I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

"What's it to you?" the dragon sneered coldly.

“The life or death of an outsider is really not of much concern to us. So we are not asking questions, but rather…” Neof paused, “…a reminder.”

"remind?"

"If you really think this girl is just an ordinary mortal, a king's daughter, then you are sorely mistaken. If you harbor ill intentions towards her, even your true self, lurking in your nightmares, may pay a heavy price."

The rumbling dragon roar was silent for a moment: "Is this a threat? By—you—?" A hint of killing intent was gathering in the voice.

But the purple-haired woman still wore that leisurely smile: "We've said before, this is just a reminder. Even if you've killed our people, in a way, it was because he was too greedy, not entirely your fault. Besides, we need all possible assistance now, which is why we've come specifically to remind you."

This silence was even longer. Neof didn't wait for her to speak again; her smile faded, and she said in an extremely serious tone, "A long time ago, something interesting happened in the territory of the Picts."

"Fifteen years ago, deep in the great forest, a swordsman with superb martial arts skills entered the territory of the Picts in search of a miraculous medicine for his seriously ill wife. By chance, he became an honored guest of our tribe. He is also the only person in hundreds of years to pass the ancient trials of the Picts."

"We don't know exactly what the swordsman gained from the trial, or whether he found the elixir that could heal his wife, but shortly after he left, we received this information through our own channels: the Queen of Scotland has passed away, and at the same time, the kingdom has gained a lovely little princess."

"People say that the queen died after giving birth to her daughter because of her weak health, but we remember that after the outsider returned from the trial, he always carried something in his arms until he left the great forest. Now that we think about it, that thing should be called a swaddle in the outside world's terms."

The surrounding gray mist seemed to be alive, swaying and rippling in circles as the purple-haired woman spoke.

Nioph stared directly into the dark red dragon's eye and said, "Perhaps fifteen years ago, what that outsider received during our trial was not a panacea that could cure all diseases, but... an infant."

Fafnir suddenly let out an extremely deep groan: "This is why you are willing to pay the price to delve into the nightmare."

"It is mentioned in the legacy of Pickett that the warriors who return from the trials will bring hope to this decaying world, will ensure the continuation of everything that exists, and will save everything that will come from destruction."

"In these hundreds of years, only one person has passed the trial, and what that person obtained in the trial was this girl. Whether she is real or fake, she is our only remaining hope. If you harbor ill intentions, we advise you to stop immediately; otherwise, even if she is just a fake—"

She held up her hands as if she were holding a heavy, enormous book, and several radiant runes appeared around her body, her eyes burning with fierce fire.

"The spear that slays gods can also slay dragons."

P.S.: Finally, that's all for now. My elderly relative has been feeling unwell for the past few days; her skin has turned yellow, and I suspected it was a liver problem, so I took her to the doctor. After a long and complicated process, they found out everything was normal. It's probably just because she ate too many carrots… But it's always a good thing it was a false alarm, and her sleep schedule has adjusted. Back to updating soon!

Chapter 204 The Dead and the Living (Part 1)

Inside the bedroom, gray mist gathered and then quietly dissipated, as if it had never existed in the first place.

It was already past midnight outside, and the two shifts of guards were changing shifts. Even though they tried to keep their voices down, some noise still got through.

The cool moonlight streamed in, and the girl on the bed remained fast asleep. The Sword of Light rested quietly beside the bed, its ancient carvings on the hilt resembling a pair of deep, ancient eyes, watching the purple-haired woman standing before them as the mist dissipated.

"how?"

The sword trembled almost imperceptibly in its sheath, and a cold voice, neither male nor female, neither old nor young, rang out from the depths of Neoph's heart.

She seemed momentarily stunned, but then blinked and came to her senses, answering in her mind, "It was simpler than we expected. We thought a battle was inevitable and were prepared to recuperate for a while, but that evil dragon was different from the one that schemed against our people last time. It actually gave in very easily, as if... it really wanted to help us."

As she spoke, she lightly flicked her finger, dispelling the lingering runic magic in the air to prevent it from startling the sleeping person awake. Although Neoph thought the girl was so young that waking up once wouldn't matter, there was still a sword lurking nearby.

She had no desire to test whether her head or the sword of war was harder.

Seeing this, Clausolas's aura did indeed soften considerably. Neof noticed this and smiled slightly: "You are indeed loyal."

"The duty of the sword is to protect."

"But we've always been curious: you once followed the Silver Arm Nuada and witnessed the invincible sword of the War of the Gods, yet now you choose to acknowledge this weak and innocent little girl as your master. Don't you feel a little wronged?"

"You already have the answer to this question in your heart," the Sword of Light said calmly.

Niove simply smiled: "Our answer may not be your answer. Or let's ask another question: what exactly happened after the war between the Danu people and the Furmor tribe?"

"The history of Pict only provides a rough description of this: Nuada and his two wives died under the magic eye, and the people of Danu suffered a great defeat. It was not until several years later that Luger killed Balor and won a miserable victory."

She paced silently back and forth in the room a few times, glancing at the moon outside the window before looking back: "But after that, the people of Danu disappeared without a trace, and the four great treasures vanished as well. Only Tirnano, a long-ruined holy land, and the goddess Niman, who returned after many years, remained. In our view, all of this is no coincidence. The hope in Pict's ancient prophecy must also be related to this."

“We want to know what happened after that battle and whether it’s related to the ‘nightmare’ we face today. As a witness to that history, Clausolas, you should know the answer.”

After a moment of silence, the Sword of Light emitted a soft hum: "I cannot answer this question."

"Why?"

"Within the mist, all is unknown." As if speaking in riddles, the Sword of Light then changed the subject: "As for the other question, I have chosen a new master because the old one has been defeated. A loser is incapable of wielding an invincible sword."

With that same flat, even somewhat cold tone, Neof looked at it and said, "What if this little girl fails too?"

There was no further response.

After a moment, she shook her head: "How heartless." Before she could finish speaking, a message from another clone suddenly made the purple-haired woman's expression change, and she almost cried out in alarm.

"I'm sorry, I may have to awaken your master ahead of schedule." She said to the divine sword in her heart. Before the other party could ask why, she tugged at the corner of her mouth and revealed a bitter smile: "The situation has changed, and it seems to have become... more troublesome."

……

The sun sets and the moon rises, but the distinction between day and night has long been blurred in this vast and boundless forest, making them almost indistinguishable.

The torchlight flickered. The warm glow that usually offered a sense of security was of little use in this eerie environment. Seven well-trained warriors moved through the night, maintaining a safe distance from each other, watching out for any enemy that might appear from any direction.

They wore iron masks, strange bodysuits, and several battle axes for throwing were tucked into their waistbands. The leader also carried two short guns crossed on his back. After the "catastrophe" instigated by the messenger of the gods, the Picts now faced the crisis of extinction.

But everything has its advantages and disadvantages. Apart from the women and children who had no fighting ability and the second generation of children, the surviving warriors have greatly improved their strength. Even the most ordinary soldiers among them, after surviving these dark and hopeless times, have grown to the point that they can hold out against the Shadow Spirits on their own for a period of time.

As for those who were originally elites of the tribe, their strength increased rapidly, which was another reason why Neofken sent them out to search for Leodogran.

The Picts of today can no longer afford any more sacrifices.

A sharp whistling sound, which only fellow countrymen could understand, rang out from time to time, echoing through the forest. But now the beasts that once inhabited the forest had all disappeared. Those attracted by this sound were probably only a few scattered Shadow Spirits. And eliminating as many Shadow Spirits as possible to reduce the number of enemies was one of the tasks of these squads.

Suddenly, the captain, carrying two pistols, raised his arm. The other six men stopped simultaneously, each standing within the firelight, drawing their battle axes and warily scanning their surroundings. The leader slowly drew a short pistol; the tip reflected the torchlight, and a golden glint flashed from its blade.

Beneath the masks, the shimmering blue light flashed faster and faster. The fingers gripping the gun tightened suddenly, then slowly loosened. The others moved their bodies, their clothes clinging to their skin, revealing the movements of their muscles and bones. In the forest, a strange malice gradually gathered...

"what--"

With an incredibly piercing long howl, the leading warrior clenched his fists, his muscles bulged, and his entire arm suddenly thickened, almost tearing his bodysuit. With a flick of his wrist, he thrust his short spear downwards, magic power condensing into a single point, which slammed heavily into the soil.

Decaying leaves everywhere!

At the same time, a hand, also clad in a tight-fitting suit, burst from the ground, reaching for the gunman's ankle, only to be pierced through the palm by a bullet and pinned to the ground. But then, several gasps rang out behind them. The captain turned his head slightly and "saw" one of the soldiers' ankles already gripped, being swung at with an axe, while several other Picketts were entangled with the arms that had emerged from the ground. And in front of them, behind them, and from all directions, even more arms were reaching out from underground!

Among them were Picts in tight-fitting clothes, as well as pale-skinned outsiders. Some of their arms had already begun to rot, and as they extended, they fell off with a series of cracking sounds, revealing stark white bones. The captain let out another angry roar, and with a swift sweep of his short gun, he broke the arm he had pinned down. Then, magic gathered, and with a flash of cold light, he moved forward.

An astonishing amount of magic swirled around the gun, forming a semi-transparent vortex. With a roar, this vortex, purely condensed from magic, swept outwards, shattering and tossing countless decaying leaves, sprawling branches, and the hellish, grotesque hands that clashed with it into the air.

Affected by the wind, the surrounding firelight suddenly became incredibly bright. After one shot, a clearing was cleared in front of them. The captain put away his gun and took a few heavy breaths. But the next moment, he was shocked to see the ground turn upside down and more arms stretched out. They pushed hard on the ground and slowly lifted up one cold body after another.

Scottish knights in armor, ordinary soldiers with relatively poor equipment, civilians carrying pitchforks and flails, and mercenaries and adventurers dressed in various ways, but most of them were dressed in their most familiar attire.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, more than a dozen "Picket" men, each with only one arm, had pulled themselves out of the soil. They staggered, dragging their wounded bodies. Some of them even had worms crawling in their wounds, but the blood had long since dried.

The captain glanced to the side and saw the same scene in every direction.

He suddenly realized something.

It turned out to be the case.

This is the truth behind those strange hands.

This is the real enemy they are facing.

"what--"

Before being overwhelmed by countless "comrades," he threw away his torch, brandished his two pistols, and shouted at the top of his lungs. Then, everything fell silent again...

……

Who is singing?

Her pale pink ponytail swayed slightly as she spoke. The female swordsman glanced around, a hint of confusion in her eyes, before laughing again: "Anyway, it's not you."

"ah……"

After working together for a while, Musashi had come to understand, to some extent, the meaning behind the Picts' calls—or at least she felt she understood: "Alright, alright. I'm not teasing you, it's just... it sounds like a girl singing. Is that you?" She turned to look at the bird perched on her shoulder.

“No, not Gu,” Neof replied.

"Well, if you're going to coo, at least turn into a pigeon, okay? It's really strange to just coo like a lark."

"This is Pigeon Coo."

"That's a lark!"

"It's a pigeon!"

“It’s a lark… Fine, if you say it’s a pigeon, then it’s a pigeon. If we keep arguing like this, I’m starting to doubt my own intelligence.” Shaking his head helplessly, Musashi followed his companions forward, giving up on continuing this pointless bickering.

The lark... or perhaps the pigeon in Neoph's eyes, puffed out its chest with a smug look, as if wanting to boast about its victory. But the next moment, it suddenly spoke in a hurried tone: "Oh no, we have to go back right now!"

After waiting for two or three seconds, seeing that the guide, who was incredibly persistent in her settings once she turned into a bird, hadn't even uttered a sound, Musashi became more serious: "What happened?"

"A corpse in the forest—"

They had just begun when suddenly, not far in front of them, another huge sound came, like muffled thunder, making Musashi's eardrums buzz and causing him to feel slightly dizzy for a moment!

The ground beneath their feet shook violently. Several Picts were caught off guard and were knocked off balance. But the swordsman was already used to this level of tremor. He instinctively reached out and grabbed a tree branch, and then nudged a Pict next to him with his elbow to prevent him from falling.

She was about to praise herself for her quick thinking, but after the tinnitus and dizziness subsided, looking at the scene before her, the slight upturn of her lips suddenly froze.

"—It's climbed out." Neof finished the second half of her sentence. It flapped its wings rapidly in the air, its small, black bean-like eyes filled with astonishment as it looked up little by little.

About ten meters away from them.

A massive tree, as thick as several people could encircle, with an arm that was already beginning to rot everywhere, fell from the sky, crushing several large trees. Amidst the swirling dust, the enormous body, more than ten meters tall, slowly stood up, supported by this arm.

The shadows were overwhelming, as if night had fallen.

"Nioph, there's something I'd like to ask you for a favor."

"what?"

"Let's hear a 'coo' sound."

"...Goo, like this?"

"Yes, that's the feeling."

With a backhand slash, he cleaved a crevice in the tree, inserting the torch inside. Musashi's expression was solemn. His free right hand slowly drew another katana. Gazing at the rotting giant's corpse, which emitted a pungent stench, a bright smile appeared on his lips: "Thanks to you being here, I'm not nervous at all now—"

……

As dawn broke, the sound of footsteps rushing along the city walls heralded the start of the new day. People awoke with a start, and before they could even dress properly, they hurried to the nearby watchtowers.

The short but robust Earl Duncan strode along. He had no habit of wearing pajamas and even slept fully clothed in his castle, using his sword as a pillow, so that he could be ready to fight at any time. Therefore, he appeared particularly energetic amidst the chaotic crowd around him.

"Count, Your Excellency!"

"Don't panic, what's going on!" The alarm bells rang out across the land. These were bells that were only rung in times of extreme danger. Since Scotland began repairing the Antony Wall, the bells had only rung so urgently once—once when the Wall almost fell into the hands of the Picts.

But the Picts have long since declined, so how could they possibly make a comeback? As for the enemies they now face... neither those shadowy figures nor the strange hands that only appear when there is no light seem to pose any threat to the Antony Wall.

If so, what caused the alarm to sound?

All the questions that had been posed along the way were answered the moment he stepped onto the watchtower. Even Earl Duncan, known for his rock-solid composure, couldn't help but change his expression upon witnessing the scene before him.

"This is……"

He gripped the stone windowpane tightly, gritting his teeth, oblivious to the blood streaming from his fingernails, and coldly stared ahead at the figure slowly moving along the edge of the forest.

In the dim morning light, tattered flags were raised.

That was the Scottish royal flag, lost in the forest during the last battle.

The one raising the flag was also a Scotsman. Duncan even recognized the face—it was his proud second son. The proud young man, as always, proudly raised his head, held the flag high, and rode on his beloved horse, ready to lead his knights and soldiers in a charge.

The only difference is that the young man riding the horse in front of them only has half a head left.

Red and white liquid dripped from the broken skull, and behind the young man, more Scottish soldiers with missing bodies gathered, some on horseback and some on foot, with slow and heavy steps.

At a glance, there were only about a hundred people at the edge of the forest.

But everyone who witnessed this scene felt an unprecedented...fear.

Early morning hours.

A light mist began to spread.

There seemed to be singing.

"The mist spreads, and birds of death will be born from it, spreading their wings and singing, traveling alongside the skeletons..."

Amidst the tinkling sounds of a harp, Nini Annie, draped in a thin veil, sat atop a giant rock, gazing northwards.

In this fairy village located on the inner side of the planet, the scenery remained unchanged, but she understood that in reality, the irreversible fate had finally begun.

"shit!"