Chapter 76: Short Poem

There are many gods on the Aifala continent, and their domains often overlap.

Unless it is a group that has received higher education or is very interested in related theological knowledge.

Ordinary people find it very difficult to name every god and the divine office they correspond to.

Therefore, in order to distinguish different gods in the most concise and clear way, facilitate the orientation and transmission of faith, and enhance their influence.

Holy emblems came into being.

Just like the "Blood-stained Nine-Tailed Whip" of the 【Maiden of Pain】 Loviatar, the "Three Scattered Lightning Bolts" of the 【Storm Lord】 Talos...

Every god has a holy emblem pattern that can, to a certain extent, manifest the power they govern and belong to themselves.

And the white human skull engraved on the cover of the strange leather book represents—

【Lord of Bones】, 【Reaper】, 【King of the Dead】

"Mierkou."

The Halfling looked at it with a hint of disgust, muttering in his mouth.

As a member of the "Dark Gods," a powerful god who governs multiple powers such as "Dead," "Decay," and "Dusk."

Mierkou is vicious and cold, keen on spreading fear to every corner of the continent.

Almost every adult has had at least one nightmare related to "a skeleton holding a scythe and wearing a pitch-black hood" or "undead in a dead wilderness."

This also makes his followers often commit some extreme and cruel acts, making people respect and fear death, thereby enhancing the influence of the church.

The gloomy and evil doctrine, the undead power that corrupts the mind, makes it the master worshipped by a large number of "cultists."

Clearly, the gravedigger before everyone is one of them.

"I have spent my whole life in the cemetery, watching countless dead go to his god kingdom with my own eyes, and the most merciful and powerful Lord also left a gift for his most devout servant on that night when the moonlight was dim."

The gravedigger's dry and thin face was filled with fanaticism, as if even the severed right arm was no longer painful.

"Only this book?" The sheriff frowned and asked the other.

"And the bone whistle containing the god's power."

The gravedigger's gaze suddenly looked at the deformed and twisted metacarpal bone in Xia Nan's hand.

Hearing this, although Xia Nan still maintained calmness, his heart couldn't help but tremble twice.

Really?

I thought it was just an ordinary trophy, but its background is actually so big?

As if noticing his thoughts, Alton beside him stood on tiptoe, reached out and patted his shoulder, comforting him:

"Rest assured, with this old man's level, he doesn't even count as the lowest-level cultist."

"Even without torture, he confessed everything after just two arms were held; he can't be counted as devout, how could he get a gift personally passed down by a god."

"Rest assured, just take it; sell it when you go back to the city, it will be fine."

As soon as the words fell, the gravedigger became excited instantly.

"You, how dare you! How dare you despise my faith in the Lord!?"

His face flushed red, his body kneeling on the ground leaned forward, as if if the Halfling said one more word, he would go up and fight the other.

"Shut up!"

Ingram scolded.

The two guards on the side grabbed the other's shoulders appropriately.

The gravedigger lowered his head instantly, becoming as honest as a quail.

"Look, I said so."

The Halfling curled his lip at Xia Nan, looking as if he had expected it.

On the other side, Ingram, standing before the gravedigger, flipped through the thin leather book in his hand without any avoidance.

Believing in the Sun God "Amaunator," the holy light surging in his body made him indifferent to these ordinary undead powers.

His hand movements suddenly paused.

Holding the book spine with his fingertips, he turned the book toward the gravedigger:

"What about these pages, why were they torn off?"

"Sir, I, I really don't know! When I heard the knocking on the door that night and picked it up on the ground at the door, it was already like this."

The voice became floating and trembling again, and the thin body trembled again.

The force on the shoulders held by the guards became heavier, and the bandage on the right arm stump that had been completely dyed red made the gravedigger not dare to be god-like anymore, but used a pleading tone to tell the plain language.

The thin leather book with strange touch, the few pages torn off, seemed to be the most critical part.

The remaining pages only used blurred and faint handwriting to write a short poem with a chaotic structure and no rhythm at all:

"The moonlight

The harlot, jealous of her beauty, took off her ring; the staggering sailor took off his leather shoes;

The pickpocket stole her bracelet in the night, and the merchant placed her anklet on his scales; the gambler's fingertips were stained with greed, and her pendant rolled away in silence; the crippled old man, draped in the aura of twilight, cut off her long hair;

The heretic in the wilderness dug up the fresh soil and buried her with his own hands;

Sinking into the darkness, to sleep for eternity."

The poem was shallow, with no real meaning to speak of.

But the strong directional nature of the lyrics caused Ingram, who had already immersed his entire mind in the case, to react instantly.

"Harlot, sailor, thief, merchant..."

Aren't these the identities of the victims who have been attacked one after another during this recent period?

Even the ornaments corresponding to the poem match the body parts lost by the victims one by one.

"So, is Tim following this order?" a guard asked aloud after hearing the Sheriff's thoughts.

"Not necessarily." Ingram looked thoughtful. "But what is certain is that he will definitely target the remaining types of people in the poem next."

First is the "gambler."

With so many people coming and going at the Man Dai Jin Tavern every day, every single guest there fits this identity to some extent.

He couldn't possibly protect everyone who had been to the tavern; being able to send a few guards to keep watch near the tavern was already the limit of what he could do.

Troublesome.

Then there is the "heretic."

Even harder to deal with.

On this continent with countless gods, you could pull a random beggar off the side of the road, and they might just be a casual believer of some deity.

It is completely impossible to determine the target.

As for the last one, the crippled old man draped in the aura of twilight...

"Isn't there one right here?"

Xia Nan glanced toward the direction of the Grave Keeper and said casually.

"Aura of twilight"—fits the identity of the Grave Keeper, who has touched the power of the undead;

"Crippled"—his arm was cut off by him, which fits perfectly;

"Old man"—needless to say.

Hearing Xia Nan say this, the Sheriff's expression suddenly paused, and he looked at him with quite some surprise.

It seemed he had not expected him to be able to find a subject that fit the identity characteristics so quickly.

After a slight hesitation, he spoke:

"Now that you mention it, he really does fit the description in the poem."

"But..."

"The one I was thinking of is someone else."

(End of chapter)