Chapter 619: The Burial Ground

In mid-June in the County of Spinor, the noon sun poured through the forest, the air as scalding as if boiled, suffocatingly hot.

A ten-man light cavalry unit struggled through the woods, their hooves sinking into the thick layer of fallen leaves, producing almost no sound.

The lead rider was named Clark; he was captain of the Crow City Citizen Cavalry, a native "Spinor man."

At this moment, he scanned the surroundings warily, his rifle clutched tightly, its barrel gleaming coldly beneath the dappled tree shadows.

It was the latest weapon issued by the Campbell Duchy—the Rocksey 1054 bolt-action rifle.

For citizen cavalry accustomed to spears and crossbows, this fiery stick was both expensive and precious, but it was said that pulling the trigger could pierce a werewolf's skull from two hundred meters away.

He loved the thing.

Ever since receiving it, he carried it on his back every single day.

"... This damn place doesn't even have a rabbit in sight."

The young cavalryman behind him muttered a complaint, wiping sweat that had dripped into his eyes; the veteran riding beside him also grumbled with a grin.

"I'm not saying I don't believe the folks at Campbell Castle—but could those damn rats really have built their nest in this godforsaken place?"

Three days ago, Spinor Castle received a distress call from the Royal Railway Company: an exploration team active near Iron Peak Town had been attacked, and the attackers' escape route pointed toward the forest north of Crow City.

Attacking the royal family meant these weren't ordinary bandits. And based on the evidence left at the scene, it was confirmed—the attackers were clearly ratmen from the Wanren Mountains.

The conflict between human nations and ratmen was nothing new; their feud stretched back even to the ancient era before the First Era.

But since humans and ratmen favored different habitable regions, ratmen tended to prioritize territorial disputes with dwarves, so the two sides had coexisted in uneasy peace.

Listening to the murmurs behind him, Clark didn't turn back, only raised one finger to signal silence; his comrades instantly fell quiet and raised their vigilance again.

Suddenly, an unnatural rustling came from the thorny shrubs on the left, waist-high.

It wasn't the wind!

Almost instinctively, Clark raised his rifle, flicked off the safety, and instantly locked the black muzzle onto the trembling shrubbery.

He barked sharply.

"Who! Come out!"

The nine cavalrymen behind him raised their rifles simultaneously, ready for combat.

The shrubbery shook violently, then a ragged figure crawled out, hands and feet scrambling.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Master! I'm not bad! I'm human! I'm alive!" Seeing the row of black muzzles, the man's knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground, raising his emaciated hands in trembling surrender.

Clark narrowed his eyes, using the sunlight filtering through the canopy to examine the man's face.

He was a young adult male.

His eye sockets were sunken, his cheekbones high; he wore only a coarse linen cloth wrapped around his waist, his exposed skin covered in horrifying bruises and wounds… but he was undeniably human, not a ratman.

Clark exhaled slightly, lowered his rifle a fraction, but remained wary, speaking coldly.

"What's your name? And your accent— you're not from around here."

"I… I'm Hael Geer." The young man's teeth chattered; after trembling for a long while, he managed a full sentence: "I'm not from here…"

Clark narrowed his eyes; years on the border had taught him how to detect lies and the stench of evil.

He sensed no corruption of chaos, no chill of undeath on this youth—only the reek of urine from sheer terror.

"Where are you from? Dusk Province?"

"Roland City…"

The forest fell briefly silent; only cicadas chirped.

Clark stared blankly for a long moment, until the deputy beside him coughed, snapping him back to reality.

Roland City?

The capital of the Lyne Kingdom?

For Clark, a country bumpkin who'd never left the vicinity of Crow City, that so-called "capital" was as distant as a minstrel's tale.

Honestly, if this fellow claimed he came from Rapid Pass, he might've believed him a little.

"Take him back."

Clark holstered his rifle and gave a low order.

Whether this man was mad or not, his presence at this sensitive time and place demanded interrogation.

A young sentry dismounted, helped Hael Geer onto his horse, then mounted behind him.

The group turned back immediately, retracing their steps, and soon reached the forward outpost north of Crow City.

It was a crude outpost built of rough-hewn logs, with a single lonely watchtower atop its fence and an aging smoothbore cannon beside it.

Since they'd been stationed here, no one had ever heard that cannon fire—proof enough of its remoteness… Even during the December Coup, the Spinor family had forgotten they existed.

Clark poured a cup of clear water for the young man named Hael Geer.

The youth drank as if he'd never tasted clean water in his life, gulping it down until he choked violently, only then regaining a sliver of his soul from the warm liquid.

Then the sentries brought him dry rations and found him a clean set of clothes.

After some soothing and a few loaves of bread, the Lyne man named Hael Geer finally trembled out his identity.

He was a survivor of the December Fire.

Though none of the sentries had heard of the December Fire—they only knew that last winter, their count and the Duke of Campbell had fought a battle.

"... That damned fire burned down our homes, burned up all our savings. We barely clung to life among the ruins until that kind master appeared."

Mentioning the disaster, Hael Geer 's cloudy eyes filled with deep fear and despair.

According to his fragmented memories, amid the chaos and famine after the fire, a well-dressed steward found him, his family, and several hundred other homeless refugees.

The steward claimed to represent a benevolent noble, promising that if they signed a contract of indenture, he would take them south to a new settlement to clear land.

"Do you remember the steward's name? His lord? The noble's title? His domain's location?" Clark opened his notebook, dipped his feather pen in ink, and asked in a tone as neutral as possible.

The young man shook his head.

"I don't know…"

Clark's pen froze; his expression turned strange.

"You don't know?"

You didn't know—and you still went?

He suspected this fellow was either joking or hadn't finished fabricating his story.

But Hael Geer was serious—not joking at all; he trembled as he spoke.

"Master… if you were in my place, you'd have done the same. At the time, I couldn't afford to think."

"The steward told us their estate lay to the south, where the soil was rich enough to drip oil, where new houses stood, and where there was enough bread to see us through winter. If we went there, we'd survive—his master wouldn't let us suffer in the cold."

He paused, then added softly:

"Honestly, I thought he was a noble from Campbell."

"Ha, then I guess he must've been a pious gentleman," joked a young sentry beside him—but the attempt to lighten the mood backfired, jolting the already tense man.

"Pious?! By Saint Xis, I've never met more blasphemous bastards! There was no settlement at all!"

Hael Geer 's eyes bulged, his grip tightened on the cup, spittle flying far.

He continued speaking rapidly:

"We boarded their wagon and headed south. At first we could still see the Rushing River, then we lost sight of it. Some realized something was wrong, but since we were already on the way, we thought nobles wouldn't deceive us… Then the wagon reached the mountains."

"There was no settlement at all!"

As he spoke, Hael Geer seemed to recall something terrible.

His body shook violently; the cup clattered onto the table, spilling water everywhere, yet he ignored it, clutching his head instead.

"They… threw us out of the wagon! No one expected what awaited us—not houses or fields, but a horde of upright-walking rats!"

The outpost fell into deathly silence.

Everyone exchanged glances; after hearing his tale, they'd forgotten to breathe.

Clark frowned, scribbling and crossing out on the paper, unable to tell truth from lie.

A young, impulsive Campbell soldier couldn't help interjecting:

"You're lying! Who'd sell themselves? I'm not doubting you… but where did your money go? Did you deposit it in a bank?"

"Master, I had family."

Hael Geer 's face twisted in anguish.

"And if we hadn't sold ourselves, we wouldn't have survived that winter. Our emperor may be kind, but he can't conjure grain… Ten thousand copper coins—that's enough for my wife and daughter to survive until next year. If I could settle on that noble's estate, maybe I could bring them over…"

"That doesn't sound fake," said a veteran, lowering his crossed arms and reluctantly nodding. "Most serfs sell themselves not for money, but to survive. The only thing I find hard to believe is ten thousand copper coins. The Spinor County had serfs too—last year, at least—but I never heard of one fetching that price."

It wasn't exactly a scarce commodity. Wait a while, and you might find one for free.

He didn't harbor prejudice against Lyne nobles specifically—he held the same prejudice toward all nobles. Especially after witnessing what had happened in Dusk Province, he despised nobles who abandoned their sacred duties even more.

How novel—a man who'd never done a good deed suddenly turned philanthropist. It sounded like a lion giving up meat.

"I still can't believe it," said another young soldier, shaking his head, eyeing the Lyne man suspiciously. "Even if you were truly sold to ratmen by that heartless noble, you should've been in the northern reaches of the Wanren Mountains. This is the southern side—there's a vast distance between them… Don't tell me you flew here on a griffin."

"At first I was in a cave up north, but later… dwarves seemed to have arrived."

Hael Geer explained, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

"I don't know the details, but I heard they fought fiercely, trading wins and losses. Eventually, the ratmen couldn't hold out and moved us here…"

Honestly, he suspected that if not for the dwarves and ratmen fighting, he'd have been killed by the ratmen half a year ago.

Those bastards seemed to need him for something, so they kept him alive, feeding him rat meat.

Whether it was actually rat meat or not.

Watching this terrified young man, Clark's expression remained skeptical.

"Though the Campbell Duchy has abolished serfdom, we've seen slaves before. Frankly, your story is exaggerated."

He didn't doubt the ratmen's evil—he simply couldn't grasp the logic behind it.

What benefit is there in selling serfs to rat-people?

For both the rat-people and the Lyen nobility, this seems unprofitable.

After all, rat-people have their own slaves; most rat clans are even divided into clan-rats and slave-rats, the latter serving as both labor and food.

In comparison, humans are truly unsuited for labor in the Wanren Mountains' caves—even hellish dwarves prefer rat-warrior captives over purchasing slaves from human slave-traders.

This trade is unprofitable for rat-people, and equally so for Lyen's nobility.

Even if they've forgotten the holy light flowing in their blood and abandoned all morality and Dixian, they still need sufficient incentive to risk descending into hell for this, don't they?

This defies common sense.

Clark would rather believe this fellow engaged in illegal activities—smuggling or studying dark magic—was double-crossed, and fabricated this absurd excuse to cover his crimes and avoid the Inquisition.

Haelager looked at those skeptical eyes and smiled weakly.

He had no strength left to argue; his body was drained, and all he wanted was to fall into unconsciousness—saying another word felt exhausting.

"Just assume I made it up…"

"Listen, I don't care how you ended up with the rat-people, or what unspeakable deeds you committed in the Lyen Kingdom—that's your business."

Clark stood up and stepped before this Lyen man, staring at him.

"I care about only one thing—the rat-people attacked our survey team and killed our men. Since you escaped from there, tell me: where is their nest?"

Haelager lifted his head, his gaze Huansan.

"Just north of you… that cave is close by. I remember, not long after I escaped, I ran into you…"

Suddenly, as if recalling something horrific, he fell off the chair.

Amidst the stunned stares of the others, he grabbed Clark's thigh, knelt heavily on the ground, and screamed in desperation.

"Master! There are still others in that cave—please save them! Some are still alive! At least a hundred people! For the sake of Saint Xis! For the sake of us all being servants of the Holy Light!"

That desperate cry didn't sound like a lie—the atmosphere in the outpost dropped to freezing.

If this were merely the ramblings of a madman, they might have laughed it off. But if that cave truly held dozens of surviving humans…

Clark's expression grew grave, and his lieutenant stepped beside him, lowering his voice.

"Whether true or false, this is beyond what our outpost can handle…"

"We'll soon know if it's true or false. Keep watch on this fellow—don't let him die, and don't let him escape."

Clark acted decisively, ordering his subordinates.

"Immediately send out a message pigeon to Spinor Fortress—notify the Royal Railway Company to send help… preferably with many more men."

Regardless of whether the intelligence is true or false, with a living witness, verification is mandatory.

After giving the order, Clark turned again to Haelager, kneeling on the ground, his gaze sharp as a dagger.

"You say many are there… then tell me: what do they keep you for?"

Haelager looked up blankly, his pupils flickering between Huansan and constricted, as if searching fragmented memories.

"I don't know… those rats don't always speak in languages we understand, and they never let us see what they do."

"I only heard one man, taken and then thrown back, say the rats were holding some ritual requiring many sacrifices… most taken never returned, and the used sacrifices were mostly eaten. He barely escaped because he didn't meet the ritual's criteria—but next time, he might not be so lucky."

His Adam's apple moved. He looked at the breathless crowd and spoke in a trembling voice.

"I escaped… while being taken."

…

Outside the Crow's Nest Outpost, silence reigned—only the increasingly loud cicadas sang beyond the window.

Meanwhile, in the Linhai forest along the southern foothills of the Wanren Mountains, four agile figures followed a trail of chaotic hoofprints.

At the front walked two skeletal figures draped in black robes—one tall, one short, their eye sockets flickering with pale green soulfire.

Behind them came two burly lizardmen; though their bodies bore the cold-blooded appearance of reptiles, their weapon-bearing stances mirrored human warriors perfectly.

These four were not locals—they were players from another world, and unquestionably T0-tier veterans.

Ordinary players still struggled around Bronze rank, but their leader had already broken into Gold rank last year—just one step away from the Dungeon Level One Boss, "Lizardman Corpse Warlord" Okdo—

Platinum and Gold differ by only one tier, so calling it "one step" is accurate.

Besides Brother Ye Zhiqiu, the rat-assassin "Hu Wan" beside him was no slouch either—he reached Gold rank early this year.

The two lizardmen behind them, both at Silver peak, were the 【Minotaur Warrior】 and 【Boarman Knight】, among the more useful tools of the Demon King.

The four had been ordered by the Demon King to secretly infiltrate the northern border of the Spinor Earl's domain and investigate the "Rotten Flesh Clan."

After a year's wait, the sequel to the Twilight Province's rat-line quest had finally arrived—the four players were thrilled and raced here day and night.

"…These are patrol cavalry tracks. They likely encountered survivors and evacuated them… If my guess is right, this is the storyline."

"Should we head to the border outpost?" "No. This isn't Twilight Province—Saint's titles mean nothing here… Besides, we don't know who'll move faster."

Ye Zhiqiu crouched, his finger-bone gently brushing the ground.

There, besides the trail of hoofprints retreating south, lay a set of human barefoot prints extending north—and… claw marks covering those footprints.

"The rats are nearby."

The soulfire in his skull flickered faintly. He retracted his finger-bone and stood.

Meanwhile, Hu Wan had already leapt nimbly onto the treetops, his skull's soulfire shrinking to a pinpoint, his vision sweeping like a scythe through the pine forest.

【Shadow Sight!】

It was a necromancer-assassin skill, allowing the caster to ignore physical barriers and detect living beings' vital signs!

Soon, he leapt down from the treetop.

"Found them."

The Boarman Knight grinned, slinging his battle-axe onto his shoulder.

"Let's move!"

Following Hu Wan's clues, the four players advanced swiftly. Soon, muffled arguing echoed from the thickets ahead.

Several raggedly armored clan-rats were shoving each other, blaming one another for losing the prey.

"It's your fault! You let the human thing escape!"

"Blame you! Blame you!"

Their chittering voices mixed with rat-people slang.

"Attack."

Ye Zhiqiu's voice held no emotion. As he spoke, his golden-diamond-ringed finger-bone lifted.

Simultaneously, several pale-white bone spears materialized midair, shrieking as they tore through the air.

"Puff! Puff! Puff!"

Three clan-rats never even screamed—they were pierced through the chest and pinned to tree trunks.

Only one small scout remained, terrified by the bone spear grazing his scalp—he shrieked and scrambled desperately into the dense woods.

"Stop! Demon, don't flee!"

The Boarman Knight roared in excitement, charging forward—only to be halted by Ye Zhiqiu's raised skeletal hand.

"Calm down."

Ye Zhiqiu retracted his glowing magic ring; the intentionally misfired bone spear dissolved into dust.

"I let it escape on purpose. It won't get away."

As he released the bone spears, he'd also sent a Wind Bird soaring into the sky—its hawk-like gaze now locked onto the rat.

It won't escape!

Minotaur Warrior: "666! No wonder Ye-ge is inscrutable!"

Ye Zhiqiu: "…Shut up."

The group fell silent, following Ye Zhiqiu's direction, closely tracking the fleeing rat.

About twenty minutes later, they reached a hidden stream. The terrified rat dove into a crevice between two massive rocks, vanishing behind vines.

"Hiding well."

Ye Zhiqiu nodded to Hu Wan beside him.

The Moqi partner understood instantly—his form blurred, dissolving into shadow as he slipped into the cave entrance.

Soon, muffled groans and the crisp sound of disarmed traps echoed from within.

Then, the rusted iron gate slowly opened from inside—Hu Wan made a "safe" gesture from the shadows.

"Watch my eyes—"

"ROAR!!"

"Kill them!!"

The two lizardmen, long restrained, roared and charged forward.

Inside the cave lay a hidden world—clearly a long-established underground base.

The Minotaur Warrior charged ahead, spear swinging, first a flash of cold light, then thrusting like a bull!

The Boarman Knight followed close behind, his battle-axe thirsting for blood—he swung it in a full arc through the rat crowd.

Dozens of resting rats were stunned by the sudden assault.

The two Silver-tier heavy warriors stormed in like tigers among sheep—spears swept, axes hacked—instantly drenching the air in blood!

"Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!"

These rats were no match—they scrambled to their feet, dodging behind stalactites, trying to counterattack.

Yet—

Struggle was futile.

Facing Silver-tier warriors head-on, mere fifty or sixty rats stood zero chance—especially when those two Silver-tier brutes launched a surprise attack.

The unprepared rat soldiers were cut down in droves; an elite monster who seemed to have awakened supernatural power charged forward with a long blade, only to be split clean in two by a single axe blow.

"Hahahaha! My head!" the boar-headed knight let out an excited shriek, growing fiercer with every strike in the stalactite cave.

Fear spread across the faces of all the rats, but their nightmare was far from over—a glint of cold steel silently reached for their necks.

"Ssshh—"

Blood sprayed!

Before the rats could make sense of what happened, head after head shot into the air like fleas.

Hu Wan moved along the battlefield's edge, skillfully swinging his dagger to mercilessly slit one throat after another.

This guy had been cutting down rats in their midst, and in the blink of an eye, none of the others could tell this "turncoat" apart.

Only when they locked eyes with him did they freeze in terror at the You green soulfire, screaming and scattering in all directions.

"Undead! Damn it! It's undead!"

In the chaos, several rat priests clad in filthy robes emerged from behind.

They roared in fury, swinging their bone staves as strange, translucent flames roared toward the two lizard-man players.

The flames had no heat, yet radiated a bone-deep chill, as if reaching straight into the soul.

"What the hell? What kind of magic is this?"

The minotaur warrior was grazed by a soulfire, felt no burning pain, but instead his entire side went numb, his movements instantly slowed.

"Are we fighting a SAN value spell now?! There's no such mechanic!" the boar-headed knight gasped, raising his axe to block.

The rat priests, seeing their attack work, prepared to chant their next spell—when the ground beneath them violently shook.

"Crack—"

Countless sharp bone spears erupted without warning from the rocks beneath their feet, like white flagpoles rising from the earth, instantly skewering the fragile casters like candied haws.

Blood dripped down the spears; the priests' screams cut off abruptly.

Witnessing the priests' gruesome deaths, the remaining clan rat warriors completely broke.

They dropped their weapons and shrieked as they fled into the cave's dark depths, leaving behind a litter of corpses.

"Damn! These rats don't even last a minute!" the boar-headed knight spat on the ground.

He'd barely started enjoying himself when the fight was over.

"Clearly, these little guys were just the first wave."

Ye Zhiqiu snapped his fingers, dispersing the raised bone spears, then lit a fallen torch and passed it to his teammates.

"Let's go—see what's hiding inside."

This side quest had been buried long enough.

Back in the Dusk Province, they'd already spotted signs of rat activity near Wan Ren Mountain, and later, in the final battle, those rats had openly revealed themselves and joined the fray.

Now rats have appeared again in the southern Spinoir Earldom—they had reason to believe the next expansion's clue lay hidden in this cave.

With anticipation, they advanced, torches in hand. But the deeper they went, the heavier their hearts grew.

The torchlight scattered the cave's darkness; the white bones on the ground became more horrifying—broken ribs and skulls carelessly tossed into corners.

Little rats gnawed on the leftovers of bigger rats, leaving not a scrap for the cockroaches, even fighting among themselves with shrill squeaks.

At last, they reached a relatively open space.

What met their eyes—even for players who'd seen countless mountains of corpses in-game—triggered a visceral wave of nausea.

The boar-headed knight, usually the least serious, fell silent for a moment, then swallowed hard and muttered under his breath.

"Saint Xiangsi preserve us..."

It was a bloody, fleshy altar.

Hard to say whether its core was stone, bone, or uncleaned meat chunks. A smeared crystal sat at its center; the floor tiles bore strange runes radiating a chilling, soul-rending aura.

Ye Zhiqiu stepped forward, snapped his finger adorned with a diamond ring, and the braziers around the altar burst into flame.

The flickering flames coated the copper basins in an oily sheen; the minotaur warrior felt his stomach churn.

"... I don't want to know what those candles are made of."

Ye Zhiqiu glanced at him.

"Nobody asked you."

Hu Wan was the calmest of them all.

Perhaps used to sorting through loot, he moved confidently to a corner, rummaged through debris, and dragged out a corpse clad in a uniform.

"Found him—the missing railway surveyor... too bad he's dead."

The instant he pulled the corpse free, the pile of bones against the wall collapsed—swarms of things burst forth, nearly killing the two lizards on the spot.

"Shit—"

"What the hell?!"

"May Saint Xiangsi guard them—lend me their souls." Ye Zhiqiu activated "Necrotic Vision" and stepped among the remains.

His eye sockets' soulfire flickered faintly as he whispered the incantation to summon ghouls, preparing to raise a few to ask questions.

But something strange happened—the You green magical surge swept the chamber, yet not a single corpse stirred.

"What's wrong?" Hu Wan sensed the anomaly.

"Something's off..."

Ye Zhiqiu halted his spell, pinching his jawbone with his finger bones, voice thick with confusion: "These corpses... are empty."

They had no souls...

Silence flowed over the altar.

No one spoke—only the occasional crackle from the braziers—until a single drop of water fell from a stalactite, shattering the quiet.

"Empty?"

The minotaur warrior frowned, his forehead scales wrinkling as he scratched his scalp.

"Weird... did these rats somehow perform a soul release on them?"

In the human world, only priests did that—he'd never heard of rats capable of such a thing.

They just stripped bones cleaner.

"Don't know."

Ye Zhiqiu shook his head.

"According to the mechanics of 'Disaster Online,' souls don't vanish immediately after death. Chosen ones are usually taken by their gods; nobles likely the same. Commoners without priestly rites either slowly turn into undead or fade over time... but these people clearly aren't nobles."

There probably aren't this many nobles on all of Os Continent combined—these corpses number at least a thousand... and that's likely an underestimate.

He was a player skilled in analyzing game mechanics, which was why he could extract main quest clues from subtle plot details.

But this situation still troubled him—neither the altar nor the sacrificial candles in the braziers looked like something rats would create.

Dwarf kerosene lamps looked more like something rats would use as decoration.

"Holy shit—is this the Ten Thousand Souls Banner?!"

"... That doesn't fit. The art style's all wrong."

As the group debated this strange phenomenon, a deafening roar erupted from the deepest part of the cave.

"Roar—!!"

The voice brimmed with furious rage; stones rained from the ceiling, the entire ground trembling beneath its fury.

Then, a suffocating wave of overwhelming pressure surged forward, accompanied by the clan rats' surging battle lust.

Someone had given them courage—those little rats had come back!

"Prepare for battle!"

Ye Zhiqiu's soulfire flared sharply; he carefully drew his staff, gripping it in his right hand, adorned with a golden diamond ring.

"This pressure..." Hu Wan's skull-soulfire contracted slightly, his dagger held in reverse before him, voice trembling with excited anticipation: "At least Gold Rank!"

"Gold Rank boss?!"

The minotaur warrior and boar-headed knight weren't afraid—they exchanged a glance, gripped their weapons tighter, eyes gleaming with greedy eagerness.

Finally, some real action!

"Wait! Save the warrior gear for me!"

"Shit, you'll need to be able to use the rat gear when it drops."

"No problem! If the gear's good enough, I'll just respec into a ratman next time!"

"... Damn impressive."

The four quickly formed a battle formation, applied every available buff, and prepared to face the incoming rat tide and the map boss.

Yet no one noticed—deep within a shadowed hollow above the altar—a pair of cold eyes silently watched.

That gaze pierced the darkness, lingering for a moment on the two skeletons and two lizards, holding a chilling, unfathomable depth...