Time returns to the day of the battle between the 'Clash Legion' and the 'Necromancers'.
In the underground passage of the "Relief Society," a twisted sphere appeared in the pitch-black space, and two figures fell out of the sphere.
The tattooed man was deathly pale. He released the heavily injured Jerome from his arms and sat on the ground, panting heavily.
“Go on your own. You can’t get far with me.” Jerome weakly raised his hand and pointed to the top of his head.
The tattooed man draped the other man over his shoulder and shook his head, saying, "You should know that I could never agree to this proposal."
Seeing his companion's swaying body, Jerome frowned and said, "Perhaps we can rest for a while. You've already used your ability three times in a row. If this continues, you'll die here before we can escape."
Before the tattooed man could speak, faint roars and howls came from the ground in the distance.
“The undead crave the flesh and blood of the living, and they never know what rest is.” The tattooed man embraced Jerome, and the tattoos all over his body began to flash with a strange light. A spherical, distorted space appeared around them, and a moment later, their figures disappeared into the underground passage.
The sphere reappeared less than 100 meters from the hole in the ground, and sunlight streaming into the ground was already faintly visible.
Jerome used his longsword to support himself, looking at the distant light, his face filled with the joy of surviving a disaster: "We'll be out of here soon!"
The tattooed man slowly pushed Jerome away, his skin peeling off piece by piece like paint cracking off a wall: "I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I won't be able to go out with you..."
Jerome's eyes widened, and he gripped the other person tightly with both hands: "Hold on for a few more minutes, and get out of this damned grave with me!"
“I know my own body best. It’s all too late…” The tattooed man stood up, watching his body slowly crumble and disintegrate. He turned to Jerome and said, “My lord, get out of here alive and stop everything here. If the forces of the ‘Necromancers’ grow stronger, the Church, the Barbarians, the Elders… no force will be able to contend with them. On that day, there will be no more conflicts between religions and kingdoms in this world. Instead, there will be an endless war between the dead and the living.”
After saying this, the tattooed man dragged his fading body away from the light and walked into the endless darkness underground.
Minutes later, a huge black sphere appeared in the center of the underground passage. Soil and gravel were cut and fell by the edge of the black sphere, causing a violent collapse that buried the entire passage.
Jerome closed his eyes in agony, trembling as he knelt on the ground. His longsword was driven into the earth by immense force, and his demonic left hand destroyed everything around him.
Gazing at the passage completely blocked by earth and rocks, and hearing the howls of the undead, Jerome leaned on his longsword to stand up. He took one last look at the darkness he had come from, then turned and walked toward the entrance to the light.
Above ground, the quiet village, the babbling brook, and the beautiful scenery make it hard to connect what you see with the terrifying and ugly things underground.
Jerome limped along the fence toward the village entrance.
A person completely shrouded in black robes blocked his way.
Clap clap clap.
A soft clapping sound came from the man in black robes. Jerome steadied himself, raised his longsword, and looked ahead warily.
"To survive the attack of the 'Necromancers' army and escape here truly surprises me, Lord Jerome." The man in black adjusted his stance, a nail clipper appearing in his hand as he leisurely sharpened his nails. "But on the other hand, I am also very disappointed. The strength of the Elder Council's 'Discontent Legion' is far greater than I imagined. Three soldiers plus the ninth-ranked successor were so utterly helpless against the 'Necromancers'."
"Who are you?!"
Upon hearing Jerome's question, the man in the black robe laughed gleefully: "Does it matter who I am? Don't you think what matters most is what I want to do next?!"
Seeing the ninth in line's disheveled appearance, the man in black suddenly changed the subject: "Jerome, tell me, do you believe in God?"
Jerome didn't answer, his eyes darting around, searching for something he could use.
The man in black robes continued, “I once lived for a time in the hell of the Inquisition. You can imagine all the pain and torture; I experienced it all carefully and thoroughly. They would fill a bag with hungry rats, then cut open my feet and stuff them into the bag. After the blood had clotted and the wounds had scabbed over, they would repeat the process.”
The man in black robes lowered his voice, as if recalling something: "During that time, in hell, the only moment of peace I could find was by imagining the existence of gods. I prayed again and again, pleaded again and again, no matter what they looked like, no matter what faith they came from, as long as they could save me from here."
“Do you know what awaited me? The death of my family, escalating punishment, and increasing suffering. At that time, I told myself one thing—God is dead! I saw myself as a living dead, casting aside life and light, choosing to become a follower of death and darkness.” The man in black raised his voice: “Until I encountered the absolute will!”
Jerome's tone carried a hint of mockery: "Absolute Will?!"
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