Chapter 507: Corpses, there is no need to know

Human hearts are all made of flesh.

Alaric naturally hoped he could leave a good name for posterity, ideally by erecting a statue of himself in Dusk City, to be revered by ten thousand people.

Yet now, let alone being revered, he saw that in a few years he would have to bear the infamy of ten thousand generations, with his soul cast into the deepest part of hell along with it.

He felt he had to do something.

Not just for the people of the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng, but for himself as well.

When the bells rang at high noon, he successfully met that illustrious silver-haired Duke at the Andes Manor on the outskirts of Thunder City.

After a mere three sentences of pleasantries, he was deeply conquered by the Duke's charisma... This man was truly no ordinary person!

And he finally understood why young talents like Sir Wei Sili would be willing to serve under others, remain loyal to the Campbell Duchy's royal family, and feel proud of the Campbell Duchy's prosperity from the bottom of their hearts.

"I am merely a soldier, Your Excellency."

Even as he sat before the Grand Duke of Campbell, this sentence kept echoing in the mind of Baron Alaric, who was still hesitating about whether to continue as Governor.

Looking at the conflicted Alaric, Edward, having finished the pleasantries, pondered for a moment and continued in a conversational tone.

"... You have only just escaped the crisis of Chaos, and now you have taken on the cross of atonement sent by the Shengcheng, while the real trouble has not even begun. I believe you must know what I am talking about; once the Inquisition leaves, your King will settle the accounts of last autumn with you."

The Inquisition was a trouble for the commoners at the bottom, not for the nobles, but this did not mean that "Counts like Theron Gard" could rejoice in secret.

Once the Inquisition left, the King's first order of business would be to kill a batch of nobles who had collaborated with the Campbells or the Salvation Army, in the name of purging Chaos corruption.

Then, he would erect a statue for the "Count of Griffin Cliff" who fought to the death, commemorating the soul that would never return to this land, hailing him as the true hero of this war.

Having lost his entire family, he was indeed a hero, and a close friend of the Lionheart Knights' Captain, "Radiant Knight" Haigmer.

As for Governor Alaric, who had brought reinforcements from the Campbell Duchy without authorization, he would be the first traitor to die; Erin Campbell, who sold her soul to demons, would be even more so; and as for Karen from the Luo De Kingdom, she was simply a foreign witch.

Actually, Karen was not much of an issue; she was an enemy of the Holy See, and no King would truly take such a folk saint seriously.

Edward pointed out Alaric's ending cryptically.

He believed this was a conversation between smart people; with the Baron Governor's intelligence, he would surely understand the subtext, so there was no need to turn the friendly atmosphere into coercion.

Sensing the Grand Duke's goodwill, Alaric gave a bitter smile and shrugged his shoulders as if pretending to be relaxed.

"That is unavoidable; after all, I misinterpreted His Majesty's intentions... Perhaps I should have brought my money here to be a rich man."

"If things truly reach that point, the Campbell Duchy will always be the Valerius family's final retreat, but haven't things not developed to that stage yet?" Edward smiled and continued, "We have not admitted defeat yet; whether it is I, Sir Wei Sili, or many other Campbells, we all have many accounts to settle with that muddled tyrant."

"But what can you do?" Alaric sat up straight and probed in a calm tone, "The Inquisition is there with us; no one can move them now."

Edward smiled faintly.

"The Inquisition is the King's tool, but it does not belong to the King. Now that the Salvation Army and their 'New Testament' are causing trouble, the muddled King is at his wit's end. I believe that although Grand Inquisitor Jimenez says nothing, he has grievances in his heart."

Alaric did not deny it.

After all, as Governor of the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng, the Grand Inquisitor had expressed dissatisfaction with his work more than once. He knew very well that the Grand Inquisitor was not targeting him personally, but was dissatisfied with the fact that the Theoden faction had sent a Baron to manage such a large province.

When royal power and noble power checked and balanced each other, the grassroots of the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng presented a state of disordered growth.

It seemed that every village had a church and every manor had a lord, all as orderly as the pastoral scenes depicted on the murals of St. Clement's Cathedral. But only a true fool would think that royal power and church power dominated there.

Every inch of land here had its own local order; from "Quartermaster" Silas to "Green Turban" Kailan, they were all hatched from this system.

This looked more like a clumsy imitation of the Aos Empire's colonial system, except that the Empire colonized externally and colonized vassals, while the Devalu family colonized internally.

This was also why the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng looked half-dead one second, and the next second, when Chaos arrived, it erupted with a million rebel flags.

Grand Inquisitor Jimenez's dissatisfaction lay precisely here; he was also a smart man and could see the King's indulgence and connivance.

"... However, even so, the Inquisition will not support us in betraying our own lord," Alaric looked at Edward and said, "The King's behavior is certainly inappropriate, but for vassals to oppose their own lord is even less in line with the Church's interests, nor does it conform to sacred jurisprudence."

The King had elements of indulgence and connivance toward the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng, and the Empire had not lacked the intention of indulgence and connivance toward the Kingdom.

After all, even though such a serious crisis had erupted in the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng, from the Empire's standpoint, Theoden Devalu could still be considered an excellent "rancher."

At least the crisis was contained within the province and did not spread to the entire Kingdom.

Edward smiled and said in a very soft voice.

"We do not need to conform to the Church's interests; it is enough if it conforms to Grand Inquisitor Jimenez's own interests."

Alaric held his breath, and after a long time, he said.

"How so?"

Edward said pointedly.

"The Inquisition is sinking into a quagmire; they are not completely unaware of the dissatisfaction of the citizens of Dusk City. Grand Inquisitor Jimenez needs a clean and decisive victory; although he does not mind being used by the King, you and I both know he did not come for that."

Without waiting for Baron Alaric to ask, Edward continued.

"The trouble the King cannot solve, we will solve for him! If he wishes to escape the quagmire under his feet, he will gradually abandon the Lionheart Knights and compromise with the olive branch we offer."

Grand Inquisitor Jimenez was not the King's subordinate; he turned a blind eye to the King's utilization only because their interests coincided. As the Inquisition sank into the quagmire while the King stood on the shore, it was hard for a rift not to develop between the two sides.

Let alone Jimenez, any Inquisition would think: why should the Church do all the dirty and tiring work, and in the end, still have to be the scapegoat for you, a King?

He came to practice a sacred cause.

To put it secularly, he came to accumulate credentials for future promotion.

If this matter dragged on for a few years without end, he, a dignified Grand Inquisitor of the Shengcheng, would probably have to wait until retirement in the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng.

Even if the pious Jimenez doesn't care, the subordinates who followed him to this remote land cannot possibly not care.

The bumpkins from the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng will only be thrown out if they go to the Shengcheng; the St. Clement Cathedral is for them to go on a pilgrimage, not for them to cry out for justice.

But these theologians and inquisitors from the Shengcheng are different.

The Pope will read the letters they write.

Alaric pondered for a long time, and finally asked two questions.

"I have two questions: how does the Salvation Army create trouble, and how do we solve the trouble?"

A smile appeared on Edward's face.

"Once they have guns and money, they will naturally help us create trouble; besides, the Inquisition and the King are their enemies to begin with. As for solving the trouble, it's also very simple: we will establish the Holy Light Council in the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng in the name of the Holy Light, and the Salvation Army will exit the stage at that time."

Alaric frowned.

"But what if they don't leave?"

"They will certainly leave," Edward picked up his already cold black tea, took a sip, and said concisely, "We can negotiate with them: the Kingdom of Leon goes to them, and the Twilight Duchy goes to you."

Saintess Kalian is a smart person; she is not the crazy witch depicted by the Holy See, and she understands more than just those superstitious ghost stories.

This can be seen from the fact that she retreated immediately when the Inquisition came over... letting go is always harder than holding on.

Although Edward has never met her, he can accurately judge that this young lady either has an expert guiding her from behind the scenes, or she is an expert herself.

That move of advancing by retreating was, even in his view, a stroke of genius, directly plunging the aggressive Inquisition and the Lionheart Knights into a dilemma.

Such a smart person must understand that the Campbell Duchy is the force most likely to become an ally of the "New Testament," just as he saw at a glance that the "New Testament" was exactly what he was looking for.

And she, who can see this, must also be able to see that if the Salvation Army does not cooperate with the Campbell Duchy, the Inquisition will not leave, and the one who suffers the most in the end will certainly not be the Campbells.

At most, they would just be paying out some money for nothing.

Looking at the confident Grand Duke, Alaric also picked up his teacup and took a sip to hide the surging waves and emotions in his heart.

Heaven bless Campbell.

Perhaps they really do have divine help behind them...

The Duke's sword was aimed at the King's ribs, and the King was not a soft-hearted person either; the dagger under his crown was silently reaching out.

There has always been an unwritten tradition among the nobles of the Os Continent: wars between nobles must leave a shred of decency. Even if both sides have a blood feud, they must not deal a lethal blow to each other.

This is completely different from the Netherworld, where struggles are inevitably life-and-death.

The Demon Gods have already reached the third generation; the demons don't care if there are one or two nobles more or less—whoever wins is the noble.

This is why General Hannor, the "Spear of the Duchy," was shocked that Sir Wei Sili pulled out an artillery regiment and aimed it at him.

He only stared at the Grand Duke's banner and forgot that the commander of the Duchy's army was a commoner.

And according to the moral standards of the Os Continent, Sir Wei Sili's bottom line was indeed only a little higher than that of the greenwood bandits.

In the astonished eyes of his subordinates, he ultimately did not use artillery to finish him off, but let General Hannor die in a duel with another knight, giving his opponent a decent ending.

As for Theoden Devalu, he certainly had a little bit of a bottom line too; this dagger did not stab at the Grand Duke's heart.

But it wasn't much different, either.

Klanto Island, the tides are surging.

This place is far from the coastline of the Campbell Duchy; rather than an island, it is more like a huge reef forgotten in the northeastern part of the Vortex Sea.

On the bare cliffs, there is only an ancient, weathered castle, standing tall like a lonely sentry.

The castle's tallest tower lights a fire after nightfall, acting as a lighthouse to provide a faint directional guide for those lost ships.

Besides that, the entire castle only has one monastery, which can barely be called a decent building.

After swearing never to return to secular life and dedicating his soul and glory to St. Xisi, young Jerok Campbell became a monk in this monastery.

His knight's armor was replaced by a coarse cloth robe, and his life was left with only two things—copying scriptures and praying.

Although the Os Continent had printing presses long ago and papermaking technology is no longer as backward as it was a thousand years ago, copying scriptures is still the work of monks.

The "Holy Word Book" cannot be printed casually by machines like newspapers.

In the afternoon, the prayer hall was as cold as ever, and it didn't get much warmer because the sun had risen.

Jerok sat quietly on the bench, eyes closed, hands clasped, performing his daily routine of prayer while repenting for his crimes.

The air was filled with a faint smell of mold and the salty fishiness of sea salt; it seemed that only two sounds echoed in the empty hall.

That was the roar of the crashing waves against the cliffs outside the window, and the sound of a broom rubbing against the floor, one stroke at a time...

Suddenly, the sound of sweeping stopped.

After a slight rustle of clothing, Jerok felt the bench beside him sink slightly; someone had sat down.

A scent of dust and hay drifted over, and vaguely, one could also smell an unfamiliar incense; it didn't look like the incense box that clergy would wear on their bodies.

Jerok did not open his eyes, nor did he even stop praying; he just said faintly.

"Who are you?"

He had seen everyone in this monastery, including the soldiers guarding him and the lighthouse keeper on the lighthouse.

He did not recognize this face.

And he recognized even less the scent that didn't belong here.

The old monk sitting beside him seemed to be stunned for a moment, then let out a light laugh, put the broom in his hand aside, and said gently.

"Winkto, just an insignificant old monk."

Jerok did not open his eyes, but a faint mockery hung on the corner of his mouth.

"Who sent you?"

This is the prison where he is held; his brother watches him very closely, and to take such a big risk to see him, he is probably no ordinary person.

But no matter who that guy is, he is probably destined to be disappointed.

From beginning to end, he never had personal ambition, and after realizing his own problems, he also sincerely repented for his sins.

He will never be used by anyone again.

The old man did not hide it and said concisely.

"Your Majesty."

Jerok's eyebrows twitched slightly.

"... Which Majesty."

His voice carried a hint of alertness.

He had thought that the one who came to find him was a henchman of Count Derrick, but now it seems he underestimated many things...

The old man looked at Jerok with approval, and a hint of surprise flashed in his turbid eyes.

He didn't seem to expect that this young knight, who was rumored to be so naive as to be almost stupid, still retained such a keen political sense after experiencing exile.

It seems that the rumors are not entirely true; rather, the legends have been tested—there is indeed no ordinary person in the Campbell family.

Of course, his Majesty is not bad either.

The old monk no longer hid it; he put away that harmless pretense and instead revealed another secular face.

"Of course, it is the Majesty to whom you and your family should truly be loyal... the respected King Theoden Devalu."

Jerok's eyes opened slightly, just a slit.

In those eyes that were still bright in the dim prayer hall, cold alertness was flickering at this moment, and his voice also turned cold.

"Why would the King's people appear here? Haven't you learned your lesson yet?"

The smile on the old monk's face remained gentle, even carrying a hint of pity, as he answered irrelevantly.

"His Majesty says that the Campbell family is the glory of the Kingdom of Leon, and also the sharp blade of the Empire piercing through the Ten Thousand Swords Mountain. We cannot watch this blade be corroded by blood, and even less can we watch the Campbell bloodline sink into the abyss."

"Our Majesty knows well that you made your oath under duress, so he, in his mercy, wants to invite you to be a guest at his court. He believes that compared to your brother who has abandoned tradition, you are the true future of the Campbell Duchy, the one truly chosen by St. Xisi."

Sinking...

The glory of the Kingdom of Leon...

Jerok chewed on the old monk's wording, only feeling that he had heard the funniest joke of the year, and finally couldn't help but chuckle.

"The Campbell family has become the glory of the Kingdom of Leon again? When did this happen, yesterday or the day before?"

The old monk faced his mockery calmly and said gently.

"There are no eternal enemies in this world, are there? As long as you win, the Campbell family will become the glory of the Kingdom of Leon."

"The glory of the Campbell family does not need anyone to acknowledge it; if someone must acknowledge it, that person must be a Campbell."

Jerok opened his eyes, his gaze calm without a ripple, looking at the old monk as if looking at a court jester.

"You came to the wrong place, Monk Winkto. I have made a solemn oath to St. Xisi never to leave this monastery. If you are a member of the clergy, you should know how blasphemous your statement is."

There is no such thing as an "oath made under duress" on the Os Continent; a knight who does not want to take an oath should die with dignity, not say afterwards that he was under duress.

No priest would advise someone who has taken an oath to return to secular life; this guy is definitely not a pious believer, at least not one who believes in the Holy Light.

The old monk was silent for a moment, sighed with regret, and shook his head gently.

"I admit, you are a knight who keeps his oath. I didn't expect that in the already sunken 'Hometown of Knights,' one could still find such a naive fool."

"You go."

Jerok rose from the bench, his calm voice filled with indifference.

"Clergy should not participate in secular affairs; I will pretend you never came here today."

For the sake of his old age, Jerok didn't want to make things difficult for him. If Edward knew that he had met with the King's people, it wouldn't be a good thing for either this old man or himself.

And...

He didn't want his brother to worry about his affairs anymore.

Jerok turned around, preparing to leave this defiled prayer hall.

However, just as he took a step, the gentle voice behind him sounded again, but this time, the voice carried a hint of eeriness.

"That won't do."

A hint of imperceptible killing intent flashed by, and Jerok's pupils contracted violently!

He turned around abruptly, only to see the old monk lift his lowered head; in the eyes hidden by the shadow of the hood, bloodshot veins like spiderwebs were filled at some point.

Not just the eyes!

That shriveled skin was expanding, blackening, and bloating at a speed visible to the naked eye... just like a corpse soaked in seawater!

Jerok didn't even have time to think; a knight's instinct made him lunge to the side and roll toward the back of the bench.

"Boom—!" Almost the moment his shoulder touched the ground, the old monk's body exploded with a bang!

A terrifying shockwave swept through the entire prayer hall, shattering the heavy wooden benches into pieces!

Filthy blood and rotten flesh mixed with fragments of internal organs splashed everywhere like shrapnel from a bursting shell, staining the high-and-mighty statue of St. Xisi and the exquisite stained-glass windows with a layer of nauseating blood-red!

This is—

Corpse explosion?!

Jerok stabilized his figure while rolling; intense dizziness and nausea rushed to his brain, followed by a hint of astonishment.

This old man... was actually a puppet manipulated by a necromancer!?

And the moment his feet stood firm, a figure was already standing at the crooked doorway of the prayer hall.

That person was hunched over, wearing a tattered black cloak.

He carried a ferocious flail on his back; at the end of the flail was tied a huge and heavy metal cross, the mottled rust looking like dried blood.

He lifted his head, revealing a face with deep wrinkles under the hood, and a sinister smile split open on both sides of his yellowed front teeth.

"Actually dodged it... tsk tsk."

That was no ordinary corpse explosion.

To complete this work, he first peeled off the old monk's skin, carved evil curse patterns into the flesh, and then sewed it back on before the guy had taken his last breath.

"Who are you!"

Jerok was terrified; he grabbed a broken bench armrest, held it in his hand as a short club, and shouted sternly.

He felt a massive and evil aura; that was not simple necromancy, but something even more evil and filthy!

"Hello, some people call me the Burier, and some call me the Gravedigger... but I prefer another name I'm about to have."

The man who called himself Haro grinned and grabbed the flail on his back with a "clatter."

He swung it casually, and the heavy metal cross made a "whoosh" sound in the air, accompanied by the clanking of chains like thousands of evil ghosts wailing.

"... You've enjoyed wealth and glory long enough; since you don't cherish it, then lend me your head! Hahaha!"

At the same time he burst into wild laughter, one twisted figure after another began to emerge at the doorway of the prayer hall.

They were the castle guards, the monks of the monastery, the "jailers" and "companions" Jerok had spent day and night with on this island.

And now, those familiar faces had all turned into corpses with hollow eye sockets, like marionettes!

Jerok's eyes burned with anger, and the wooden stick in his hand creaked.

This guy...

Killed them all!

"You... demon."

"Thanks for the compliment!"

No time to mourn the dead monks!

That heavy metal cross was swung by Haro like a flail, whistling as it arrived with a screech that tore through the air!

"Clang—!"

Jerok raised the broken bench armrest to block, but didn't dare to take this whistling blow head-on, so he could only use the momentum to dodge to the side.

However, even though it was only a momentary contact, the overwhelming force still made his hand numb, and his entire arm trembled.

The knight without a weapon was shaken back three steps, and before he could react, Haro's second strike followed!

"Die!" Haro roared and swung the flail, his fanatical face overflowing with a sickly flush, like a shark that had smelled blood.

He swung again and again, the metal cross hitting the ground, instantly smashing the floor tiles to pieces!

Seeing that the strike missed, Haro immediately twisted his body to borrow force, and the whistling metal cross smashed the church pillar in half; the bouncing stones splashed everywhere like cannonballs!

Boom—!

Jerok faced a formidable enemy; within a few rounds, he had no power to parry!

Fortunately, this madman's attacks had no method, just waving the blunt weapon in his hand randomly, like a gravedigger waving a shovel.

If he had even a tiny bit of martial arts, he would probably already be a corpse!

But even so, Jerok still didn't dare to take it lightly. Whether it was that inhuman brute force or the chaotic fanaticism, it was far beyond what an ordinary transcendent could compare to!

This guy—

Might be Diamond Tier!

"You are an apostle of Chaos!" Taking advantage of the momentary pause in Haro's offensive, Jerok quickly jumped back to open the distance, a hint of astonishment in his eyes.

"Congratulations on guessing right! Too bad there's no prize! Hahaha!" Haro whistled and swung the flail in his hand, and scarlet sharp light suddenly shot from his eyes.

Jerok hadn't seen clearly what it was, when a pitch-black cross swept over, sweeping through half of the prayer hall like a plow!

Jerok rolled to the side in a sorry state, dodging this fatal blow. However, just as he stood firm, a walking corpse lunged from the side, its blood-stained fingers grabbing at his neck with fierce momentum!

Jerok kicked the walking corpse in the chest, kicking it away. However, it was this brief distraction that left him exposed.

"Whoosh—!"

The sound of wind pierced his ears!

Haro, who had leaped into the air, grinned, and the heavy flail came down from top to bottom, smashing toward Jerok's face with the force of thunder.

"Die!!!"

Jerok had no choice but to hold the wooden stick horizontally above his head, while channeling his entire body's holy Qi and pouring it into the stick.

"Clang—!"

The rotten wooden stick collided with the cross tied to the flail, making a crisp sound of iron clashing!

It was also this clash that caused the broken bench armrest to shatter, turning into wood chips that exploded into the sky, scattering in the whistling gale!

The heavy cross broke through Jerok's defense; although it missed the vital point, the metal chain on the flail still lashed fiercely onto his left shoulder.

"Ugh!"

Jerok groaned in pain, and blood instantly soaked his monk's robe.

The sharp pain made his figure stall, and his knees bent involuntarily. Haro pushed the studded wooden handle in his hand forward, heading straight for Jerok's heart.

It's a pity that this fatal blow did not hit Jerok's heart, but was blocked by the latter's right elbow reaching forward.

A tearing sharp pain came from his right arm; Jerok groaned, and the holy Qi gathered in front of him was shattered by the massive chaotic torrent.

Losing the protection of the holy Qi, he flew backward and crashed into the broken statue behind him in a sorry state.

The stone statue collapsed, and St. Xisi's right arm smashed beside him with a clatter.

Jerok gritted his teeth, turned over and stood up, grabbed the broken arm, held it in front of his chest like a sword, and tried to adjust his disordered breathing.

"Tch, you've got some moves."

Haro curled his lips, and a hint of impatience appeared on his ugly face.

But soon, his expression turned into twisted pleasure, and a chilling laugh came from his mouth.

"But this is what makes it interesting, hehe..."

Stopping the wild, methodless attack, he dragged the blood-stained cross and approached step by step.

The surrounding walking corpses also swayed and surrounded him, blocking all of Jerok's retreat paths. At the same time, ferocious bloodshot veins appeared in their eyes.

"... It's over, little knight of the Campbell family." Haro laughed cruelly, "The nobles of the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng are all too weak; you are the first person to force me to use my full strength, don't be depressed... lie into the grave with honor!"

He was going to get serious!!

Jerok leaned against the cold altar, blood gushing from his wounds, and his consciousness became a bit blurred due to excessive blood loss.

The erosion of chaotic power on him was far more serious than his external injuries looked; I'm afraid only Princess Ailin could defeat these true demons.

It seems he is going to lose...

However.

He will not beg for mercy, and even less will he submit to the King of Leon.

There is no fear in Jerok's heart; if one must say there is, I'm afraid it's only regret.

St. Xisi above, if you can still open your eyes, then look at your servant.

They not only betrayed their faith but also associated with true demons!

Thinking of his brother who had turned gray-haired for him, a hint of guilt arose in Jerok's heart.

He owed his eldest brother too much.

Can only leave it to the next life to repay.

Just as Haro raised the flail high, preparing to give Jerok the final blow, an untimely chuckle suddenly came from above the two.

Following that were two crisp claps.

"Hehe, what a wonderful performance."

The voice was not loud, but it drifted clearly into the ears of the two.

Jerok and Haro looked up at the same time.

Only to see that under the dome of the prayer hall, on the edge of the curved stained-glass window steps, a gentleman in a tailcoat was sitting there at some point.

He wore a top hat on his head; the elegance in his gestures was out of place with the bloody and dilapidated prayer hall, but the evil, awe-inspiring smile complemented the place.

Haro's pupils contracted suddenly!

Who?!

When did he sit there?!

With his Diamond-tier strength, he didn't notice it at all; this person was like the shadow cast by the cross, as if he had appeared on the dome out of thin air.

Jerok also widened his eyes, but for another reason.

That strange, uncoordinated, slender figure didn't look like the proportions a human should have, but rather like a shadow demon in the labyrinth.

Legend has it that there is an elusive shadow demon assassin under Reggie Dragon's command, which matches this guy's temperament somewhat.

The Leon people don't understand the labyrinth.

But as a descendant of the Campbell family, he understands the monsters there too well!

That guy is probably the true demon...

The broken arm of the St. Xisi statue in his hand was gripped tightly by Jerok unconsciously.

"Who are you?!" Looking at the gentleman in the tailcoat, Haro let out a threatening low growl.

He gripped the flail in his hand, instinctively regarding this uninvited guest as the greatest threat.

The chain made a clanking sound, dark red aura condensed in his palm, and the metal cross emitted a bloody red glow!

That terrifying aura seemed to turn the entire monastery into ashes!

Toward the chaotic aura rushing toward him, the gentleman in the tailcoat just smiled indifferently, as if he didn't see it.

He reached into his bosom, took out a short flintlock gun with an ancient design, and then carelessly took out a copper-cased bullet and pushed it into the chamber.

"Click—"

That seemed to be just an ordinary flintlock gun.

However, that copper-cased bullet emitted an aura that one couldn't ignore!

Because he couldn't figure out what it was, Haro didn't dare to act rashly and could only mobilize all his strength to guard against it like a formidable enemy.

Jerok also couldn't help but swallow a mouthful of saliva, staring fixedly at the gun.

He had never seen a transcendent who used a gun as a weapon, and even less understood what use a gun had.

Looking at Haro the "Burier" who was facing a formidable enemy, Thanos didn't answer his question, but aimed the muzzle from afar at that twisted face.

He said in a light, understated voice.

"Corpses don't need to know."