Chapter 313: Can

Ulasha Pass is the border between the Duchy of Uss and the Duchy of Rosa, and has now become a refugee camp, with thirty thousand refugees crammed into this area, waiting for relief.

The nighttime temperature in the mountains is very low, and the wind at the pass is fierce; every morning, some refugees are found frozen stiff and dragged to the rear for treatment.

They call it treatment, but all the refugees know what happens to those taken away—most likely tossed into a ravine to feed the wolves. Yet no one has the heart to pity them, because by next night, they themselves might become the same frozen corpses dragged off.

This morning, another dozen frozen bodies were carried out of the camp; two of them were tightly clasped together—the larger one a boy of sixteen or seventeen, hugging a girl around ten years old, probably siblings.

The corpse-bearer sighed: "A good kid—he wrapped his clothes around his sister. Ah, pity, still too thin. If only there'd been a fire. I'll bring back more firewood later."

The young corpse-bearer in front also sighed: "It doesn't matter how much we haul—these kids can't compete with the adults in the camp. In the end, we're always dragging out children and women."

"Do what we can," the old corpse-bearer sighed. "What else can we do? Bring more wood—maybe some will slip through to them."

As corpse-bearers, besides sweeping streets, their main side job is collecting bodies. Logically, compassion should have worn out long ago.

But since the refugees flooded in, within a single month, their team alone has cleared hundreds of corpses—too many human tragedies, most involving children and women. Even the hardest heart grows heavy with sorrow.

The young corpse-bearer kicked a rock angrily: "Why not just let them in? Why block them here at the pass? Find a sheltered spot and take them in, wouldn't that be better?"

The old corpse-bearer slapped him on the head: "Are you mad? Do you know how many Uss spies are hiding among them? Behind the pass all the way to the capital, the roads are open everywhere. Let them in and you can't stop them. Do you want your own family and friends to become refugees like these?"

The young corpse-bearer rubbed his head, voice weak: "It can't be that bad… Uss has always been friendly with us."

"Pah! These refugees are exactly what they drove here. Friendly? Bullshit. Don't ever say such nonsense again, or I'll report you to the officer."

The cart turned into a forested area, where several strong, white-robed men and women surged forward, gently transferring the corpses onto stretchers and politely saying to the two bearers: "That's all, we'll take it from here."

Then, solemnly adding: "Please handle them more gently next time. If the injured are damaged during transport, our treatment becomes much harder."

The young bearer was about to retort, but the old one shoved him behind and hurriedly replied: "Yes, yes, my lord, we'll be careful."

As they turned back and lost sight of the white-robed figures, the young bearer grumbled: "What's the point of saving them? They're already stiff. Lying without shame."

The old bearer shook his head, as if watching an inexperienced youth: "Who said stiff means beyond saving? Have you ever seen a corpse with maggots falling from its face, talking while it talks, leaking air? There's so much you haven't seen in this world. Don't meddle. Don't be too curious. You won't live long."

But the self-assured old bearer was wrong. These stiff "corpses" were carried by the white-robed into a cave, placed on clean beds, and one by one stepped forward: "Our Lord Ang, grant me power! Purify Face!"

A holy light glowed in their hands.

The light passed over the siblings; their bluish skin gradually returned to normal.

After casting two holy lights, the first white-robed grew tired and stepped back; the second took over until the siblings fully recovered.

Then another white-robed stepped forward, pressing hard on the boy's heart—so hard the chest cavity caved in—and shouted: "Our Lord Ang, grant me power! Rebirth!"

Under the power of rebirth, the entire chest swelled, the heart contracted violently, then resumed beating.

As blood flowed, color returned to the boy's face, his breathing steadied, and soon his eyes opened.

Since death had not exceeded twenty-four hours—possibly less than an hour—the soul and memories remained intact.

The boy opened his eyes and saw the white-robed casting holy light upon his sister; soon, the little girl's heartbeat and breath returned.

Looking at the pure white robes and holy light, the boy remembered a legend and asked excitedly: "You… you're angels sent by Light to save us?"

An elder white-robed turned back and smiled kindly: "Heh, yes—but we're not angels. We're only priests. Remember: Our Lord's name is Ang."

Koberth didn't know why Lady Lisa had them impersonate Light priests, but it didn't matter—the name of Our Lord Ang was still being spread.

Koberth had once been a commoner of Ice City, hungry and cold, unable to afford even his parents' coffins—until Lord Ang arrived.

Lord Ang brought food and the World Tree: they ate well, dressed warmly, sometimes even got beetroot. The sick were healed, the dead buried, and his parents' coffins? Made of imported date wood from the human world.

No more wandering the wastelands searching for ancestral bones. It was a golden age beyond imagination. Since then, Koberth became a devout follower of Ang, passed countless trials, and became a priest of the Necropolis.

All these white-robed men and women are priests of the Necropolis, reporting directly to Lady Lisa, but their immediate superior is High Priest Oak.

Now that Lady Lisa is away, he could only report to High Priest Oak.

Koberth found the small boy diligently sweeping inside the cave and bowed respectfully: "High Priest Oak, we treated thirty refugees today—most revived. But a few carry stubborn illnesses. Our strength is insufficient; you must treat them personally."

Oak scratched his head: "Alright."

Koberth continued: "Most of those saved are commoners, but two or three were brought in due to old wounds reopening. I examined their injuries—mostly blade, spear, and arrow wounds. After interrogation, they were confirmed spies from the Duchy of Uss hiding among the refugees. I interrogated them; here's the transcript. I've cross-checked all three accounts and marked inconsistencies."

He reached to hand it over.

Oak shook his head: "I can't read it. Give it to Lady Lisa."

Koberth expected this—High Priest Oak was famously disengaged, just like their god, Ang.

He reported more routine matters. Oak listened, then followed Koberth to the treatment area.

Nearby caves had been modified: one for housing, one for treatment, one for emergency care.

Those needing no emergency aid but still ill or injured stayed temporarily in the treatment area, then moved to housing once healed.

After Oak arrived, the patients with stubborn illnesses were gradually cured and transferred out.

Only one spy remained.

"This is one of the three spies. The other two were healed, but this one has a hard lump near his heart. No matter how we treat it, the lump doesn't shrink—it's pressing into his blood vessels. Without treatment, he'll die soon," Koberth said.

Oak stepped forward, summoned holy light, and pressed it against the spy's heart.

The spy sneered: "You dogs of Light—when did you become so kind? Does it matter to you whether I live or die? When I knelt before your temple with my daughter, begging for help, you turned us away because I couldn't pay twenty gold coins. My daughter grew cold in my arms while you watched. Now you pretend compassion?"

Oak paused, then honestly replied: "It's not our doing. We…"

He was about to say they weren't the Church of Light, but Koberth kicked him. Koberth interrupted: "You misunderstand. We're not saving you—we're just keeping you alive until our lord returns."

"Of course. Dogs of Light are always heartless. You've bled the commoners too long—you've forgotten mercy and kindness. You say I'm a spy? Wrong. I'm different from the other two. I have another name—Death Knight. This… is my fate!"

As the spy spoke, he clenched his chest as if crushing something. His body tensed, veins bulged, eyes flared.

Koberth gasped: "That's not a growth—it's an implant! I checked him thoroughly and found nothing! This must've been implanted near his heart since childhood, fused with his organ over time. He's a lifelong Death Knight."

"You guessed right." The spy's body swelled, becoming like a raging beast, punching straight for Oak's head.

Though unarmed, the punch's force and speed could shatter a skull.

Oak looked like a frail boy before a beast—but showed no fear. He stepped forward.

Behind him, a black hole split open. A golden bone hand reached out and caught the punch mid-air.

A second bone hand emerged—but, annoyed by Oak blocking its path, shoved him aside. A golden skeleton stepped out.

The spy was stunned. He came to kill dogs of Light—why was a skeleton appearing?

No time to think. The Bone Priest plunged a hand into his chest, yanking out the lump—a crystal ball the size of a horse's eye.

The crystal was shattered, leaking fluid—likely a drug to trigger the spy's latent potential and induce berserk transformation.

The lump had been fused to his heart. Now removed, the heart ruptured. The spy tried to struggle, but couldn't move. He died, eyes wide, full of unanswered questions.

I came to kill dogs of Light… why did a skeleton appear?

The spy was dead. Silence fell. Only then did Oak and Koberth notice the Bone Priest looked terrible—covered in filth, hardened bird droppings stuck to its bones.

Oak pried at the grime: "What happened?"

The Bone Priest's hollow eye sockets turned to Oak. After a long silence, it slowly spoke: "You… should've… summoned me… sooner."

Since killing the Insect God Hemer, the Bone Priest had remained in that cave.

Oak tilted his head: "You said anywhere's the same."

The Bone Priest's voice was weary: "Can't… clean… it… clean."

The cave where Hemer dwelled was tall and vast, cluttered with debris. After the Insect God's death, bats flew in occasionally and defecated mid-air.

At first, the Bone Priest would unleash a soul shock to kill them.

But their corpses fell, becoming larger piles of garbage. Sweeping them aside only led to rot and crawling insects.

No matter how much it swept, the cave could never be clean. The Bone Priest grew anxious—lost its hair.

"Oh. Want to go back?" Oak asked.

"Yes."

Oak opened the summoning portal again. The Bone Priest stepped through—and reappeared in the familiar Necropolis.

A plump cow-woman watered the Holy Mushrooms. Seeing the Bone Priest, she smiled brightly: "Good day, Bone Lord! Long time no see. How's your skeleton holding up?"

After greeting, she shouldered her bucket and left. The Bone Priest wouldn't answer anyway—and she had to watch out not to let the mushrooms grow into the temple grounds, or it would chase her with a broom.

Not far away, she heard the temple once again filled with the rustling sound of sweeping.

…

The Necropolis priests arrived early at the refugee camp's edge. The Army of Rosa had also prepared long ago, waiting for the Uss army to walk into the trap.

The entire plan was devised by Acting Pope Anthony of the Holy Church. Meisha had even seen this legendary figure in person.

One day, Meisha brought the duchy's high officials' defense plan to Ang and Lisa, and met a mysterious figure cloaked in a hood.

The figure pulled back his hood and introduced himself: "I am Anthony. Hello. I've reviewed your plan. Frankly, it's cruel."

"Let me ask you: Do you want to block the Uss people at the border, watch as their land is seized by lords and nobles, their commoners turned into refugees, endlessly streaming into your territory to eat your food and drink your water—or die on your soil?"