candle flame was completely frozen within a crystal of ice, retaining its last struggling glow.
The putrid air solidified.
Only Beikeze’s heavy, pained breathing remained, along with the faint sizzle of ice spreading over the anomalies.
…
Beikeze gasped for breath, his body trembling violently from the pain and the sudden extreme cold.
The maddening Whispers from the depths of the Black Mist that had been clinging to him were forcibly suppressed the moment this icy power erupted.
His mind regained some clarity at that moment.
But the cost was enormous.
Half of his face had lost sensation, leaving only bone-deep cold and a dull ache like his soul was being torn apart.
His vision began to blur.
His right eye was completely covered in bloodshot lines and frost.
“B-Beikeze Bishop?!”
The Sister, frozen at the door, finally snapped out of her extreme shock and let out a trembling scream.
Beikeze’s gaze shifted slightly.
He said nothing.
His left eye stared fixedly at the Sister.
The last remnants of rationality in his pupils were ignited by madness and icy killing intent.
“You… stay too.”
Beikeze’s voice was ice-cold.
The moment the words left his mouth, his left hand, stained with his own blood, shot up and slammed hard into the end of the silver hairpin embedded in his temple.
Thud!
A dull impact, causing the hairpin to vibrate violently.
An even more violent surge of ice energy, as if completely out of control, exploded outward from Beikeze at the center.
All the anomalies frozen in the room shattered like fragile glass.
No blood or flesh flew.
Only a cloud of ice crystal powder filled the air.
The Sister at the door didn’t even have time to scream before her body was pierced and torn apart by countless ice shards shooting toward her, instantly turning into a broken, hole-ridden ice sculpture.