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

She looked up and realized what the old man meant: "The traces of the battle did not advance from the outside in, but quite the opposite."

“If our deduction is correct, the initial sword energy swept outwards from that wooden house just now,” said Nioph the pigeon, flapping her wings as she chimed in from the side.

In this atmosphere, she couldn't continue cooing.

“Let’s assume this: a Shadow Heroic Spirit’s possessor came to this village after the battle at the Wall of Antony… or perhaps was rescued. And was then placed in this house. At least, the villagers should have been completely unprepared before the attack.” Leo Grand paused, his expression grim.

Everyone present understood what this meant.

The opponent is a powerful foe capable of destroying a village in an instant. The fact that the villagers were able to lower their guard suggests that, like Leodogran before them, the opponent can freely transform into or dispel their Shadow Heroic Spirit state. The destruction of Frostwood Village also demonstrates that the opponent is an extremely dangerous entity regardless of their state.

But the sea of ​​people is vast.

They were still clueless, unsure how to find this dangerous fellow.

Chapter 212 Capturing the King (Part 1)

York.

Until decades ago, the city was called Aberlaken—a stronghold built by the Romans as the capital of Lower Britain. After the empire withdrew and the Scots seized nearby territories, the current pope made some concessions, which led the newly independent Britons to agree to cede Canterbury and York, continuing the practice of the Roman Empire, with two archbishops directly appointed by the Papacy in charge of their administration.

They possessed power equivalent to that of a duke, essentially a state within a state, and a sacred status not held by a proper duke. On the other hand, these two archbishops were nominally subordinate to the kings of Britain. Once outside their territories, they often faced severe restrictions. Thus, although most Britons were Catholic, Druids and other pagan mages could still move freely without any interference.

Theocracy and monarchy formed an extremely delicate balance on this island. The former King Uther, the Fisherman King of the South, and the previous King of Scotland and his successor Leod Ogren all worked to maintain this fragile yet solid balance, and none of them broke it.

However, this balance is becoming increasingly precarious.

……

Duncan was deeply worried about this.

It had been two or three days since the disastrous defeat at the Anthony Wall, but as soon as I closed my eyes, the despair of that blood-red giant hand pressing down, as if the entire sky had collapsed, was still so clear, vivid in my mind as if it were yesterday.

If it weren't for his extensive combat experience and mental fortitude far surpassing that of ordinary people, he probably wouldn't have been able to get a good night's sleep these past few days, and would have already become neurotic and exhibited some kind of madness like some other people.

The appearance of the flesh giant caught everyone off guard. He watched as Klark, who was on par with Balanqing, used all his strength to deliver an attack, but it was still easily blocked. The giant counterattacked and, with a casual swipe of his hand, like swatting a fly, directly destroyed a section of the city wall.

The scene of slaughter was like hell.

Duncan and Leo O'Dwight were childhood friends who fought alongside him on the battlefield for many years. Over the past few decades, they faced desperate pirates who crossed the sea, and the strangely dressed and crazy Picket people who roamed the forests. In recent years, they have also faced the fierce and ruthless Saxons who burned, killed, and plundered. None of them were easy targets.

His ability to fight his way out of these wars, even earning the title of earl and protecting a region, is enough to prove his strength.

Not just Duncan.

Turbulent times produce heroes, and those who have risen to prominence in the past thirty years are all shining stars of their time.

It was precisely because of this that even when facing that despairing giant, the Scottish garrison did not suffer a complete defeat. Duncan did not know how the others fared, but he rallied a portion of the nearby troops and fought a retreat. In the end, only about 30% of them managed to retreat to the vicinity of York and were able to obtain the protection and assistance of the Archbishop of York.

But he knew the crisis was far from over. Behind the Wall lay York, and beyond York lay the entire Kingdom of Scotland, and even the whole of Britain. The beast that lurked in the shadows would not be satisfied with merely breaching a single wall.

Those monsters will be here soon.

During his time in York, Duncan spent most of his time working on this matter, trying his best to remind, or rather warn, the archbishop and other influential figures in the city that the impending threat would be far more powerful than anticipated.

Fortunately, he knew the Archbishop of York and understood that the other was by no means an ordinary person. The reason he always referred to him by the title of Archbishop was because the other claimed that he had renounced his secular name along with all his past resentments and hatreds at the time of baptism.

Now, he is merely a servant of the gods.

Perhaps for this reason, in the eyes of many, this archbishop was almost an incomprehensible madman.

wow——

Standing in the open space behind the church, I raised my hand, and a bucket of water, still covered in ice, was poured over my head. My bare upper body was steaming hot, with old and new wounds intertwined. One of them was a wound several inches long, which seemed to have just been made, the skin and flesh not yet healed. When the ice water was suddenly poured over it, the muscles tensed up and bled again.

Then, he vigorously wiped away the blood and water stains with an old cloth whose original color was no longer discernible. The short-haired man put down the empty wooden bucket, roughly wiped his hair with the cloth, and changed into the clean clothes folded up beside him. It was an ordinary long robe, also covered with patches of various sizes, looking old and tattered, quite destitute.

Even the long staff placed beside the clothing was dull and lackluster. The cross at the end of the staff, which should have been inlaid with gemstones, was just two pieces of wood simply nailed together with a silver nail. Rather than a symbol of power, it looked more like a walking stick carried by a poor man, and it wouldn't be worth much money if sold.

The man reached out and grasped the long staff, then slowly turned around, just in time to see a woman dressed as a nun walking briskly towards him.

This is a small chapel on the outskirts of York. Unlike the inner city where wealthy and noble people reside, this area near the outskirts is mostly inhabited by commoners, many of whom are impoverished. Even in York, a city that is practically a religious holy city, not many monks are willing to help them—not because they lack compassion.

While they would certainly produce cheap holy water and sell it to these commoners for almost free, its effectiveness was limited, only able to cure minor ailments such as colds and headaches. More effective spells, on the other hand, often required a considerable amount of magic power and might even harm the caster, posing a significant burden to ordinary cultivators.

Important resources should naturally be used on important things.

Therefore, when people living in this area get sick, they usually grit their teeth and endure it, or pin their hopes on those smelly ointments—less than 10% of which are actually made by herbalists, and the rest are fake products used to cheat people out of their money.

Nearly ten years ago, a monk who claimed to be traveling settled here and built this small chapel. He was highly skilled and could even heal injured limbs. No matter the injury, whether it was a poor person or a wealthy nobleman who came to see him, he would heal them without charging a penny. After some time, he also took in some orphans who were wandering the streets and taught them carefully.

Ten years have passed in the blink of an eye. The first group of children have grown into adults, most of whom have become clergy in York, diligently serving in their respective positions in emulation of their mentor. As for the monk, apart from disappearing for periods of time from time to time, he has remained steadfast in the dilapidated chapel for the past ten years, opening its doors wide and spreading the gospel of the Lord through his actions.

Occasionally, other monks and nuns would come to see him, and the neighbors were used to it. The monk led the hurried nun into the church, and after a short while, she took her leave, and he went out as well. That evening, several more people hurried over.

The leader was a dark-skinned, short but robust middle-aged man.

As you enter through the open doors of the church, on the first row of pews below the pulpit, a burly monk, dressed in a worn robe and with his hair almost completely shaved, slowly rises.

He held a similarly old and unassuming long staff in his hand, its nails gleaming faintly in the dim light. His gaze was calm, exuding an imposing presence without anger.

"High Priest. I'm so glad to finally meet you."

Duncan's bloodshot eyes also shone brightly. He bowed, and the monk said, "I know why you've come."

“The Antony Wall has fallen, and my students are searching for any survivors. As for the corpses walking on the ground, I have seen them with my own eyes and even fought against them.”

“This is blasphemy!” His voice was firm and resolute. “I will not allow such desecration of the dead. Likewise, no matter who the enemy is, they cannot cross this city protected by the Lord—”

"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Things that do not belong to this world will be banished!"

……

The flames of war spread from the far north.

The wandering corpses filled the entire mountain wilderness. After missing the initial brief opportunity, both resistance and escape had become impossible bubbles.

Even with all of Lot's efforts and the limited time available, only about 30% of the people were able to safely evacuate from the surrounding villages and towns into the royal city's protective barrier. The vast majority were swallowed up by the endless horde of corpses, and countless others rose again to attack those just as innocent as themselves.

Fathers lost their sons, husbands lost their wives; outside the barrier, everything resembled a scene of purgatory.

But the real nightmare has only just begun.

……

Amidst the hordes of corpses covering the mountains and fields, a sword aura as radiant as the sun suddenly swept out!

In an instant, all the corpses that had even slightly come into contact with this sword energy melted away like snow in early spring under the warm sun, turning into dust and leaving no trace.

With a single sword strike, the once densely covered hillside was now completely empty, the vegetation evaporated, leaving it resembling a desolate wasteland.

Gawain approached the only old man who still retained his human form, writhing and struggling on the ground. His expression was solemn and sorrowful. He raised his holy sword, then brought it down, piercing the old man's chest.

The young knight looked down at the old man, whose violent struggle abruptly ceased. For a fleeting moment, his cloudy, stiff eyes regained their clarity. But the instant that gaze appeared, flames silently burned, and the old, hunched body was instantly reduced to ashes, vanishing without a trace.

On the seventh day after Orkney was attacked by the zombie horde, Gawain, who had been secretly following them all along, finally confirmed some facts and swiftly killed Blois, who had become a puppet.

But he showed no joy whatsoever, silently raising his head and gazing towards the southeast.

The great barrier surrounding the royal city, said to be unbreakable, still stood there. But outside the barrier, three giants, each over twenty meters tall and towering, were raising their enormous hands and striking heavily on the "veil" hanging from the sky.

Although they possessed the most basic human form, their appearance was as if countless pieces of flesh and blood had been forcibly fused together, devoid of any rationality or beauty. With each movement, blood and bits of flesh cascaded down from every part of their bodies like a waterfall, while more flesh and blood separated from and replenished the countless corpses gathered around the three giants. With each strike, the barrier trembled violently.

The fleeing residents scattered like ants, and even though he couldn't hear them, Gawain could imagine the atmosphere of utter despair.

If the barrier is broken—

He closed his eyes, unwilling to contemplate the possibility any longer. A moment later, the sound of flapping wings grew louder as a magnificent eagle with multicolored feathers swooped down from the sky, speaking in human language: "We have found the body that Niman is inhabiting."

Capture the thief and the leader.

Instead of struggling to deal with the seemingly endless hordes of zombies that roam the mountains, taking down the culprit Neman directly would undoubtedly be the best way to truly solve the problem.

Gawain slowly sheathed the holy sword with a clang.

"Let's go."

His gaze was cold.

Chapter 213 Capturing the King (Part 2)

Inside the cave, the faint cries of a young beast could be heard: "Fu... Fu!" The extremely soft voice carried an inescapable panic and fear, each cry weak yet clear.

In the darkness of night, something even deeper was churning, gradually spreading from the surroundings towards the cave entrance. But before the darkness completely swallowed the night, a snow-white figure, as if shrouded in a faint light, slowly walked out of the cave.

A pale green halo rippled out, blocking the surrounding darkness two meters from the cave entrance, preventing it from advancing an inch. Heniwen stood before the cave, raised his head, his gaze still gentle: "I knew you would come, but I didn't expect you to come so soon."

It gazed silently into the dense forest ahead when a strange, putrid wind suddenly swept in, sending countless dry, yellowed leaves flying everywhere. In the blink of an eye, they coalesced into a middle-aged man wearing a bearskin, with his long hair tied into many small braids, and holding an infant in his arms.

"It seems that my power is a great threat to you."

"Uru" did not reply immediately. With a kind and loving expression, he was playing with the baby girl in his arms. The baby was waving her little hands and giggling. To an uninformed person, this seemed to be a heartwarming scene between father and daughter.

“Fu…” Paci’s voice came faintly from behind. Henwin remained silent, simply watching the scene of the “father and daughter” playing. After a moment, he spoke up: “Is this kind of clumsy one-man show interesting?”

The words had already cooled.

"Uru" also raised his head, his movements stiff, like a puppet on strings, exuding a strange and incongruous feeling: "If you don't make a move—I might—let you go—"

"It's just a matter of time. Your plan requires a complete divine corpse, and the only divine corpse you can find right now is mine. To be honest, I've lived long enough, and it would be a good ending for me to perish with the age of gods. This applies to me, and it applies to you as well."

Henney sighed, “Death is not the end, so why be so attached to it?”

"Accept death—return to the flow of the soul—and then—become a mortal without any magical power—or even be reduced to a pig or a dog—"

His tone was flat and monotonous, yet it revealed a hint of resentment and anger. Then, the baby girl in his arms spoke, "I cannot accept this tragic fate!" Though her voice was still young, it carried a touch of Ni Miao's charm.

"But you can't stop it."

“I can! The people of Danu will return and reclaim this world from mortals. But Heneven, you will not see that moment, because you—”

"I will die here."

The two voices rose and fell, their final notes suddenly tinged with a chilling murderous intent. The baby girl clenched her tiny hand, the mental impact solidifying into a tangible form, like an invisible sharp blade, piercing towards Heneven!

At the same time, the soil near the cave suddenly broke open, and two pale arms reached out from it, one on the left and one on the right, grabbing at Henevin's two hind legs respectively.

But the latter remained motionless, only letting out a cold snort. Suddenly, a burst of green light erupted from its body, forcefully ripping up the two corpses that had not yet crawled out of the ground and throwing them away, disappearing into the distant night.

The mental shock followed closely behind, whistling as it arrived. The blow that had once severely injured Guinevere landed on Henneyman, but it vanished without a trace, like a mud ox sinking into the sea, without stirring up the slightest ripple.

At that very moment, two or three meters behind "Uru," a seven-colored light flashed, instantly weaving into a gate of light exuding a mysterious aura.

A female swordsman with two swords at her waist stepped out, and the light that formed the door scattered and collapsed. Countless lines intertwined and changed, and the next moment, the light door disappeared, replaced by a woman with waist-length purple hair, holding a thick book in her hand. The book moved without wind, and the pages made a rustling sound.

Crack, crack... A chilling sound of bones grinding together rang out. "Uru" remained standing in place, but its head had been strangely turned 180 degrees, as if its neck had been broken, hanging there loosely with the skin and flesh attached, meeting the purple-haired woman's wine-red eyes.

She grinned: "So—even the proud Lady Henneyen—has her fears—and seeks help from mortals like these."

"You came too fast."

Henneyman seemed unfazed by the remark and calmly replied, "If you can get me to settle Pascy and the other children first, I can fight you one-on-one."

"You mean you think I would be afraid of the power of these mortals and compromise?" This time it was the baby girl who spoke. Even though Musashi couldn't see her from this angle, he could hear the disdain and sarcasm in her words—as for what she said, he couldn't understand.

Despite the language barrier, she gently closed her eyes and sensed the tense atmosphere around her, ready to erupt at any moment.

Niten Ichi-ryu emphasizes adapting to local conditions and maximizing one's strengths through various improvisational techniques to overwhelm and defeat opponents. For this reason, Musashi himself is not very good at the narrowly applicable Iaijutsu.

Her specialty is fighting after she draws her weapon.

But for now, the sword remains sheathed.

The one who joined the battle was someone else.

Another set of footsteps sounded from not far away, heavy and firm, accompanied by the sound of armor scraping against each other. As the man walked, he drew his sword from his waist. In the depths of the night, hidden by the trees, the dazzling light flashed and disappeared, the gleaming blade reflected in the pupils of the group.

For example, the blazing sun.

The Sword of Reincarnation.

"A weapon created by the gods—alas—the user is still—a weak mortal—ultimately—"

"Vulnerable!"

The voice suddenly turned fierce, and the baby girl clenched her fists. The surrounding trees withered and decayed at a visible speed, their branches and leaves evaporating moisture, drying and cracking, turning into dust all over the sky.

Musashi felt as if an invisible giant hand was reaching out to grab her, trying to pull something out of her body. Before she could react, Neov reached out and shielded her behind her, and the strange feeling disappeared.

"This is……"

"vitality."

In the blink of an eye, this space had transformed into a dead land, with the soil parched and cracked, the trees withered and decaying, and a dense aura of death sweeping in. At the same time, like two sides of a mirror, equally vigorous life force rapidly condensed in mid-air!