Chapter 506 The Corpse, No Need to Know
Human hearts are made of flesh and blood.
Eralik certainly hoped to be remembered for generations, ideally with a statue erected in Twilight City, where he would be revered by thousands.
Now, let alone being revered, it seems that in a few years he will be condemned for all eternity, and his soul will be cast into the deepest part of hell.
He felt he had to do something.
Not only for the people of Twilight Province, but also for himself.
As the noon bells rang, he successfully met the renowned silver-haired duke at the Andes Manor outside Thunder City.
After just three sentences of pleasantries, he was deeply captivated by the Grand Duke's charm... This man was indeed no ordinary person!
And he finally understood why a young talent like Sir Wesley would be willing to serve under others, be loyal to the royal family of the Duchy of Campbell, and be genuinely proud of the strength of the Duchy of Campbell.
'I am just a soldier, sir.'
Even as he sat before Archduke Campbell, the same words continued to echo in the mind of Baron Eralic, who was still hesitant about whether to continue serving as governor.
Seeing Ella's complicated emotions, Edward, having finished his small talk, pondered for a moment and continued in a casual tone.
"...You have only just escaped the crisis of chaos, and now you are burdened with the cross of atonement sent by the Holy City. The real trouble has not even begun. I believe you know what I am talking about. After the court leaves, your king will settle accounts with you for last autumn."
The tribunal is a problem for the common people, not for the nobles, but that doesn't mean the "Earl Theron Gards" can be secretly happy.
After the court left, the king's first act was to kill a group of nobles who had cooperated with the Campbellians or the Salvation Army, under the pretext of settling accounts with the corruption of Chaos.
Then erect a statue in honor of the Earl of Griffin Cliff, who fought to the death, to commemorate his soul that will never return to this land, and to regard him as a true hero of this war.
Despite losing his entire family, he was indeed a hero, and a close friend of Hagmer, the "Radiant Knight" and commander of the Lionheart Knights.
As for Governor Eralic, who dared to bring reinforcements from the Duchy of Campbell, he was the first traitor to die. Irene Campbell, who sold her soul to the devil, was the same. As for Karen from the Kingdom of Rhodes, she was a pure foreign witch.
Actually, Karen is nothing special; she's an enemy of the Papacy, and no king would truly take such a folk saint seriously.
Edward subtly foreshadowed Ellarick's fate.
He believed this was a conversation between intelligent people, and that the baron governor, being so clever, would surely understand his unspoken meaning. Therefore, there was no need to turn the friendly atmosphere of conversation into coercion or inducement.
Sensing the Grand Duke's goodwill, Eralik gave a wry smile and shrugged as if trying to appear relaxed.
"That can't be helped. After all, I misunderstood His Majesty's meaning... Perhaps I should have brought my money here and become a rich man."
“If things really come to that, the Duchy of Campbell will always be the Valerius family’s last resort, but things haven’t developed to that point yet, have they?” Edward smiled and continued, “We haven’t given up yet. Whether it’s me, Sir Wesley, or many other Campbellians, we all have a lot to settle with that incompetent tyrant.”
“But what can you do?” Ellaric sat up straight and probed in a calm tone. “The court is with us, and no one can touch us now.”
Edward smiled faintly.
"The court is the king's instrument, but it does not belong to the king. Now the Salvation Army and their New Testament are causing trouble, and the muddle-headed king is helpless. I believe that although Chief Justice Jiménez does not say anything, he is resentful in his heart."
Ellarick does not deny it.
After all, as the governor of the Twilight Province, the chief judge had expressed his dissatisfaction with his work more than once. He knew very well that the chief judge was not targeting him personally, but rather expressing dissatisfaction with Theodore's decision to send a baron to manage such a large province.
When the power of the monarchy and the nobility checked and balanced each other, the grassroots level of Twilight Province exhibited a state of disordered growth.
They seemed to have a church in every village, a lord in every manor, and everyone as orderly as depicted in the frescoes of St. Clement's Cathedral. But only a true fool would believe that royal and papal authority ruled there.
Every inch of this land has its own local order, and everyone from "Quartermaster" Silas to "Greenturban" Kaylan is a product of this system.
This looks more like a poor imitation of the Ottoman Empire's colonial system, except that the empire colonized externally and its vassals, while the Devalo family colonized internally.
This explains why the Twilight Province, which was half-dead one second ago, suddenly saw a million rebel flags appear the next second after Chaos arrived.
This was precisely where Chief Justice Jiménez's dissatisfaction lay. He was a clever man and could see that the king was indulging and condoning him.
“...However, even so, the court will not support our betrayal of our lord,” Eralic said, looking at Edward. “While the king’s actions are certainly inappropriate, it is neither in the interest of the church nor in accordance with sacred law for vassals to oppose their lord.”
The king showed leniency and indulgence towards the Twilight Province, and the empire also showed leniency and indulgence towards the kingdom.
After all, even with such a severe crisis erupting in the Twilight Province, Theodore de Valle could still be considered an excellent "rancher" from the Empire's perspective.
At least the crisis was contained within the province and did not spread to the entire kingdom.
Edward smiled and said in a very soft voice.
“We don’t need to act in the interests of the Church, as long as we act in the interests of Chief Justice Jiménez himself.”
Ellarick held his breath and spoke after a long pause.
"How so?"
Edward said it incisively.
"The court is mired in a quagmire, and they are not entirely oblivious to the discontent of the citizens of Twilight City. Chief Justice Jiménez needs a clean and decisive victory. Although he doesn't mind being used by the king, you and I both know that's not what he's here for."
Before Baron Ellarrick could ask, Edward continued.
"We'll solve the problems the king can't solve! If he wants to get out of this quagmire, he'll gradually abandon the Lionheart Knights and compromise with the olive branch we're extending."
Chief Justice Jiménez was not the king's subordinate; he turned a blind eye to the king's exploitation only because their interests aligned. As the court became mired in trouble while the king remained on the sidelines, it was difficult for their relationship not to sour.
Let alone Jiménez, any court would think, why should the Papacy do all the dirty work, and in the end, you, the king, have to take the blame?
He came to carry out a sacred cause.
To put it bluntly, they're here to build up their resumes for future promotions.
If this matter drags on for several years and never ends, he, as the chief judge of a holy city, will probably have to wait until retirement in the Twilight Province.
Even if the devout Jiménez didn't care, his followers who had come with him to this distant land couldn't possibly not care.
The peasants of Twilight Province would be thrown out if they went to the Holy City. St. Clement's Cathedral is for them to make pilgrimages, not to cry out for justice.
But these theologians and judges from the holy city were different.
The Pope will read the letters they write.
Ellarik pondered for a long time before finally asking two questions.
"I have two questions: How does the Salvation Army create trouble, and how do we resolve it?"
Edward smiled.
"Now that they have the guns and the money, they will naturally cause us trouble. Besides, the Court of Justice and the King are their enemies anyway. As for resolving the trouble, it's very simple. We will establish the Council of Holy Light in the Twilight Province in the name of Holy Light, and the Salvation Army will withdraw at that time."
Ellarik frowned.
"But what if they don't leave?"
“Of course they will leave,” Edward said succinctly, taking a sip of his now-cold red tea. “We can talk to them. The Kingdom of Lane will belong to them, and the Duchy of Twilight will belong to you.”
Saint Karen was a smart woman; she was not the mad witch depicted by the Vatican, and her knowledge extended far beyond mere superstitious tales.
This can be seen from the fact that she immediately retreated when she came to the courtroom... Letting go is always harder than holding on.
Although Edward had never met her, he could accurately judge that this girl either had a master guiding her or was a master herself.
That strategy of retreating to advance was, even in his eyes, a brilliant move that directly plunged the aggressive court and the Lionheart Knights into a quagmire of dilemma.
Such a clever person would surely understand that the Principality of Campbell is the most likely power to become an ally of the New Testament, just as he himself recognized at a glance that the New Testament was exactly what he was looking for.
And she, who could see this, must also have realized that if the Salvation Army did not cooperate with the Principality of Campbell, the Inquisition would not leave, and ultimately the greatest loss would certainly not be suffered by the Campbells.
At most, they just paid some money for nothing.
Seeing the Grand Duke's confidence, Ellaric also picked up his teacup and took a sip, thus concealing the turmoil and emotion in his heart.
God bless Campbell.
Perhaps they really do have divine assistance behind them...
...
The Duke's sword was aimed at the King's ribs, but the King was no merciful man; a dagger beneath his crown was silently protruding.
There has always been an unwritten tradition among the nobles of the continent of Os: wars between nobles must be conducted with a degree of leniency. Even if there is a deep-seated hatred between them, they must not kill each other.
This is completely different from the hellish struggle where every fight is a matter of life and death.
The demons have already reached the third generation. They don't care if you have one or two more nobles or not. Whoever wins will be the noble.
This is why General Hannover, the "Spear of the Duchy," was shocked when Sir Wesley drew an entire artillery regiment toward him.
He was so focused on the Grand Duke's banner that he forgot the commander of the duchy's army was a commoner.
According to the moral standards of Oslo, Sir Wesley's bottom line was indeed only slightly higher than that of the Green Forest Army.
To the astonishment of his men, he ultimately refrained from finishing off General Hannover with cannon fire, instead allowing him to die in a duel with another knight, thus giving his opponent a dignified end.
As for Theoden de Valou, he certainly had his limits, and the dagger did not pierce the Grand Duke's heart.
But it's not that much different.
On Cranto Island, the tides are surging.
Far from the coastline of the Principality of Campbell, this place is less an island and more a huge reef forgotten in the northeastern part of the Whirlpool Sea.
On the bare cliff, only an ancient castle, weathered by time, stands firm like a lonely sentinel.
The castle's tallest tower would be lit at night, serving as a lighthouse to provide a faint directional guide for lost ships.
Apart from that, the entire castle only has a monastery, which can at least be considered a respectable building.
After vowing never to return to secular life and dedicating his soul and glory to Saint Sith, the young Jerok Campbell became a monk in the monastery.
His knight's armor was replaced with a coarse cloth robe, and his life consisted of only two things—copying scriptures and praying.
Although the continent of Os had printing presses long ago and papermaking technology was no longer as backward as it was a thousand years ago, copying scriptures was still the work of monks.
The Book of the Word cannot be printed by machine like a newspaper.
In the afternoon, the prayer hall remained as cold as ever, and did not warm up much despite the rising sun.
Jerok sat quietly on the bench, his eyes closed, his hands clasped together, performing his daily prayer and repenting for his sins.
A faint musty smell and the salty tang of sea salt filled the air, and it seemed that only two voices echoed in the empty hall.
That was the roar of waves crashing against the cliffs outside the window, and the sound of brooms rubbing together nearby...
Suddenly, the sweeping sound stopped.
After a slight rustling of clothes, Jerok felt the bench next to him dip slightly as someone sat down.
A scent of dust and hay wafted over, and in the faint aroma of unfamiliar incense could be detected; it didn't seem like the kind of incense boxes that clergymen would carry.
Jerok didn't open his eyes, nor did he stop praying; he simply spoke softly.
"Who are you?"
He had seen everyone in the monastery, including the soldiers who guarded him and the lighthouse keeper.
He didn't recognize the face.
They didn't recognize the smells that didn't belong here.
The old cultivator sitting next to him seemed to be taken aback for a moment, then chuckled softly, put down the broom in his hand, and said gently.
“Winktor, just an insignificant old monk.”
Jerok didn't open his eyes, but a faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Who sent you?"
This is the prison where he is being held. His brother is keeping a close eye on him. The fact that he is taking such a big risk to see him means he is probably no ordinary person.
But whoever that guy is, he's probably destined to be disappointed.
He never harbored any personal ambitions, and after realizing his problems, he sincerely repented for his sins.
He will no longer be used by anyone.
The old man didn't hide anything and spoke succinctly.
"His Majesty."
Jerok's eyebrows twitched slightly.
"...Which Your Majesty?"
His voice carried a hint of alertness.
He had initially assumed that those who came to see him were members of Earl Derek's faction, but now it seemed he had underestimated many things...
The old man gave Jerok an approving look, a hint of surprise flashing in his cloudy eyes.
He seemed surprised that this young knight, who was rumored to be naive to the point of being foolish, would retain such a keen political sense after being exiled.
It seems the rumors are not entirely true; rather, the legend has stood the test of time—the Campbell family is indeed full of extraordinary individuals.
Of course, his emperor is no less impressive.
The old monk no longer concealed himself; he abandoned his harmless pretense and revealed a different, worldly face.
"Of course, it is His Majesty to whom you and your family should truly serve... Your Majesty, His Majesty Theoden de Valou."
Jerok opened his eyes slightly.
Those eyes, which had remained bright even in the dim prayer hall, now flashed with a cold alertness, and her voice turned cold as well.
"Why are the king's men here? Haven't you learned your lesson?"
The old monk's smile remained gentle, even tinged with pity, as he gave an irrelevant answer.
"His Majesty said that the Campbell family is the glory of the Kingdom of Ryan and the sharp blade that pierced through the towering mountains of the Empire. We cannot stand by and watch this blade be corroded by blood, nor can we watch the Campbell bloodline sink into the abyss."
"Our Emperor knows that you made the oath under duress, and therefore, in his benevolence, he wishes to invite you to his court. He believes that, compared to your brother who has betrayed tradition, you are the true future of the Duchy of Campbell, the one truly chosen by Saint Sith."
Sinking...
The glory of the Kingdom of Ryan...
Jerok pondered the old monk's words, feeling that he had heard the funniest joke of the year, and finally couldn't help but chuckle softly.
"The Campbell family has become the glory of the Kingdom of Ryan again? When did this happen, yesterday or the day before?"
The old monk calmly faced his mockery and spoke gently.
"There are no eternal enemies in this world, are there? As long as you win, the Campbell family will become the glory of the Kingdom of Ryan."
"The Campbell family's honor does not need anyone's recognition. If someone has to recognize it, that person must be a Campbell."
Jerok opened his eyes, his gaze calm and undisturbed, looking at the old monk as if he were looking at a court jester.
“You’ve come to the wrong place, Brother Winktor. I have sworn a solemn oath to Saint Sis that I will never leave this monastery. If you are a clergyman, you should know how blasphemous your words are.”
In the continent of Os, there is no such thing as an oath made under duress. A knight who does not wish to make an oath should die with dignity, rather than claiming afterwards that he was forced to do so.
No priest would persuade someone who has taken an oath to return to secular life; this guy is definitely not a devout believer, at least not one who believes in the Holy Light.
The old monk remained silent for a moment, then sighed regretfully and gently shook his head.
“I admit that you are a knight who keeps his oath. I never thought that in the fallen ‘land of knights’ I could still find such a naive fool.”
"You can leave now."
Jerok rose from the bench, his calm voice filled with indifference.
“Clergy should not be involved in secular affairs, so I will pretend you were never here today.”
Considering his advanced age, Gerald didn't want to make things difficult for him. If Edward found out he had met with the King's men, it wouldn't be good for either the old man or himself.
and……
He didn't want his older brother to worry about him anymore.
Jerok turned to leave the defiled prayer hall.
However, just as he took a step, the gentle voice behind him sounded again, but this time, the voice carried a hint of eeriness.
"That won't do."
A barely perceptible hint of killing intent flashed by, and Gerald's pupils suddenly contracted!
He turned around abruptly and saw the old monk raise his lowered head. His eyes, hidden by the shadow of his hood, were now filled with spiderweb-like blood vessels.
Not just the eyes!
That withered skin was visibly swelling, turning black, and becoming swollen... just like a corpse that had been soaked in seawater!
Before he could even think, his knightly instincts kicked in, and he lunged to the side, rolling onto the back of the bench.
"Boom—!" Almost the instant his shoulder hit the ground, the old cultivator's body exploded!
A terrifying shockwave swept through the entire prayer hall, shattering the heavy wooden benches to pieces!
Fragments of filthy blood and rotting flesh mixed with entrails scattered like shrapnel from a bomb, staining the towering statue of Saint Sis and the exquisite stained glass windows with a nauseating crimson!
This is--
Corpse explosion?!
Jerok regained his balance as he rolled, a wave of intense dizziness and nausea washing over him, followed by a hint of shock.
This old man... is actually a puppet controlled by a necromancer!?
The moment his feet touched the ground, a figure appeared at the entrance of the prayer hall, which had been blown askew.
The man was hunched over and wore a tattered black cloak.
He carried a menacing flail on his back, with a huge, heavy metal cross attached to the end of the flail, its mottled rust resembling dried blood.
He raised his head, revealing a deeply wrinkled face beneath his hood, with a sinister smile splitting between his yellowed front teeth.
"They actually dodged it...tsk tsk."
That's no ordinary corpse explosion.
To complete this work, he first peeled off the old monk's skin, carved the evil runes into his flesh, and then sewed them back on before the man breathed his last.
Who are you?!
Jelock was terrified. He grabbed a broken piece of the bench armrest and held it in his hand like a short stick, demanding an explanation.
He sensed a vast and malevolent aura, not just simple necromancy, but something far more evil and filthy!
“Hello, some people call me the Burialer, some call me the Gravedigger… but I prefer the other name I’m about to have.”
The man who called himself Haro grinned maliciously and grabbed the flails on his back with a clang.
He casually waved it, and the heavy metal cross made a whooshing sound in the air, which, combined with the rattling of the chains, sounded like the wailing of thousands of evil spirits.
"...You've enjoyed wealth and luxury long enough. Since you don't care for it, then lend me your head! Hahaha!"
At the same moment he burst into maniacal laughter, one distorted figure after another began to emerge at the entrance of the prayer hall.
They were the castle guards, the monks of the monastery, and the "jailers" and "companions" that Jerok spent his days and nights with on this island.
Now, those familiar faces have all turned into corpses with empty eye sockets, like marionettes!
Jelock's eyes burned with rage, and the wooden stick he gripped made a creaking sound.
This guy...
Kill them all!
"You...demon."
"Thank you for the compliment!"
There is no time to mourn the dead monks!
Harlow swung the heavy metal cross like a flail, and it came hurtling towards him with a piercing shriek that tore through the air!
"Bang—!"
Jerok raised the broken armrest of the bench to block, but dared not take the whistling blow head-on, and could only use the momentum to dodge to the side.
However, even though it was only a momentary contact, the overwhelming force still made his tiger's mouth go numb and his entire arm tremble.
The unarmed knight was forced back three steps by the impact, and before he could react, Haro's second attack followed!
"Die!" Harlow roared, swinging his flail. His fanatical face flushed with a morbid red, like a shark that had caught the smell of blood.
He swung the metal cross again and again, smashing it to pieces on the ground in an instant!
Seeing that his first strike missed, Haro immediately twisted his body and used the momentum to smash the church pillar in half with a whooshing metal cross, sending flying stones flying like cannonballs!
boom--!
Jerok was on high alert, and within a few rounds, he was completely powerless to resist!
Fortunately, the madman's attack was completely haphazard; he was just wildly swinging his blunt weapon, like a gravedigger wielding a shovel.
If he had even the slightest bit of martial arts skill, I would probably already be a corpse!
Even so, Jerok still dared not let his guard down. Both that inhuman brute strength and that chaotic fanaticism were far beyond the reach of ordinary superhumans!
This guy—
It might even be diamond grade!
"You are an apostle of Chaos!" Taking advantage of the momentary pause in Haro's attack, Jerok quickly jumped back to create distance, a hint of astonishment in his eyes.
"Congratulations on guessing correctly! Too bad there's no prize! Hahaha!" Haro roared, waving the flail in his hand, his eyes suddenly flashing with a scarlet light.
Before Jerok could even see what it was, a jet-black cross swept across, clearing half the prayer hall like a plow!
Jerok scrambled to the side, narrowly avoiding the fatal blow. But as soon as he regained his footing, a zombie lunged at him from the side, its blood-stained fingers reaching for his neck with deadly force!
Jerok kicked the walker in the chest, sending him flying. However, this brief moment of distraction left him vulnerable.
"call--!"
The wind whistled through my ears!
Haro leaped into the air with a savage grin, and the heavy flail came crashing down from above with the force of thunder, striking Jerok's face.
"Die!!!"
Jerok had no choice but to hold the wooden stick horizontally above his head and channel all his divine energy into it.
"clang--!"
The rotten wooden stick collided with the cross on the flail, producing a crisp, metallic clang!
It was during this clash that the broken bench armrest shattered, exploding into a shower of wood chips that scattered in the howling wind!
The heavy cross broke through Gerald's defenses, and although it missed a vital spot, the metal chain on the flail still lashed hard against his left shoulder.
"Ugh!"
Jerok groaned in pain as blood instantly soaked through his monk's robe.
The excruciating pain made him freeze, his knees involuntarily bending. Harlow thrust the nailed wooden handle forward, aiming straight for Jerok's heart.
Unfortunately, the fatal blow did not hit Jelock's heart; it was blocked by the latter's outstretched right elbow.
A tearing pain shot through his right arm, and Jerok groaned as the divine energy gathered before him was shattered by the massive torrent of chaos.
Without the protection of the divine aura, he was sent flying backward, crashing awkwardly into the broken statue behind him.
The statue collapsed, and Saint Sis's right arm crashed down beside him with a loud bang.
Jerok gritted his teeth, rolled over and stood up, grabbed the severed arm, held it like a sword across his chest, and tried to regulate his disordered breathing.
"Tch, you've got some skills."
Haro curled his lip, a hint of impatience appearing on his ugly face.
However, his expression quickly turned into a twisted pleasure, and he let out a chilling laugh.
"But that's what makes it interesting, hehe..."
He stopped his chaotic and frenzied attack, dragging the blood-stained cross, and slowly advanced.
The walking corpses around him staggered forward, blocking all of Gerald's escape routes. At the same time, a ferocious bloodshot appeared in his eyes.
"...It's over, little knight of the Campbell family." Haro laughed cruelly. "The nobles of the Twilight Province are all too weak. You're the first person to force me to use my full strength. Don't be discouraged... Go to your grave with honor!"
He's getting serious!
Jerok leaned against the cold altar, blood gushing from his wounds, his consciousness becoming somewhat blurred due to excessive blood loss.
The corrupting influence of the chaotic forces on him is far more severe than his external injuries appear; perhaps only Eileen can defeat these true demons.
It seems I'm going to lose...
but.
He will not beg for mercy, much less submit to King Ryan.
There was no fear in Jerok's heart; if anything, it was only regret.
Saint Sis, if you can still open your eyes, then look upon your servant.
They not only betrayed their faith, but also joined forces with true demons!
Thinking of his brother, whose hair had turned white for him, Jerok felt a pang of guilt.
He owes his older brother too much.
I can only repay it in the next life.
Just as Haro raised his flail high, preparing to deliver the final blow to Jerok, an untimely chuckle suddenly came from above their heads.
Following this were two crisp claps.
"Hehe, what a wonderful performance."
The sound wasn't loud, but it clearly reached their ears.
Jerok and Harlow looked up at almost the same time.
Beneath the dome of the prayer hall, along the edge of the arched stained-glass steps, sat a gentleman in a tailcoat.
He wore a top hat, and his elegant demeanor clashed with the blood-soaked, dilapidated prayer hall, yet his sinister smile seemed perfectly at home.
Harlow's pupils suddenly contracted!
who?!
When did he sit there?!
With his diamond-level strength, he didn't detect it at all. This person was like the shadow cast by a cross, as if he appeared out of thin air on the dome.
Jerok's eyes widened as well, but for a different reason.
That strangely elongated figure didn't seem to have the proportions of a human; rather, it resembled a shadow demon in a labyrinth.
Legend has it that Reggie Dragoon had a shadow assassin under his command who was incredibly elusive, which somewhat matched the guy's personality.
The Rhine people don't understand the labyrinth.
But as a descendant of the Campbell family, he understood the monsters there all too well!
That guy is probably the real devil...
Jerok unconsciously tightened his grip on the severed arm of the statue of Saint Sith in his hand.
"Who are you?!" Harlow growled threateningly at the gentleman in the tuxedo.
He gripped the flail tightly, instinctively viewing this uninvited guest as the greatest threat.
The chains rattled, a dark red aura condensed in his palm, and the metal cross emitted a bloody red glow!
That terrifying aura seemed to turn the entire monastery to ashes!
The gentleman in the tuxedo merely smiled indifferently at the overwhelming aura of chaos, ignoring it completely.
He reached into his robes and pulled out a simple-looking short flintlock pistol, then casually took out a copper-cased bullet and chambered it.
"Click—"
It appeared to be just an ordinary flintlock pistol.
However, that copper-cased bullet exuded an aura that was impossible to ignore!
Unable to figure out what it was, Haro dared not make any rash moves and could only gather all his strength to be on guard as if facing a formidable enemy.
Jerok couldn't help but swallow hard, staring intently at the gun.
He had never seen a superhuman use a gun as a weapon, nor did he understand what the use of a gun was.
Seeing Haro, the "Buried One," looking as if facing a formidable enemy, Thanos did not answer his question, but simply pointed his gun at the distorted face.
He said it in a nonchalant tone.
"The body is none of our concern."
(End of this chapter)
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