socalfunplaces Chapter 32 The Return of the Dead
Chapter 32 The Return of the Dead
The November sea breeze carried the chill unique to the continent of Galtis, a chill belonging to the dead. The pale moonlight shone on the slumbering harbor.
The ghost ship silently sliced through the stagnant waves, its decaying hull draped with seaweed and barnacles, and its tattered sails on the mast resembling banners beckoning souls.
The figures on the deck were indistinct and not alive.
Rusty scimitars and rusty muskets are held in hands that are nothing but bare bones or half-rotten shells, and eerie green phosphorescent flames burn in the empty eye sockets, replacing the vitality of the living.
They were once pirates who bled outside this ice-free harbor, or nameless corpses that lingered in cold caves.
But tonight, a powerful surge of resentment stemming from betrayal and a connection to a certain soul imprint has brought them together here.
That feeling pierced through the seawater and mud, pointing to the depths of the harbor, to their former captain, and to the strange entity that was the "Fortune Hunter," which carried their last obsession.
"Waaah—"
A long, inhuman horn, filled with endless resentment, shattered the tranquility of the harbor.
The ghost ship ignored the breakwater and "ran aground" on the shallows like a phantom.
The decaying plank crashed down, and the undead army set foot on the land of West Limit City. Phosphorescent flames flickered, leaving long, twisted streaks of light on the stone pavement.
"Enemy attack! Undead! It's a ghost ship!"
On the city wall, the sentry's scream was accompanied by an uncontrollable tremor.
The alarm bells rang frantically, and the soldiers hastily assembled, raining arrows down on the staggering skeletons.
"Ding~ Ding! Pfft!"
Some arrows pierced through the decaying cloth, some embedded themselves in the gaps of the skeleton, and some even blew away several ribs.
But for a body that has already lost its life, the damage is negligible, just like Miao Meng's attack back then.
An arrow pierced the head of a skeleton soldier, but it merely swayed, its eerie green eye sockets turning towards the direction from which the arrow came. Its jaw opened and closed, emitting a silent mockery, before it continued to stride forward.
The curved blade slashed at the bone, sending up a few sparks, but it couldn't completely sever it.
Invulnerable to blades and spears, the effectiveness of physical attacks is greatly reduced.
The soldiers paid the price with their blood and lives in an attempt to form a shield wall to block them.
But the dead, tireless and fearless, surged forward silently, using rusted weapons and decaying bodies to smash and tear apart the defenses.
Screams, the cracking of bones, and the clanging of metal mingled together as the city wall defenses crumbled rapidly, and despair enveloped the remaining defenders.
However, a strange scene happened.
The spirits that broke through the defenses did not rush towards the terrified residents who had locked their doors on both sides of the street.
Ignoring the vibrant life so close at hand, their eerie green soul flames turned in unison towards the city center, to the tallest and most solid building—the City Lord's Mansion.
They strode forward, their purpose clear and unwavering, traversing the streets, leaving behind a trail of chaos and terrified survivors.
The city lord's mansion, the Black Earl's study.
The heavy velvet curtains blocked out the chaos from the outside world, but they could not block out the inhuman horns and the faint shouts of killing.
The Black Earl sat upright in the high-backed chair, no longer the deliberately disguised obese figure he once was.
His muscular physique tightened the luxurious fabric once more, and the oppressive aura of the Lord of Fear permeated the room, washing away all his dejection.
He caressed a strangely shaped, slender rapier in his hand. The blade seemed to be formed from a flowing breeze, emitting a faint blue light—the "Sword of Wind," a soul weapon forged from his family's bloodline.
The newly arrived butler, Judson, finished reporting the collapse of the city walls and the news that the undead were ignoring the residents and heading straight for the city lord's mansion.
The Black Earl showed no surprise, only a calm acceptance of the situation, even a hint of weary relief.
"Debts must eventually be repaid." He waved his hand, and the butler bowed and withdrew, closing the heavy oak door tightly.
Barsam knew very well who those undead were, but he hadn't expected them to arrive so quickly. Fortunately, he had already sent the people away.
It was even clearer that the nobles of Xixian City, who outwardly appeared submissive but secretly wished for his immediate death, were now tacitly holding back, completely clearing the road leading to the city lord's mansion.
They couldn't be happier to see this riot, the undead invasion, and the city lord's death. How pleasing to the ear!
The Black Earl slowly stood up, twirling the Wind Sword in his hand with a light, graceful flourish.
He then walked to the window, but did not draw the curtains. He simply stood there quietly, waiting for his "old buddies" whom he had personally sent to hell to come to his door.
In the chaotic shadows of the street, Miao Meng moved like a cheetah blending into the night.
He arrived almost simultaneously with the ghost ship and witnessed firsthand the entire process of the undead army landing, breaking through defenses, and heading straight for the city lord's mansion, ignoring the residents.
It followed closely, like a silent ghost, skillfully avoiding the occasional patrols.
When the city lord's mansion gate, as solid as an iron barrel, was smashed open by the relentless pounding and hacking of the undead.
Miao Meng, like a wisp of smoke, followed closely behind the surging tide of the dead, diving deep into the fortress that symbolized the power of the Black Earl.
The city lord's mansion's spacious front hall had now become a sea of the dead and a battlefield for the lonely king.
The Black Earl stood at the top of the stairs, his sword of wind pointing diagonally at the ground. Beneath his feet, layers upon layers of skeletons and zombies surged up.
Each flash of sword light brought with it a howling gale; the cyan wind blades, like the scythe of death, easily shredded and scattered the undead charging at the forefront.
Rotten bones, tattered cloth, and eerie green phosphorescence scattered everywhere. The Dreadlord's oppressive aura, combined with a tangible mental shock, momentarily paralyzed some of the weaker undead, who were then crushed by the onrushing hordes of their kind.
But these spirits are endless, tireless, and unafraid of death.
They trod over the remains of their companions, their empty eye sockets fixed on the figure on the stairs, launching wave after wave of attacks with silent roars.
The Black Earl was as solid as a rock, and his swordsmanship was as fierce as a storm, forcefully cleaving a vacuum in the tide of the dead.
However, human strength has its limits.
The dense undead greatly reduced his room to dodge, and although the wind blades were efficient, they consumed a lot of energy when facing a massive number of enemies.
If it weren't for the Lord of Fear's ability to control the undead, he would have been buried by these tireless undead long ago.
The Black Earl's magnificent robes were stained with dirt, fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his breathing became heavier.
Miao Meng, hidden behind the shadow of a massive stone pillar, calmly observed the battle.
The east wind has arrived!
With a slight thought, the 66 cold, cursed gold coins in his backpack suddenly became scalding hot, and dazzling golden light shot out from the gaps in the backpack.
"Buzz~"
An invisible resonance seemed to vibrate in the air. The undead rushing towards the Black Earl suddenly froze.
The 66 gold coins seemed to come alive, automatically breaking free from their restraints and hovering in front of Miao Meng, radiating golden light.
At the same time, in Miao Meng's sea of consciousness, the 66 memories of the crew members that he had personally experienced and that carried endless resentment and obsession were instantly extracted like a lit fuse.
One after another, translucent, shimmering soul phantoms peeled away from Miao Meng's body, like weary birds returning to their nests, emitting sharp cries that only the soul could perceive.
Then they precisely pounced on the remains of the dead in the hall, the remains of those that corresponded to them in life.
Golden light merged into the bones, and the phantom of the soul overlapped with it.
"Crack...crack..." A tooth-grinding sound of bones grinding together rang out. The dead wanted to say something, but they had lost the ability to speak, and could only let their anger burn even more fiercely.
Those spirits, infused with golden light and souls, seemed to have their decaying bodies imbued with new power. Their movements were no longer stiff and sluggish, and the phosphorescent flames in their eye sockets burned even more intensely, revealing a clearer and more profound hatred.
Their rusted weapons seemed to be coated with a faint glow.