How should a tall knight's body, fully clad in armor, be transported?
If the knight lay in a coffin, there would be too many complications. Entering any city would require the knight's identification, territorial proof, and an officially notarized inventory of belongings to ensure it wasn't a ploy by some malicious people to stir up trouble or transport stolen goods.
Especially since the armor of the War King's brother was ancient and elegant, adorned with rubies arranged in a bloodstain pattern on the metal, obviously very valuable. Seeing such a knight, the guards would definitely need to contact the territory through a communication crystal.
Thus, for Players to fulfill [The Ancient Knight's Last Wish] normally, they basically couldn't enter cities or stay anywhere casually—whether they disguised themselves as a funeral procession or disguised the body as oversized luggage, it meant thieves could profit.
However, if the knight stood on his own, there were no prohibitions. He just needed a forged identity.
Like now, Abandon had arranged a stay in advance, and the group, under the name of the "Aquinas family", checked into the best rooms of an inn.
This place was at the border of Shiva and New Gemino. With recent Demon King activities, the number of visitors had dwindled, so even the servants got double rooms.
The dead knight stood in the courtyard, motionless, watching the night fall.
"Is it okay to let that guy stand there?" Abandon leaned against the window. "The gems on him are dazzling. Someone might get greedy…"
Sharing a room with him was the siren boy. Abandon, curious about his first encounter with a creature from Paradise, started a conversation.
The siren completely ignored him.
He glanced at the sky, instinctively placing his hand on his chest, as if to gesture something. The next second, he frowned in distress, and his hand reluctantly fell back.
Throughout the journey, the siren boy had been moody. His eyes were always slightly swollen, often lost in thought and not listening, sometimes staring blankly and shedding tears.
Abandon wondered why the Master of Paradise would bring such a person. The boy's curse magic was indeed stunning, but he was still too young—look how immature his heart was!
"Hey, if someone really gets greedy, don't worry." Abandon patted his chest. "I'm a Ranger, after all. At this close distance, I'll be the first to notice! So don't worry. Staying with me is safe."
Siren Fischer looked at him as if he were a fool.
After silently watching Abandon for a few seconds, he turned his face away, not uttering a word.
Ah, the teenage years. Abandon consoled himself internally, continuing to gaze at the knight outside the window.
As night deepened, the knight no longer needed an umbrella.
The spot where the knight stood was the inn's garden, filled with herbs, vegetables, and beautiful shrubs.
The grass at the knight's boots was green, with a few small white flowers gently swaying. The stars shone brightly, and the four moons scattered across the sky. All living things thrived, and thinking of the knight's death, Abandon felt a pang of sadness.
Better to make some buttered potatoes for a late-night snack. Since a while ago, he had been smelling the tantalizing aroma of barbecue, which was irresistible.
In the room upstairs of Abandon's room.
Teest lay by the window, with two pieces of grilled veal on a plate beside him. It was covered in spices, their steam melting into the air.
He ate the meat absentmindedly, gazing at the undead knight in the garden.
"Does he still think?" Teest asked distractedly.
"Not much left." Nol, reading by the bedside, replied, "He's been dead too long. He probably only has instincts left—maybe a bit of basic language ability."
"Oh, how sad," Teest said. "No wonder 'resurrecting ancestors through necromancy' isn't popular."
Nol closed his book. "Death is irreversible. In our world, someone who's just died might be revived, but if the body has decayed, it's hopeless."
In fact, whether on Earth or Tahe, trying to do something after death, no matter how much one clung to it, would only lead to "continual loss".
In comparison, his system management was much more efficient—there was hope as long as one was alive.
How the system acquired such a function, Nol wondered, tossing the book aside and crawling into bed first.
The inn's bedding was quite clean, but Nol still cast a few purification and drying spells on it for safety. Now, with the outside cold and the bedding warm and fluffy, it provided a rare sense of comfort.
Seeing Nol lie down, Mr. Teest seemed to receive a signal. He quickly finished the veal, brushed his teeth at the speed of light, and then dove into Nol's bed, bringing a chill with him.
He left a warm, moist kiss on Nol's forehead. Nol smelled the scent of mint toothpaste.
He turned his back as usual, closing his eyes.
Teest's hand slid along his waist, holding Nol tightly. With his back against Teest's chest, Nol could feel the other's heartbeat and the hard wedding ring on his chest.
This had become their standard sleeping posture.
Not because Nol was indifferent, but simply because of one reason—
Day by day, Teest held him tighter. His arms occasionally adjusted their position, and sometimes even his legs came over.
Nol didn't know how outrageous the Mad Monk's religious methods were. He only knew that, as a healthy young man sharing a bed with someone he liked, he found it hard not to react.
Refreshing before sleep, refreshing in the morning, healthy and decent. He was almost used to it.
Thank the ecology of undead monsters!
Nol shifted in the warm chest, closing his eyes peacefully. The boiling blood disappeared into the void, and he soon fell asleep.
Teest nuzzled Nol's light golden hair, sniffing softly.
It was a comforting scent, but he couldn't sleep peacefully. He had achieved his goal—their relationship was now in balance.
He believed even if he changed the overly intimate morning and evening prayers, Nol would have no objections.
But he didn't want to change.
Teest shifted his arm. Their skin was separated only by a thin layer of fabric. Nol's warmth permeated unobstructed, making the bed too hot.
As an experienced adult, he understood what the restlessness meant, but it shouldn't be happening!
Teest moved closer in confusion, lightly kissing Nol's nape through his hair.
He kissed slowly and carefully, a soft strand of hair sticking to his lips.
Before, they had indeed had accidental intimate moments, but those were during intimate actions. Teest didn't mind, casually attributing it to "normal physiological reactions".
Now, Nol was sleeping peacefully, breathing as light as falling leaves, more harmless than the silver knife he just washed.
Teest lay wide-eyed in the dark, recalling his not-so-long life—
Even as a Mad Monk, he occasionally found something "likable", like a cute cat, on the street.
To him, there was no difference between the two. The Mad Monk wasn't crazy enough to want anything with a cat, just as he had no similar impulses towards "others".
Normally, such desires shouldn't exist in faith, right?
Teest shockingly realized his adolescence had arrived a decade late.
Holding Nol, he lay restlessly, waiting for the heat to fade. Nearly an hour later, unable to bear it, he crawled out of the bed, shivering in the cold air.
"Ah." Teest sighed towards the shadows, heading to the bathroom.
Shadow Wolf Ben heard the movement. Thinking it was time for a nighttime walk, it poked its head out happily, its mouth fur still greasy from veal.
"Go back." Teest tapped its nose, leaving the puzzled wolf outside.
When Teest emerged from the room again, he was damp. He wiped water droplets on the shadow wolf's fur, looking at the bed for a long time.
After another sigh of confusion, Teest opened the window, leaping lightly onto the grass. Finally, he tightened the golden threads on the window, keeping the cold air out.
He approached the War King's brother, the statue-like undead knight.
At midnight, the moonlight was exceptionally bright. The garden was fragrant, and the starry sky was so breathtaking that even Teest stopped to admire it.
"Watching the moon?" Teest glanced at the undead knight, tossing a word without hope.
"…Moon." The knight repeated in a vague, hoarse voice. "I remember… the moon."
"Well, aren't you amazing."
"Three more moons." The long-dead knight murmured to himself. "Why… more?"
Teest's eyebrows twitched. "What do you mean?"
"My brother once… showed me the full moon…" the knight said. "We stood under… one moon—no… four moons…?"
More incomprehensible ramblings followed.
Sure enough, this dead man was confused.
The War King's territory wasn't near the Dragon's Lair. How could there be only one moon?
"You really do miss your brother."
Teest took a deep breath in the chilly night, continuing to admire the stars. "Do you know your brother killed you? Not only that, he didn't fulfill your last wish, and now we have to do it for him."
He spoke without any psychological pressure—the Mad Monk had little sympathy for the living, let alone the dead.
"..." The undead knight was silent for a long time.
"I remember…" he said.
"The consequences of loyalty." Teest shrugged.
The knight looked up at the sky with him. He removed his ridiculous sunglasses. The blue fire was burning steadily in his helmet.
"It's not… like this…" he hissed. "I have no regrets…"
Teest pinched his frozen ears and raised his eyebrows.
The knight struggled to twist his neck, turning the face hidden under the helmet towards Teest. Although the helmet only revealed two blue lights, it emitted an unusually peaceful aura.
"You are… a knight…" he said.
"So what?" Teest replied.
"You understand…" the undead knight murmured dreamily. "When the time comes… you'll understand…"
Teest: "..."
'Forget it. Better not to communicate with the dead,' Teest thought. He blew into the cold wind for a while longer, then slipped back under the covers with a chill. Before closing his eyes, he glanced at the moonlight on the bedside.
The long-dead knight, perhaps still gazing at the moon, chewed on his scant past.
Teest curled up under the blanket while his arm hovered over Nol for a long time, finally gently covering Nol's hand with his palm.
Nol frowned slightly, murmuring "Teest." Unknowingly, he turned over and embraced Teest. The latter's body stiffened, then relaxed, his breathing evening out.
Shadow Wolf Ben emerged from the shadows, curiously watching the two for a while. Then it shrank in size and curled up at the foot of the bed.
The pitch-black wolf fur completely covered the window, leaving only a gentle darkness in the room.
Above their room, in the so-called "noble young master's" room, things were different.
It was significantly larger than the servants' quarters, with unnecessary tassels decorating the bedding. Anakin, still in her daytime clothes, had fallen asleep on the bed. "Young Master" Solo lay on the sofa, hugging a pillow, snoring, with half-eaten grapes on the side table.
The watch for the night was voluntarily taken up by former Pope Painter.
Painter glanced at the undead knight downstairs, then silently closed the curtains and sat back at the desk. He set up a one-way sound barrier around him and pulled out a fist-sized communication crystal from his waist bag.
"Captain!" "Ah, it's the captain!" "Are you alright, captain?"
As soon as the communication connected, a wave of noisy greetings came from the other side. Painter instinctively moved away from the crystal, as if spit could cross through the magic.
"How are you all doing?" he asked with a smile.
"We separated from Paradise! Those guys went back to the Lost Tower."
"Yes, yes, a Puppet Witch sister came to greet us and gave us a bunch of supplies, even sweet fruit wine. Little Darby's eyes were glued! Captain, let me tell you, all those outside propagandas are bullshit. Paradise is really generous."
"We plan to roam around the Black Forest again. The monsters here are too fat—"
"Fuck you, Kenny, don't spit on me! I'm talking to the captain!!!"
Another wave of noisy chatter ensued.
The former Pope shook his head helplessly. "Everything is going smoothly here. Oh, about the investigation into Enbillick Alva…"
"Oh, oh."
A young voice, sounding like a teenager, came closer. "The Golden Sword hasn't made any special moves recently. Captain, are you overthinking? Maybe he just wanted to invite you to dinner that day."
"As a shrewd businessman, he shouldn't bring someone as dangerous as me to his wife and children." Painter said calmly, "I just want to make sure whether Enbillick's target is me or those two with me."
"Silly squirrel, what are you thinking? How could someone like the 'Golden Sword' casually entertain people?"
"I'll keep investigating!" the boy called "Squirrel" quickly said.
"Don't worry, kid. You might want to pay more attention to Eternal Day City."
Painter smiled and advised, "With the fall of The Manor, the Alva Merchant Group must be paying close attention."
"Okay, okay, sir! No, captain!" The boy spoke rapidly, eliciting a wave of good-natured laughter.
"Everyone, stay safe. It's best not to approach the depths of the Black Forest without me." At this point, Painter's voice became serious. "I can feel something wrong with Brick Shadow. During this special period, everyone should be careful."
The Drifting Mercenaries chattered for a while longer, discussing their impressions of the various monsters in Paradise, and debating whether tonight's stew was salty or bland and who grabbed the most.
Painter listened intently, smiling.
"By the way, this 'God Selection' has ended," finally, a cheerful voice said. "Captain, none of us drew the divine lot. You're the 'God' this time!"
"Really, I swear we didn't tamper with it! We can make an honesty oath!" another female voice interjected.
"So you have to come back and get the divine statue," the cheerful voice added. "We pray for your safety!"
"Haha, I will definitely fulfill everyone's wishes." Painter winked at the communication crystal and cut off the connection.
Outside the window, the moonlight flowed quietly. Painter stood up, stretching his shoulders and waist.
"Paradise influences the system, the Mad Monk and his God," he muttered. "Golden Sword must have smelled something. Eugene hasn't reacted yet. Interesting… Isn't there a corresponding oracle in the Temple?"
As he said "oracle", a flicker of scorn flashed in his green eyes.
...
Hot Ash withdrew his gaze from the night sky.
The nights in Brick Shadow were more unbearable than the days. The night sky here was a brownish-red color, like rotten blood. No stars were visible, and the four moons were blurry and seemed more distant than usual.
The entire team felt as if they were swallowed by a monster. Everything was dark and damp, surrounded by murky red.
The nearby magic was too chaotic, preventing direct communication with the people from Amazon. They could only send messages via pure audio. Now, they had been sending out distress signals for half a day, but there was still no response from Amazon.
Giving up easily wasn't Hot Ash's style, nor was sitting idly by. He immediately ordered the Saints Guild to establish a base and sent the best scouts to explore, moving forward at a slow jog.
Hot Ash, unable to sleep, squatted outside the tent, drinking strong coffee, waiting for the night-shift scout to report.
A figure approached from the woods. Hot Ash put down his cup and stood up to greet him.
The shadow approached faster, and Hot Ash's steps slowed. He recognized the silhouette of weapons and equipment from the figure, but…
…But the "human" shape itself, wasn't it a bit strange?
Hot Ash made a snap decision. He drew his sword and activated the camp alarm.
Amidst the shrill alarm, the figure finally revealed his face—it was indeed a scout from the Saints Guild, with strikingly individualistic hair and eye color, bright deep green paired with light green.
At this moment, Hot Ash could only recognize the person's hair and eye color.
The man seemed to be melting.
The skin of his exposed arms had turned a corrupted black, surrounded by a massive amount of corruption clinging to him and spreading wildly over his body.
The scout's facial features were distorted, like a roughly pulled clay figure. Hot Ash saw a plea for help and despair in his eyes.
No, this wasn't right. Such bizarre corruption had never occurred before!
Since entering the game, the Saints Guild had long fought against corrupted monsters, and injuries from corruption weren't uncommon. To the Players, a corrupted wound simply took longer to heal and required powerful purification magic. They always considered it some kind of stubborn curse.
It could at most cause deformities in the natives, but such phenomena had never happened to Players.
"Priest—!" Hot Ash shouted, sheathing his sword and raising his shield. "We need a high-level priest here!"
As he spoke, a mottled and distorted system popup flew in front of him. It was surrounded by error-like mosaics with blurred writing, and the originally clean blue was now muddied with reddish-brown.
The popup flickered wildly, appearing both far and near, leaving countless error-like afterimages in the air.
[You have triggered the %#@ event.]
[You have triggered the %￥@ mission: The Corrupt False God.]
[Completion Condition: Survive for 7 days.]
[Mission Reward: Survival]
[Refusal Penalty: Death]
[※Don't leave? Don't leave? Don't leave.]
[Accept #@?]
[Mission automatically accepted.]