Chapter 42 : Chapter 42
Chapter 42: Meeting with White Bone
Night, deep as ink.
The wind of the Wailing Wastes seemed to hold its breath at this moment, leaving only a viscous, icy deathly silence enveloping the earth.
A lone figure, like a fragment peeled from the darkness itself, walked among the craggy hills.
He was entirely shrouded in a heavy black cloak bearing no markings, the hood pulled low, revealing only a resolute jawline and a vicious scar cutting across his cheek.
Roland hated this feeling.
He hated missions that required hiding his identity, walking in shadows.
It went against everything the knightly path he'd believed in his whole life stood for.
But his lord's orders were now his only creed.
He could sense a faint, pervasive odor of decay in the surrounding air—not the smell of rotting corpses, but something deeper, as if even souls themselves were withering into a foul stench.
He stopped.
Not far ahead lay an ancient cemetery long abandoned.
Crooked tombstones cast twisted shadows in the sparse moonlight, like a crowd of silent, hunched spectators.
This was the agreed meeting place.
A figure in an identical black robe already waited like a statue at the cemetery's entrance.
He was far more slender than Roland, his entire form shrunk inside the robe, no features visible.
“Who goes there?”
The man's voice was hoarse, like two pieces of sandpaper grinding together.
“A lost merchant, who heard there are clergy here who can guide lost souls.”
Roland answered in an equally low voice—this was the password Caesar had taught him.
The black-robed figure fell silent for a moment, as if discerning the truth in his words.
Then he slowly turned aside, making a gesture of invitation.
“The Saint has been waiting.”
Roland followed, his vigilance raised to its peak.
He could feel that as they went deeper into the cemetery, the surrounding darkness seemed to come alive.
Dozens of obscure, cold gazes locked onto him from behind tombstones, beneath mounds, from withered trees.
Passing through a chaotic cluster of gravestones, an open space appeared ahead.
In the clearing, there was no bonfire, only a dozen or so lanterns made from some creature's skulls, emitting an eerie green glow.
Under that glow, over twenty black-robed figures sat or stood in utter silence, like lifeless shadows.
In their midst, atop a crude altar hastily constructed from white bones and obsidian, Elizabeth stood with her back to him, gazing up at the waning moon.
She still wore that plain black monk's robe, her silver-white hair like a waterfall condensed from moonlight, stirring gently in the night breeze.
Simply by standing there, she became the only—and most uncanny—focal point in this deathly silent cemetery.
“Sir Roland, it's been a while.”
Without turning around, her voice cold as ice, she called out his name with precision.
Roland's pupils constricted sharply, his hand instinctively tightening on his sword hilt.
His disguise was worthless before this woman.
“It seems Lord Caesar's sincerity toward me is still insufficient.”
Elizabeth slowly turned around, those unfathomably deep black eyes carrying a hint of playful amusement.
“He would rather send his most loyal guardian Knight into danger himself than see me again.”
Her gaze swept over Roland's face, written all over with vigilance and disgust, but far from angering her, the curve of her lips grew wider.
“Speak. What trouble has your suspicious lord encountered now, that he has no choice but to borrow the power of what he calls 'laughable heresy'?”
Roland forcefully suppressed the fury and discomfort in his heart, drew a heavy coin purse from inside his cloak, and threw it on the ground.
The clinking of gold coins rang out sharp and grating in this deathly silent night.
“An anonymous merchant has commissioned me to offer you a business opportunity.”
Roland spoke word by word, striving to keep any emotion from his voice.
“In Grayrock Town, there is a baron named Ralph.”
“He is cruel and merciless, oppressing his subjects, so that resentment fills the sky over that land, and countless souls cannot rest in peace.”
“My employer believes these innocent souls need 'salvation.'”
“And you happen to be experts in this line of business.”
“This is the down payment.”
Roland pointed at the coin purse on the ground.
“After it's done, there will be ten times this reward.”
“All the wealth of Blackrock Town will also be yours.”
Having finished, he stood there silently, like an iron statue.
Elizabeth didn't look at the gold coins on the ground. She merely studied Roland with interest, as if appreciating an intriguing work of art.
“Drive the tiger to devour the wolf, kill with a borrowed blade… truly a fine scheme.”
She praised softly, her voice full of delight.
“Use money to package the transaction, use an 'anonymous merchant' to distance himself.”
“He can eliminate a troublesome neighbor while letting the Church of White Bone bear all the infamy, clearing a potential threat before the coming winter.”
She took two steps forward, closing in on Roland, tilting up that pale, beautiful face.
“Your master is more clever than I imagined, and more… ruthless.”
“Isn't he afraid that after we—this 'wild dog'—bite Ralph to death, we'll turn around and bite his fragile City of Miracles?”
Roland's expression darkened, and the pressure of a Grand Knight unconsciously emanated from him, dimming even the ghostfire-like glow around them.
“You only need to answer—do you accept this business, or not?”
His voice already carried a warning tone.
“Accept. Of course we accept.”
Elizabeth let out a tinkling laugh, the sound clear yet chilling.
“My lord never refuses any opportunity to 'redeem' a soul, especially when the keeper of these souls is such a foolish tyrant.”
She stepped back, waving her hand elegantly.
“Go back and tell your master that my lord has received his 'goodwill.'”
“Within three days, Blackrock Town will become my lord's first divine kingdom in the Wailing Wastes.”
“Every inch of land there will sing the holy name of the Lord of White Bone, every lost soul will receive eternal peace.”
Her eyes gleamed with an almost fanatical fervor.
“And please tell him—this is just the beginning.”
“When he witnesses with his own eyes how efficient, how pure the power of death is, he will understand how childish and laughable those 'principles' of the living he clings to truly are.”
“I look forward to the day when he personally invites us to enter the City of Miracles.”
Roland said not another word. He looked deeply at her once, as if to etch this beautiful yet evil face into his mind.
He turned and left without hesitation.
Watching his figure disappear into the darkness, Elizabeth's smile grew richer.
“An interesting soul. Pity he's too stubborn.”
She murmured to herself.
A tall black-robed figure with a face covered in dry suture lines emerged from the shadows, his voice like a broken bellows.
“Saint, are we truly going to let that petty noble manipulate us? He's just using us!”
“Using?”
Elizabeth turned around, stroking a smooth human skull on the altar, her gaze growing profound.
“Marcus, you're wrong.”
“This isn't being used. This is a mutual investment.”
“Caesar Valerius—he's a young dragon locked in chains.”
“He craves power, yet fears the backlash power brings.”
“This bag of gold he tossed over today is his first step trying to break those chains.”
“He thinks he's controlling everything, not knowing that from the moment he chose to deal with death, his soul has already opened a crack to my lord.”
“Grayrock Town is more than just a slaughter and soul harvest for us.”
“It's a stage—a stage to display my lord's might to Caesar, to the entire Wailing Wastes.”
Elizabeth raised her hand, a mass of grayish-black death mist coalescing in her palm.
“I want him to see how quickly an undead army that never tires, never fears, and is absolutely loyal can overturn a fortified town.”
“I want him to understand how worthless those bleeding, weeping, betraying living beings he treasures are in the face of true efficiency.”
“When winter's first snow falls, when the beast tide's roar sounds, when his kin in the castle send even stronger assassins, he will discover that only I, only the Lord of White Bone, can grant him everything he truly needs.”
In Marcus's murky eyes, fanatical fire also ignited.
“I understand! I'll immediately assemble the Bone Walkers! Please give the order, Saint!”
“No rush.”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“A rabble doesn't require Bone Walkers.”
“You'll personally lead the team. Select thirty Silent Apostles, and bring your two treasures.”
A cruel smile appeared on Marcus's face.
“By your command, Saint. Those two little ones should get out and stretch their bones.”
“Go.”
Elizabeth waved her hand.
“Remember—make it loud, make the scene… spectacular.”
“I want every survivor who escapes to become a mouthpiece for my lord's might.”
“I want the story of Baron Ralph angering the God of the Dead to spread throughout the entire wasteland.”
“As you wish.”
Marcus bowed, then melted into the darkness.
Soon, the cemetery's deathly silence was broken.
Thirty black figures assembled like phantoms. They exchanged no words, merely silently checking the curved blades at their waists and the suspicious powders in their bottles and vials.
At the front of the formation, two terrifying stitched monstrosities over three meters tall, assembled from countless beast and human bones, with green ghostfire burning in their eye sockets, made tooth-grinding bone-grinding sounds as they slowly rose from beneath the earth.
Elizabeth watched all this with satisfaction. She raised her head, gazing once more toward the direction of the City of Miracles, her lips curving in a meaningful smile.
“Lord Caesar, the game has begun.”
……
Meanwhile, at the City of Miracles, the Lord's Manor.
Caesar stood before the window, overlooking the city he'd built with his own hands.
In the night, scattered points of firelight outlined the city's contours. The footsteps of patrol squads and the hammering sounds from distant construction sites wove together into a melody filled with vitality.
He knew Roland had already departed.
He knew he was doing something extremely dangerous.
The Church of White Bone was a double-edged sword without a hilt.
Grasping it would inevitably cut his own hand.
But facing the net Viscount Simon was slowly tightening around him, he had no choice.
He needed a disruptor.
A mad variable that could upset the entire board, something no one anticipated.
And the Church of White Bone was the perfect choice.
“Creak—”
The study door was pushed open, and Roland's imposing figure appeared in the doorway.
He'd already changed back into his armor, but the lingering aura of cold darkness still made Caesar's brow furrow slightly.
“My lord, it's done.”
Roland's voice remained steady, but Caesar could hear a trace of suppressed exhaustion.
“They… accepted the business.”
“Good.”
Caesar nodded, asking no details. He trusted Roland's capability.
“Elizabeth said within three days, Grayrock Town will become what they call a divine kingdom.”
Roland added, his tone full of disgust.
“Three days?”
A flash of surprise crossed Caesar's eyes, then transformed into a cold smile.
“Seems they're even more eager than I imagined.”
Perfect.
He needed a performance shocking enough, bloody enough to intimidate all the jackals eyeing this land.
“Pass the word.”
Caesar's voice turned icy.
“From tonight, raise the entire city's alert level.”
“Double all patrol squad personnel.”
“Also, have Barrett select ten of the sharpest scouts from Dragon's Fang, split them into five groups, and watch Grayrock Town's direction day and night without pause.”
“I need to know everything happening there—even if a crow flies by, I want to know its color.”
“By your command!”
Roland nodded firmly and departed.
Caesar remained alone in the study. He walked to that massive sand table, looking at the wooden block representing Grayrock Town.
He reached out his hand, but didn't knock it over like before.
Instead, with his fingertip, he lightly drew a circle around it.
A hunting ground drawn by his own hand.
……
Two days later, at dusk.
An eerie procession appeared on the horizon outside Grayrock Town.
They moved slowly, soundlessly, like a group of vengeful spirits crawling from hell.
The thirty black-robed figures leading were like thirty moving shadows.
Behind them, two vicious white bone monstrosities dragged heavy steps, each footfall leaving enormous prints on the earth, the ghostfire in their eye sockets appearing especially sinister in the twilight.
The guards on Grayrock Town's walls spotted them immediately.
“What… what the hell are those things?!”
A young guard's voice cracked with fear, pointing at those two behemoths, barely able to grip his spear.
“Who cares what they are! Sound the horn! Enemy attack!!”
The older captain was relatively composed. While roaring, he fumbled to strike the warning bell hanging on the battlement.
“CLANG! CLANG! CLANG—!”
The shrill, chaotic bell sound shattered Blackrock Town's tranquility.
The town instantly descended into chaos—chickens flew, dogs jumped, civilians' terrified screams mixing with soldiers' curses.
Inside the Lord's Manor, Baron Ralph was embracing a newly purchased female slave, his face flushed with drink.
Hearing the bell, he irritably kicked the woman away, grabbing the wine bottle from the table as if to throw it.
“Which blind bastard dares disturb my enjoyment at a time like this!”
A guard stumbled in, face white as paper.
“Bar… Baron! This is bad! Outside the city… there's a group of… monsters!”
“Monsters?”
Ralph drunkenly stood, grabbed the longsword hanging on the wall, and staggered toward the walls.
“I'll see which blind magical beast dares come to my territory to die!”
When he climbed the wall and saw the scene outside, the drunkenness on his face was instantly washed away by shock.
He saw those eerie black-robed figures.
He saw those two white bone monstrosities that radiated overwhelming oppression just by standing.
What made his scalp tingle even more was the black flag held high in the formation, painted with a white skull.
“White… White Bone Church…”
Ralph's voice shook uncontrollably, his longsword clattering to the ground.
As a noble, he knew better than those ignorant soldiers what this flag meant.
It was a forbidden existence more terrifying than magical beasts, than bandits, even than enemy armies!
“Quick! Seal the gates! Everyone to the walls! Archers! Shoot them dead!!”
He let out a hysterical shriek, his body hollowed out by wine and women shaking like a sieve.
The archers on the walls fumbled to nock arrows, sparse volleys shooting toward the black-robed figures below.
However, when those arrows came within ten meters of the black-robed formation, they seemed to enter an invisible quagmire, their speed suddenly slowing before falling powerlessly to the ground.
A protective barrier glowing faintly gray had at some point enveloped the entire formation.
Below the walls, Marcus raised that stitched face, looking at the panicking guards on the battlements, letting out a disdainful cold laugh.
He slowly raised one hand, pointing at the gate wrapped in thick timber and iron.
“My lord says, before absolute death, all barriers are illusion.”
He spoke in an almost chanting tone.
“Crush it.”
The two white bone monstrosities behind him—the ghostfire in their eye sockets suddenly blazed.
They released a soundless roar assembled from countless screaming souls, then began their heavy charge toward Grayrock Town's gate like two runaway siege engines.
The earth began to tremble.
A bloody feast named “salvation” was about to begin.