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

"shit!"

"Many people will die, many, many people, and we will die too!"

"Here we go again! Fairies never die, you idiot!"

The two little fairies were still fluttering and making a ruckus around her. Nini Annie withdrew her gaze, her indifferent eyes, which were like a galaxy, and turned to the flower bushes that covered the entire plain beside her.

A drop of dew is quietly falling from a petal.

……

Chapter 205 The Dead and the Living (Part 2)

This enemy force of only about a hundred men did not cause any trouble for the Wall – their superior equipment and the best soldiers Scotland had at the time were enough to defeat these stumbling enemies before they even got close to the walls.

After several volleys of arrows, they abandoned dozens of corpses that had been turned into porcupines and followed Earl Duncan's second son, whose head had been chopped off, back into the dark depths of the great forest.

But within Antony's Wall, the atmosphere was somber. Even the most optimistic people couldn't muster the spirit to celebrate this "victory." The bizarre and unbelievable fact that a comrade who had died before their eyes had risen again and become their enemy had severely dampened the army's morale. Even the high-ranking officials were likely not in much better spirits.

At the routine morning meeting, everyone discussed, or rather argued, about this sudden event for a long time. However, with no leader in place, neither Earl Duncan, Klark, nor the temporary lord Pat had enough prestige to make everyone listen to their opinions.

In the end, they could only come up with a compromise: each of the noble lords present would select their subordinates to form an exploration team to investigate the situation within the great forest. This team would not be formed until tomorrow morning at the earliest—and that was only if everyone realized the seriousness of the problem and did not shirk responsibility and hold each other back.

Pat received mysterious power and warnings from the master Uru and was eager to make a name for himself. However, he encountered such a strange thing as soon as he returned to the Wall of Antony. For a moment, he felt quite frustrated and complicated.

He ordered his men to collect the bodies of those who had been "shot down." To prevent them from waking up again and attacking others, he did not bury them. Instead, Klark purified these souls with fire according to ancient Druidic rituals, leaving only their physical bodies in the world.

The fire was blazing.

In the nearby open space, the young prince stood a short distance away, out of the way of sparks, yet still able to clearly see each of the burning faces. He was not wearing armor, only a casual robe, a long sword at his waist, and his bright red cloak fluttering in the wind.

Several nobles stood behind, heads slightly bowed, while Klark stood on a makeshift platform in front of the fire, holding his oak staff high, reciting an ancient requiem in a melodious and rhythmic voice. The song carried far and wide, as if possessing a magical power, gradually calming the people's hearts.

"May the departed rest in peace, in the name of death. May all spirits be well, guided by the goddess to new life—" Pat whispered his prayer, pressing his hand to his chest. Just then, he saw a raven perched on an outstretched branch, tilting its head and looking in his direction with its small eyes.

In the legends of the Danu, crows have always represented war and death. It is said that two of the three goddesses, Niman and Morrigan, often transform into black crows and fly past the doors of the dying, guiding their souls to the stream of souls to receive new life after their passing. Seeing a crow at this moment might be a good thing… he thought, the necklace pressed against his chest feeling faintly warm.

If all of this was the work of the evil dragon incarnate, then there was only one thing he needed to do—use the power he received from the hermit to vanquish evil and restore peace to Scotland. Pat raised his hand and gently grasped the necklace the man in the cabin had given him before he left, his gaze gradually hardening.

He looked back.

His gaze swept past the somber-looking nobles and headed south. His sister should still be in the southern border at this moment. He suddenly felt a little relieved that she wasn't here, but he didn't know if this relief was because she was safe and sound and hadn't been caught up in this turmoil, or because she wouldn't be vying for his credit as usual.

Perhaps it's a combination of both.

Pat knew his sister had never harbored any ambition to be king. Given a choice, the precocious yet naive girl would probably prefer to be a wandering swordsman, punishing evil and promoting good. But sometimes, these things are not up to the individuals involved to decide, and he could never truly understand his father, Leod Ogland's, thoughts.

Therefore, they were unable to let down their guard for a long time.

On the other hand, as the older brother, having watched that child grow from infancy, the blood ties between them were unbreakable, no matter how sharp the sword. That was the child his mother had given her life for, his father's cherished treasure, the shining pearl of the kingdom… Whenever Pat saw that figure, he could recall the time he spent nestled beside his mother as a child. This was a rare and precious memory he possessed—a warm recollection of family.

People say that His Highness the Prince of Scotland is a womanizer, and he especially likes older, mature women with long blonde hair and broad-mindedness.

Only a very small number of people knew—not even the King of Scotland and his sister—that Pat was simply trying to find a trace of his memories in those women.

In the past, he could see these similarities in his sister. But as she grew up, these similarities became fewer and fewer, and might even disappear completely in the near future.

Pat felt a chill run down his spine whenever he thought about the possibility.

"Mother..."

He closed his eyes briefly, seemingly letting out a silent sigh. The sound was so soft that only he could hear it, and when he opened his eyes again, the slight bewilderment in his gaze had vanished.

He gazed at the raging flames, watching the corpses turn to ashes in the firelight, and for a time afterward, he remained immersed in his own small sorrows…

The simple funeral ended around two or three in the afternoon. Surprisingly, that evening, before the hastily assembled exploration team set off, Pat had already seen his missing father, Leo Dogland.

—In a despairing form.

……

Rewind to the early hours of that day, in the middle of the night, Neov woke the girl up with a rather rough approach. Rubbing her eyes, her mind still lingering on the long-awaited KFC family bucket: "Wait a minute, at least let me have a bite of fried chicken..."

Muttering to herself and wiping her drool, she finally woke up completely after a few seconds, sitting on the bed and looking at Neof, who had the sword of light held to her neck: "What happened—why are my hair and face so wet, and they hurt a little..."

“The reason is simple: I couldn’t wake you up no matter what I did, so I threw a water balloon at you… really, just a tiny water balloon, about the size of my palm,” Neof explained. “So, if you understand… could you please keep this sword away from our necks?”

"So you're saying you planned to ambush me while I was asleep?" Guinevere gritted her teeth as she rubbed her aching forehead and nose. "Klausolas, you did a good job."

"I am filled with trepidation and fear."

The girl felt a pang of sadness as she recalled that dream she had almost completely forgotten. She had finally dreamt of the junk food she loved in her past life, and was about to indulge herself when, just as she finished the corn on the cob and all sorts of side dishes, before she could even take a bite of the proper fried chicken, she was abruptly awakened by a small water balloon that seemed to fly right in front of her.

"At least let me have a bite, or a sip of cola would be fine too..." she muttered to herself, but she also understood that although Neof liked to pretend to be Aunt Pigeon and call out, she wasn't the type to disturb people's sleep for no reason... Moreover, the Sword of Light had given permission for her actions, so something must have happened.

The girl shook her head. Fortunately, she had never suffered from hypoglycemia in either her past or present life, and it only took her a short time to clear her mind completely. She looked at the purple-haired woman and asked, "So, what happened?"

"The corpses are rampaging through the forest, and Miss Musashi is injured," Neof replied just as seriously.

But when she met Guinevere's deadpan gaze, she forced a smile and gave an awkward laugh: "I'm used to it."

The girl had no time for banter; she jumped out of bed, reached for her coat, and hurriedly asked, "Is it serious?"

"It's not too serious. Miss Musashi's abilities are far greater than we thought. Not only did she defeat that giant single-handedly, but she also covered our people, allowing us to safely retreat back to Tirnano amidst the siege of hundreds of corpses. However, the corpses' attacks were all poisonous, and although Miss Musashi only suffered minor injuries, she can't engage in any strenuous activity until we concoct the appropriate antidote..."

Guinevere briefly recounted what had happened earlier, and only breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing that Musashi was unharmed. In a sense, she had dragged him into this mess, and if he had been seriously injured or even killed because of it, her conscience wouldn't have been at peace. However, the strange phenomena in the great forest also deeply troubled her: "You mean, all those corpses in the forest... have come back to life?"

“That’s right. We just checked the situation inside the great forest, and bodies keep popping out of the ground, or those who have just died, or those who were dragged into the darkness by those strange hands. They’ve all ‘come back to life’—although we’re reluctant to describe this desecration of the dead in that way.”

Neof bit her lip. There must be many Picts among them, perhaps even relatives or friends of this spirit guide. Guinevere could understand this heart-wrenching feeling.

“There are at least two to three thousand people wandering in the forest right now. Our soldiers outside have all been withdrawn back to the Holy Land, and I’m afraid they won’t be able to go out again for some time.”

“It was Neman’s doing. She possesses the most mysterious and eerie of the Nine Witch Marks, the Mark of Death, capable of bringing the dead back to life—I’m afraid your already destroyed kingdom, and those dead Scottish soldiers, will… wait.” Suddenly remembering something, Guinevere paused, startled: “You said Musashi encountered a giant, but as far as I know, there haven’t been any reports of giants in Scotland for decades. Could it be…”

"I'm afraid that's the question. It's not just Pickett and the Scotsman who recently died who are 'awakening'; there are arms reaching out from the soil, and even pure skeletons... And according to our understanding, the last giant died in the Great Forest... about sixty years ago."

"Sixty years ago." The girl couldn't help but lick her lips, feeling a slight astringency in her mouth.

What this means is self-evident.

For at least the next sixty years, the corpses that died in the great forest may be awakened by Neman's evil magic and become their enemies.

Even more worrying is the possibility that this sixty-year period may not be the limit of Niemann's capabilities...

"In the eyes of the people of the North, the Great Forest is a huge tomb. Whether it is the Picts, the Orkneys, or the Scots, they often choose to bury their remains in this vast and ancient forest... Little did they know that this beautiful tradition would turn them into walking corpses, puppets driven by evil people."

Niouf sighed.

Guinevere put on her coat, tidied herself up, grabbed the Sword of Light, and hurriedly pushed open the door to leave: "We must tell Uncle Lotte and the others this news as soon as possible."

“Indeed.” After a slight pause, Nioph glanced in a certain direction: “Mrs. Morgan seems to have noticed. I sensed the presence of magical energy; perhaps she is casting a spell.”

"She is an amazing magician."

The girl pushed open the door and came out, with Neov following closely behind: "But before that, we have some news—or rather, two pieces of news, one good and one bad. Which would you like to hear first?"

People hurried along the corridor. The girl tilted her head and said, "At a time like this, you're still playing this game?" She thought for a moment and said, "Let's hear the bad news first. I like to save the good stuff for last."

"Then let's start with the good news."

"...You'd better not ask me!"

As if she hadn't heard the girl's complaints at all, Neof smiled and said, "The good news is that we no longer have to search for the King of Scotland like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"You found him?"

"There's no need to go looking for them. The dead within the Great Forest are slowly splitting into two groups, each gathering in different directions. One of the smaller groups is closer to Orkney, and its leader is a druid master whose body has been dead for some time..."

The purple-haired woman's eyes reflected completely different scenes. When the girl looked into her left eye, she saw an old man with purple spots on his face and body, leaning on a bent oak cane, standing in the midst of a horde of corpses swarming in from all directions, as if he were saying something.

At the same time, before Neof could continue speaking, she already understood what this so-called "good news" meant.

Through the purple-haired woman's right eye, Guinevere saw her father, Leod Ogland, crowned and covered in blood. The Scottish king held high his two swords forged by master craftsmen, riding a ripped-out warhorse, behind whom a motley array of "soldiers" stood in a jumbled formation.

"This is another large group. It has gathered about 70% of the dead in the entire forest, led by your father."

"With such a large scale, it's certainly much easier to find." The girl tried to smile, but wasn't sure if she succeeded. She just tried to make her tone sound light—like usual: "So, what's the bad news?"

“If nothing unexpected happens, their target should be your famous city wall,” Neof replied.

“…I think so too.” Guinevere’s pace slowed down. She pressed her temples and their eyes met. Neof saw a flash of dark gold in her emerald eyes.

The pupil seemed to narrow and elongate for a moment, but then immediately returned to its original state without leaving any trace.

"Although Father's current state is strange, he probably still retains some semblance of sanity. If he leads the army to attack, there's a high chance that Antony's Wall will not hold—"

The girl twirled a strand of hair between her fingers, then released it, her expression turning serious: "But this is also an opportunity. As long as we can sever the connection between Father and the Shadow Spirit, and let those lords witness this scene with their own eyes, it will be more convincing than any words."

She looked at Niove: "Once Uncle Lotte and the others hear that an army of the dead might attack Orkney, we have to get there immediately."

The purple-haired woman nodded: "Hopefully, your city walls won't have been breached by the time we arrive."

"I hope so."

Although she wasn't a big believer, influenced by those close to her—Leodogran and Artoria were both devout Catholics—Guinevere still habitually made the sign of the cross on her chest and spoke softly.

……

P.S.: Happy Labor Day everyone~ I wonder if Qingbai can try to achieve perfect attendance this month? (whispering)

Chapter 206 The Dead and the Living (Part 2)

As dusk fell, the sky was dyed crimson by the afterglow, like a blazing fire spreading out before people's eyes. At any other time and place, this might have been a breathtaking sight, but at this moment, the garrison of the Antony Wall clearly had no time or inclination to appreciate it.

As the dazzling afterglow of the setting sun poured down, a sharp-eyed guard in the watchtower spotted something emerging and gathering from the shadows within the forest to the north—a forest that had terrified countless hearts. The eerie shadows gradually became clearer…

A moment later, led by Pat, the knights gathered at the main castle. The evening breeze carried a chill that seemed to seep into their bones—winter had not yet arrived, and the temperature was definitely abnormal. It was unclear whether this was due to the heavy, depressed mood affecting their senses, or whether some mysterious force was changing everything around them.

The red cloak billowed high as Pat turned his head and saw the magic surging in Klark's eyes gradually dissipating. "How is it?" he asked the druid youth he regarded as his right-hand man, still harboring a sliver of hope.

But Klark simply shook his head: "We're in big—trouble." He emphasized the word "big," and everyone present, being intelligent, paled. He pointed to the forest ahead and continued, "From what we can see, we'll encounter approximately several thousand undead..."

"Thousands?"

One of the nobles couldn't help but repeat it, his voice full of sarcasm. Klark glanced at him: "If Your Excellency doesn't mind waiting a little longer, and if there's enough time, I can spend a few hours slowly counting how many people there are. Unfortunately, we probably don't have that time."

He said it coldly, and the nobleman's expression changed. He seemed to want to say something more, but under the watchful eyes of those around him, he could only keep quiet.

Because of his young age and high position, and his close association with Balan, Klark inevitably attracted various forms of jealousy and hatred. Although no one dared to openly target this "newly rich," there was no shortage of sarcastic remarks and attempts to trip him up behind his back. Anyone who still wanted to engage in verbal sparring at such a time could only be described as foolish.

"Let's get back to the main topic." Pat looked at Earl Duncan, who was in charge of the matter: "How are the preparations going?"

"The garrison at each fortress has been arranged. But apart from the troops currently stationed at the Great Wall, I'm afraid we can't expect any more reinforcements from the kingdom."

Duncan replied in a deep voice.

Out of consideration for his feelings, even the person who usually clashed with him the most refrained from provoking him. They then discussed their guesses about the situation to the north. Soon after, at the edge of the forest, the first staggering figure slowly appeared before them.

Pat's expression turned serious: "Everyone, return to your positions and prepare for battle. Do not allow any enemy to cross the Great Wall."

"Yes."

Originally, at Leodogran's call, more than fifty knight lords led their troops to the front, but they suffered a crushing defeat and heavy losses. Now, only twenty-three knights survived, including only one count, Duncan. The rest were viscounts, barons, and even two young men who had just been knighted. They hurriedly brought a dozen or twenty soldiers they had cobbled together to join the battle. Now that there was no one else available, these young men were assigned to defend sections of the city wall.

Only Klark, Pat, and Duncan, along with two other knights—a viscount and a baroness—remained at the main castle, at the best watchtower. They watched as the first corpse staggered out, followed by a second, a third, and more corpses, still wounded and bleeding, dragging their steps out of the forest.

Although there were many dead, the dark figures mixed in were still quite conspicuous and not difficult for a discerning eye to spot. Klark placed his hand on the hilt of his sword: "There are seven in total. This section of the wall can hold off ordinary soldiers, and it should be able to hold off these corpses as well. But those dark figures are as strong as our most elite soldiers. A height of four or five meters is not enough to stop them."

“It’s time for you druids to shine,” the baroness said. Klark nodded. “Of course. Watch out, they’re coming—” Before he finished speaking, the corpses, which had been moving slowly, suddenly sped up. The Antony Wall was situated on high ground, with an endless plain between it and the edge of the forest, making it easy to defend and difficult to attack. As the corpses suddenly accelerated, a suppressed commotion arose from the walls, which quickly quieted down at the officers’ shouts. Spears and lances stood ready, and bows and crossbows were poised to fire.

But before the first wave of combat between the two sides could begin, the shadow spirits mixed among the ordinary corpses suddenly leaped up. With their superhuman physical abilities, they jumped seven or eight meters high with just a few steps of running up. Just as they were about to land on the city wall, Klark put one hand on his sword and suddenly stretched out his free hand, pressing down lightly.

The Great Wall barrier, set up by several druids, activated in response. A visible black cloud gathered above their heads, replacing the crimson sky. In the dazzling light, golden snakes danced wildly. With a series of loud cracking sounds, exactly seven bolts of lightning, each as thick as a bucket, descended from the sky and struck the shadow spirits who had leaped into the air.

Five of them were struck squarely, falling back to their original positions mid-air. The remaining two landed safely on the city wall, but before the dark clouds could dissipate, several more bolts of lightning struck down, directly knocking the five shadow spirits back to their original corpses. The two shadow spirits on the city wall brandished their weapons to parry, while Duncan was about to draw his sword when two other young men of lower rank rushed forward to meet him.

Pat's gaze swept around and saw that Klark maintained a defensive barrier around his entire body. Lightning rained down, each strike landing on the area where the corpses were most concentrated, causing men and horses to fall and the ground to crack and turn black. In an instant, the hundreds of enemies who had rushed out of the forest were all wiped out, and not one of them was able to reach the city wall.

On the city wall, the baroness wielded her steel longsword, producing several short, sharp clangs. Combined with the distraction of a lightning strike, she pierced the chest of her enemy in a matter of moments, causing the black mist to dissipate and revealing a Pictish man with a tattered helmet and numerous wounds.

She sheathed her sword, turned to support another viscount, and in the blink of an eye, she also stabbed another shadow spirit to death.

"Baron Skye's swordsmanship has improved considerably compared to last year's jousting tournament."

Duncan released his grip on the sword, his words tinged with admiration.

Seeing that there were no more living corpses below, Klark released his hand, and the dark clouds that had gathered in the sky slowly dissipated: "For a woman to bear this responsibility and expectation, the pressure she is under must be extraordinary."

“Druid magic is indeed powerful.” The baroness, who was talking to the two, flicked the blood off her sword, sheathed it, and walked over. “This morning too, these corpses didn’t seem very strong.”

"This is probably just the beginning."

As they spoke, the charred remains of those struck by lightning lay scattered across the ground. The men on the city wall turned their gaze towards the distant forest. From the shadowy woods, more corpses seemed to stagger out…