Chapter 623: The Other Use of the Soul

The Great Cemetery, Resurrection Plaza.

As the emerald soulfire reassembled beneath the massive obsidian statue, a skeleton clad in a tattered robe slowly stepped forth from the void.

Ye Zhiqiu flexed his newly reformed finger bones, producing a series of crisp clicks.

The dizziness of having his soul forcibly ripped from his body and shoved back in made the soulfire in his eye sockets flicker involuntarily.

"Damn… did this game's pain reduction glitch? Just now, I felt like my skullcap got ripped off."

A complaint came from beside him.

Nearby, the resurrection point flashed white light repeatedly, and Hu Wan, the Minotaur Knight, and the Pigman Warrior emerged one after another from the resurrection chamber.

Two lizard-player characters were grimacing as they rubbed their necks, clearly still shaken by the experience of being instantly killed.

"Don't even mention it—I didn't even see what the boss looked like. Screen went black right away."

Hu Wan angrily flicked his bony tail, still seething. As the server's top-tier rogue, he'd been one-shot without even a chance to stealth—this was a disgrace.

Ye Zhiqiu sighed, instinctively reaching for his staff lodged between his ribs—only to grasp nothing. He remembered then: his staff had dropped in that damn cave, and so had his ring.

Even though he was now a skeleton without flesh, everyone could sense his anguish from his stiff movements.

"Brother Ye, what's the plan?" The Pigman Knight leaned in, grinning slyly. "The forums are laughing at us like we're just delivery guys. Are we just gonna take that?"

"Let them talk. Do you think I care?"

Ye Zhiqiu smiled faintly, feigning indifference. But anyone who knew him understood: he was seething inside.

Damn NPCs lack martial virtue!

Of course—

Even worse were the damn designers, pulling a surprise attack!

We've got to get our revenge!

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. After a pause, Ye Zhiqiu continued.

"Head to the shop, buy some supplies and basic gear. We're going back right now. While no one's explored that cave yet, we might still recover our gear. We don't lack Soul Coins, but we won't let those rats keep them."

The Pigman Knight's face lit up.

"Boss, you're brilliant!"

The four of them marched toward the shop with high spirits.

At this hour, the commercial district of the Great Cemetery was bustling with voices—countless players hawking goods at stalls.

Ye Zhiqiu walked straight to the official "Logistics Supply Station," planning to buy a few sets of basic gear as temporary replacements.

But the moment he stepped through the door, the shopkeeper—normally aloof to everyone—suddenly perked up, leapt down from his high counter, and rubbed his hands together.

"Oh! Isn't this 【Ye Zhiqiu】? You've finally arrived!"

Ye Zhiqiu froze. The soulfire in his skull flickered with suspicion—he didn't recall this guy ever being so courteous before.

"What? Sale today?"

"Sale? No, no, no—today's better than a sale!"

The shopkeeper chuckled, then pulled a tightly wrapped parcel from beneath the counter and shoved it laboriously toward Ye Zhiqiu.

"This is an 'urgent delivery' just brought in from the front lines. General Arakdo specifically instructed: the brave warriors who scouted the north have endured great hardship! You gave your hearts to the Demon King's army—the Demon King's army won't let you suffer losses in vain! These items are returned to their rightful owners! Please accept them!"

Whether or not this guy had a heart, he'd memorized the Demon King's script word for word.

Through the translation crystal on the counter, his words were rendered into language all players could understand.

Who would've thought such good fortune existed?

Ye Zhiqiu's soulfire flared sharply. He extended a bony finger, slicing open the spider-silk wrapping.

Whoosh—

A crisp clatter of metal rang out as several familiar items slid out.

Lying atop the pile was unmistakably the staff he'd longed for—the one he'd named "Grasp of the Abyss."

And his golden diamond ring!

Not only that—Hu Wan's dagger, the Minotaur's spear, the Pigman's axe… even the potions lost from their backpacks were neatly arranged inside.

Among the gear, he also found a scrap of paper with hastily scribbled text:

【You fought well.

—The Demon King】

…

The scorching heat of late June blanketed the temporary camp outside Crow's Cry City, the air thick with the stench of decay and the aroma of simmering grain.

Flies buzzed low overhead, their droning like ghouls impatiently rubbing their hands, waiting for the feast to begin.

The refugees who'd fled from Mount Bones now lay sprawled beneath trees or in crude tents.

Most were half-naked, missing limbs, their hollow eyes fixed on a single direction—their spirits clearly on the verge of collapse.

For these people who'd barely crawled back from the edge of hell, the past few months had been an endless nightmare.

The soldiers at the northern outpost of Crow's Cry City didn't know how to handle this situation. They weren't patrolmen from Campbell Fortress, used to dealing with bandits, not refugees.

The only silver lining was Crow's Cry City's swift response.

The city lord brought local officials and church priests; the local baron brought servants from his estate and several carts of supplies.

Of course, this wasn't out of compassion—these nobles merely heard the Duke and the legendary Prince were about to arrive.

To impress the true powers-that-be, these remote aristocrats displayed more enthusiasm than during any festival.

"Hurry up!"

"Damn it, didn't you eat? Pitch that tent! And you—standing there like an idiot! Over there, boil some water!"

"What? You're the tent guy? Get back here!"

A baron with a beer belly sat astride a short, sturdy warhorse, whipping his horsewhip and bellowing orders across the camp, sweat drenching his brow.

His lavish silk ceremonial robes clung tightly to his fat belly, making him look absurd.

Clark stood nearby, helplessly rubbing his temples.

The moment this nobleman shouted, the already chaotic servants scrambled like headless flies—tent-pitchers grabbed ladles, stew-cookers picked up sticks.

Wonderful…

He was delighted, but the underlings suffered.

Fortunately, the baron soon decided he'd done enough—or perhaps he couldn't stand the stench—and left hastily with a few attendants, claiming he must go to greet the Duke's carriage.

With these loudmouthed nobles gone, the camp finally settled into order. The tent-pitchers lit a cigarette; by the time they finished smoking, the job was done.

By the way, since the Luo Ke 1053 rifle entered service, people discovered that wrapping gunpowder in paper greatly improved loading speed—and soon adapted the technique to rolling cigarettes.

Though some had done this before, the "Luo Ke 1053" made it universal… something even "Prince Luo Ke" himself likely never anticipated.

"Saint Sisi above… thank you!"

A survivor, having just finished his hot porridge, trembled as he gripped Clark's hand, voice choked with emotion.

"If not for you… we'd have died in that hellhole!"

His hand was skeletal, fingernails caked with black scabs, eyes clouded with tears of gratitude.

Clark awkwardly pulled his hand back, grinning with the rough, unpolished sincerity of a border soldier.

"No need to thank me…"

Honestly, he didn't deserve that "thank you"—these lucky ones had escaped only because of luck, not him.

Last night, every soldier at the outpost had stayed awake all night; he still didn't know what had happened up north.

Watching the survivor's face regain a flicker of vitality, Clark hesitated, then couldn't suppress his curiosity. He lowered his voice.

"Last night… what exactly happened?"

The survivor's pupils contracted, a fleeting confusion flashing in his eyes, as if speaking in a dream.

"I don't know… it was too dark, and everything was chaos. I heard someone shout, then everyone started running. Halfway out, I heard someone say a group of dwarves riding giant spiders had stormed the cave and slaughtered the ratmen…"

Dwarves?

Riding spiders?

Clark raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

Though the Ten Thousand Swords Mountains did have dwarves and cave spiders, when had these two species ever teamed up?

It sounded like a drunken minstrel's absurd tale.

But he didn't press further.

In that pitch-black night, these refugees had been too busy fleeing to see their saviors clearly.

Perhaps mercenaries. Or some other faction.

And they likely hadn't come to rescue anyone—more likely, they had motives beyond the comprehension of ordinary folk.

Clark shook his head, deciding to bury these questions deep.

After all, the Royal Railway Company's bigwigs had arrived. Let them deal with this headache.

…

As the sun dipped westward, the silence beyond the camp was shattered by the rapid clatter of hooves.

Since the Royal Railway Company's trains only reached Spinor Fort to the west, the rest of the journey had to be covered on horseback.

Luo Yan and Ailin had not ridden in a comfortable carriage but had switched mounts repeatedly, arriving dusty and weary at the northern edge of Crow's Cry City.

Only Teresa, Sarah, and over twenty elite bodyguards accompanied them.

Though Luo Yan and Sarah had been here before, they both Moqi ly acted as if it were their first time.

"Whoa—"

The warhorses reared and halted at the camp entrance.

Sarah dismounted with the lightness of a falling leaf, then walked naturally to Luo Yan's side.

"Leave it to me, Your Highness."

As she spoke, she took the reins from Luo Yan's hand and skillfully tied the warhorse to a wooden post in the camp.

As the Mowang 's most trusted guard, Sarah remained as reliable as ever, as if no detail escaped her care.

Seeing this, Teresa also wished to emulate the attentiveness of the "Imperial Guards."

But as she reached out to take Eileen's reins, she saw her capable mistress already dismounting with ease and tying a neat knot.

The Campbell nobility's competence was simply too strong; Teresa couldn't help but worry for the prince—she'd heard imperial nobles preferred delicate ladies.

As for where she'd heard that…

Ask the minor writers of Lei Ming City—they must have imagined imperial nobles based on the ones around them.

Luo Yan adjusted his cuffs and followed Eileen into the refugee camp, while Sarah, Teresa, and others trailed behind them.

Before them lay nothing but ruin—not the watered-down tales of bards, but real, visible suffering.

Eileen stared at those huddled in corners, wrapped in bandages; her emerald eyes shimmered with unmistakable pity and rage.

Some had lost legs, others arms; some had backs reduced to bloody pulp, unable to lie down, forced to lie face-first…

"This is… too much."

Eileen's voice trembled.

Luo Yan noticed her fists clenched tightly at her sides, the leather gloves creaking under the strain.

He stepped forward and whispered a word of comfort.

"At least they survived."

Eileen fell silent for a long moment, then sighed softly.

"... But how many didn't make it?"

"Though it sounds cruel, there's no other way."

Luo Yan looked at the wounded and spoke quietly.

"Even an omniscient deity cannot save everyone. All we can do is lend a hand within our sight."

Just as they had already begun to do.

Eileen felt a little lighter, gave him a grateful glance, then stepped forward toward the deeper parts of the camp.

Soon, camp officials noticed the two distinguished figures.

A Royal Railway Company official in uniform hurried over and bowed with a humble hand-over-heart gesture.

"Your Highness, Prince."

Eileen had no patience for pleasantries and cut straight to the point.

"How is the situation here? Are they all well?"

The official quickly wiped his smile away and answered respectfully.

"The priests of Han Ya City are treating the survivors' wounds with all their strength. Though they were tortured terribly by those beasts, those who made it here have strong constitutions—none are in immediate danger."

Clearly, this was a correct but useless platitude.

Luo Yan cleared his throat, interrupting his bureaucratic tone and cutting straight to the point.

"Did they mention anything valuable? For example… what exactly are the goblins doing in the mountains?"

The official paused, as if organizing his words.

"They… said many things, but they were chaotic, even delirious. Some claimed the goblins planned to boil and eat them; others said the goblins used them as test subjects, offerings to the Demon God. Some even said they were forced to write letters home—"

Luo Yan frowned.

"Get to the point."

"Sir!" The official wiped sweat from his brow. "Many survivors repeatedly mentioned a few terms: … the black mage's laboratory, the demon altar, a massive grinding stone—and oh, also… a pond that screams."

"We suspect the goblins have employed some infernal dark technology."

"These demons!" Teresa, who had been listening behind them, could no longer hold back and cursed aloud.

Eileen clenched her lips tightly, fire burning in her eyes.

Teresa had voiced exactly what she felt—only infernal demons could conceive such cruelty.

Yet Luo Yan's expression grew subtly strange.

Infernal evil was certainly real—but that was measured against the *Holy Scripture*. Compared to this, it was child's play.

For instance, the labyrinth core that harvested fear energy was still fundamentally a form of faith-energy collection; it rarely destroyed adventurers' bodies and souls entirely, preferring sustainable harvesting—cutting them down, then offering a carrot… like training a dog.

Once humans submitted to the Demon God out of terror or Stockholm syndrome, the demons simply made them into priest-servants, ending the exploitation.

Objectively speaking, humans in Hell lived better than goblins—after all, humans were part of Bael's prestige project.

As for wartime casualties, that was another matter entirely; both sides accepted the duty to kill or be killed.

This kind of unsustainable exploitation of non-combatants as raw material left the Mowang both stunned and puzzled.

Especially since he suspected the Scholar's League was involved—he felt something here was a technique even Hell didn't understand.

One thing was certain: this wasn't about faith.

It was focused on soul-level plunder…

At that moment, the official suddenly remembered something and added:

"Oh! Your Highness, several survivors mentioned another thing—they said some goblins called it 'holy water.'"

A moment of silence passed; shock rippled through the group.

"Holy water?"

Eileen froze, frowning in confusion.

"Like the holy water used in churches to bless the dead?"

"Your Highness, are you joking? Do you think there are goblins who worship the Light? They'd prefer the outside world as dark as their caves—better still, no sun in the sky."

The official laughed bitterly, then shook his head, his face twisted with clear revulsion—as if he'd seen something filthy.

"If that thing could be called 'holy water,' then there's no such thing as poison. I believe it's merely a deception by the demons."

"My guess is they created something profoundly evil and, out of some cruel whim, named it 'holy water' to disguise it."

Luo Yan's eyes narrowed slightly.

Holy water.

Souls.

And complexly composed Scholar's League professors.

These fragments rapidly assembled in his mind; though the full picture remained blurred, the outline was already shocking enough to unsettle even demons.

"It seems we must investigate further…"

…

After questioning the official about the "holy water," Eileen asked a few more questions, then began touring the camp herself.

The refugees' emotions were far calmer than she'd expected.

For those who had just crawled back from the gates of Hell, they clearly didn't need a distant princess offering sympathy.

The pot of bubbling oatmeal and the warm white light in the chaplain's hands meant more than any words.

Watching them wolf down their bowls, Eileen didn't disturb them further, and silently returned with Luo Yan to the camp entrance.

At that moment, rapid hoofbeats kicked up dust outside the camp.

Duke Edward had arrived.

The lord of the Campbell Duchy arrived dusty and weary, his cloak embroidered with the family crest covered in grime.

Behind him, the mayor of Han Ya City and the portly baron strained to smile ingratiatingly—only to swallow a mouthful of dust.

Edward dismounted, ignoring the flattery of local officials, and strode straight toward the camp commander waiting there.

"Are there any Campbells inside?"

As lord of Campbell, this was his foremost concern.

The camp commander bowed respectfully and answered immediately.

"Your Majesty, we've verified three times. All survivors are from the Kingdom of Lein. No citizens of the duchy have been found."

Hearing this, Edward's tense shoulders relaxed slightly; he immediately asked his second question.

"What about the Royal Railway Company's survey team? Any word on them?"

The commander's face stiffened slightly; he avoided Edward's gaze but answered bravely.

"Your Majesty, after repeated cross-checking of survivor testimonies, no one reported seeing any uniformed surveyors. Forgive me for saying so… they've likely perished."

Edward fell silent; his relieved expression darkened again.

"Understood. Do your duty. See to these people."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" The camp commander bowed again, then marched back to his post.

After dismissing the commander, Edward glanced at Eileen and Colin standing at the camp gate, then at the officers behind her.

"Gather everyone. We're holding a meeting."

Sir Wesley and Teresa's father nodded respectfully.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

…

Inside the central tent, the atmosphere was grim.

A military map of the Spinor Earldom lay spread on the table, marked with charcoal dots indicating suspected goblin lairs.

Edward had come directly from the banquet at Granston Castle, bringing not only his council of advisors but also the duchy's most elite military leaders.

Among them were rising nobles like Sir Wesley, who rose during the Winter Month Coup, and traditional nobles like Bertrand, who remained loyal to the crown.

Luo Yan and Ailin stood together and attended the meeting. Edward had never treated him as an outsider—never before, and not now either.

As the military representative, Sir Wesley broke the silence first, voicing his views on the current situation.

"... The Wanren Mountains have complex terrain; those rats hide deep in the old forests, holding the high ground. If we rashly send regular troops into the mountains to cleanse them, our supply lines will be hard to maintain, and we'll be Jiyi ambushed."

Wesley glanced at Edward's expression and proposed what he considered the safest plan.

"My suggestion is this: on one hand, hire adventurers to form a mountain regiment and conduct probing attacks on the main caves of the Rot Clan for reconnaissance; on the other, reinforce the northern border defenses of Crow's Cry City, secure our border, and contain the threat within the Wanren Mountains—"

"That's too slow!"

Ailin immediately voiced her opposition.

She pressed both hands on the table, her emerald eyes burning with fierce fire, eager to storm straight into the Wanren Mountains.

"Ladies and gentlemen, while we sit here in meeting, our human brethren captured by the ratmen are still suffering! Every minute we delay here, another innocent may die. Our priority is to rescue them as soon as possible!"

As she spoke, Ailin turned to Edward and said earnestly.

"Your Majesty, I volunteer to lead a elite force as vanguard—"

"Your Highness! I cannot endorse such a reckless plan! Those are Lyne lives, not Campbell lives!"

Sir Wesley did not yield because she was a princess; he spoke with cold, pragmatic tone.

"Our Campbell boys have no obligation to fight ratmen in the Wanren Mountains to save foreign captives. They should call their Lionheart Knights to rescue them!"

"But they are also children of the Holy Light!" Ailin did not retreat, retorting sharply, "When faced with alien enslavement, we have the duty to stand up! Whether Campbell or Lyne, we are all human!"

"You are right, I do not deny it—but duty cannot be eaten, nor can it pay pensions to the families of fallen soldiers!"

"Tolerating evil means paying a greater price later to make up for it! If those rats are performing rituals to summon Chaos, we will pay even more pensions in the future!"

"Then let it happen when it happens!"

Though their words remained restrained, it was clear they had begun to argue.

Edward sat at the head of the table, his fingers lightly tapping the tabletop, producing a dull sound.

He said nothing, but the deep crease between his brows betrayed his inner turmoil.

Emotionally, he agreed with Ailin and despised the ratmen's brutality. But rationally, he leaned toward Sir Wesley.

The Campbell Duchy had just ended two wars; though the economy was recovering, it could not afford a war without profit.

The Dusk Province was one thing—it had great strategic buffer value. But was it worth shedding Campbell blood for these rats hiding in mountain gullies?

Revenge won't bring back the missing surveyors. The rational course is to pay the families a pension, fire a couple of cannons, and declare victory.

Yet one thing Ailin said truly struck him—

Tolerating evil means paying a greater price later to make up for it.

If those little rats are doing something chilling in their caves today—sacrificing Lyne—they'll sacrifice Campbell tomorrow.

Once they become dependent on human flesh, it's inevitable.

As the situation stalled, Luo Yan, who had stood silently in the corner of the long table, suddenly cleared his throat and interrupted their argument.

"Both of you have valid points."

Looking at Ailin, whose chest rose and fell with emotion, he spoke in a soothing tone.

"Saving the children of the Holy Light is indeed our sacred duty. But General Wesley is also right—we need not bear all the burden alone."

As he spoke, Luo Yan picked up a flag from beside the map and gently planted it in the northern mountains.

That was dwarf territory.

"The Wanren Mountains do not belong solely to the ratmen. As I understand, the dwarves dwelling deep in the mountains are the original inhabitants—and born rat exterminators. These rats have been digging tunnels and performing evil rituals; I suspect they are even more terrified than we are."

There was one thing he didn't say: the dwarves probably weren't just chilled in the back—they were chilled all the way down.

After all, a professor from the Academy had been entangled with the ratmen.

Luo Yan didn't believe these dwarves had heard nothing. Their silence was likely the truth.

After all, the Empire was ten thousand miles away—whether they intervened was debatable. But the Grand Sage was right next door.

Right now, they must feel humans are utterly blasphemous—and utterly powerless, since they still need human help to maintain the Huangtong Pass.

Edward's eyes brightened slightly.

Indeed—

If the dwarves helped, mountain warfare would become far easier!

"We can send envoys to the Gaoshan Kingdom and mobilize this ancient ally! They will attack from the northeast, forming a pincer with us!"

"Exactly. If they join the campaign against the Rot Clan, our strategic pressure will ease greatly—we only need to open a supply line from the front to the dwarf kingdom..."

Luo Yan smiled faintly, his index finger moving downward, leaving the territory of Count Spinol and landing on the southwest corner of the strategic map.

"In addition, we can recruit from Mud City."

"Mud City?" Betrand frowned.

"Yes! Those lizardfolk have a natural adaptation to harsh environments, and as I understand, in their diet, these rats are a rare delicacy."

Luo Yan spread his hands, his tone light.

"With sufficient payment, those lizardfolk can clear out those stubborn caves for us... to them, it's like a buffet."

The tent fell silent for several seconds.

Betrand rubbed his chin stubble, and Sir Wesley's resistance had noticeably faded.

"If that's the case... it's a good idea. Let aliens fight aliens—we provide only equipment and logistics, keeping casualties at the lowest possible level."

Ailin nodded as well.

Though a trace of worry still lingered in her brow, she also knew this was the most feasible plan now.

"But... how long will this take? The captured humans may not have time."

"The dwarves have fought alongside us before; communication will be swift. As for Mud City, I'm confident that with Mr. Sak Windrunner's help, mobilization won't take long."

Luo Yan turned to Edward and continued gently.

"However, this may require our Duke to make a small adjustment—such as granting the Kingdom of Gutaf temporary military transit rights within Campbell territory... we need Gutaf officers to go to the front and command operations."

"No problem!"

Facing Prince Colin's proposal, Edward did not hesitate—he immediately approved.

"The children of the Dragon God are ancient allies of humanity. If the Kingdom of Gutaf is willing to lend a hand, we welcome them with open arms! Not just transit rights—Royal Railway Company's railways and ports will be fully open to those aiding us! Prince Colin, I entrust you with persuading them!"

Whether the Kingdom of Colin or the Kingdom of Gutaf, both were vital allies of the Campbell Duchy. Since Prince Colin was confident he could persuade Gutaf, Edward had no reason to refuse.

Moreover, this was a golden chance to observe and learn!

Edward eagerly anticipated seeing even more astonishing wonders from the Dragon God's children—beyond even the "Luo Ke rifle."

"It is my honor to serve you, my friend."

Luo Yan nodded with pleasure, bowing gracefully. Then he turned to Ailin, who still looked uneasy.

"Beyond these strategic deployments, we now turn to tactical actions."

"On one hand, we must prepare for total war against the Rot Clan, acting simultaneously on military deployment and diplomacy. On the other..."

Luo Yan's tone remained gentle, but a faint glint of coldness flashed in his eyes.

"We will form a small elite team to infiltrate deep behind the ratmen's front lines and find out exactly what those rats are scheming in their caves."

"And, to the best of our ability, bring back any human brethren we can see!"