Walking atop the towering city walls, as if on a pilgrimage, overlooking everything below.
"Do you see it? This is the territory under our rule!"
Herluth led Linge to view the city from this high vantage point.
"How free it is. Yet, standing at this height is a privilege enjoyed by only a few. Those fellows don't need much resourcefulness or bravery to stand at the top of the pyramid and obtain everything! Enjoy everything!"
"And the root of it is... bloodline!"
"Power flows with the blood, yet the foundation of power does not lie there."
"The establishment of a high wall is first planned by the talented, designed and implemented by them; it is they who determine historical significance... Therefore, that foundation lies within the talented!"
"But unfortunately, ninety percent of a person's fate is decided the moment they are born. Of all living beings, the one thing they cannot decide is their own birth."
"Those born noble can order the talented around at will. This is the 'power' that flows with blood! This is 'order'!"
"We naturally live in a shitty, pitch-black world where lions crouch at the feet of monkeys and eagles are imprisoned in cages without release, yet we actually get used to all of this... Damn it! It's truly a pile of feudal dog shit!"
"Hey, Woodworth, do you want to hear my fantasy?"
As they walked along the wall, Herluth was the first to strike up a conversation with Linge.
"Fantasy?"
Linge realized this was an opportunity to understand the other man, so he expressed interest.
"Woodworth, tell me... are people like us really just ordinary people?"
Herluth turned his head, a surprisingly lost look appearing in his eyes.
Faced with such a question, Linge shook his head slightly. "No, we are monsters. We were born to take away the precious things others possess."
"Haha! That's quite aggressive, but I like it!" Herluth nodded with satisfaction, continuing with a hint of mockery on his face, "'Ordinary people' are merely the placenta that breeds those with talent. The progress of this world never depends on them; it must be 'monsters' like us. They only need to provide the nutrients..."
Hearing this, a dangerous glint flashed in Linge's eyes, but he then closed them and continued to follow at an unhurried pace.
"Tell me, would you rather be loyal to a mediocre king, or an extraordinary king?"
Herluth turned around, stopped his pace, and looked at Linge's face.
"Whatever, it doesn't matter. I won't wag my tail in front of anyone anyway."
Linge looked up slightly, narrowing his eyes at the other man. "What, asking such a boring question—could it be that you are dissatisfied with your lord?"
"No, no! How could that be?"
Herluth immediately shook his head and turned to continue walking forward with a smile. He looked up toward a certain direction within the castle, a clear look of excitement appearing on his face.
"We extraordinary people naturally flock to an extraordinary king!"
"So you're saying you're satisfied with this?" Linge had already lost interest; in his view, the other man was a complete idiot.
"Of course."
Herluth led Linge up a watchtower. Standing at the very top, facing the wild wind, the corners of his mouth curled up as he waved his hands rhythmically.
"After all, the world I fantasize about is one where we 'extraordinary people' co-govern this world, where we stop the conflicts, and where we distribute... everything in this world!"
So, those people who struggle for a peaceful, ordinary life deserve to become your nutrients?
I see, so this is 'Famine'... Linge had no interest in watching Herluth go crazy there. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes slightly to wait.
Girl, wait a little longer... just a little longer... Does the key to saving 'Hope' lie with the last of the four horsemen, 'plague'?
The cold wind whistled, carrying Herluth's passion within it, but as it passed Linge's face, it became bone-chillingly cold again... Walking through the city, the houses and low buildings were all pitch black, appearing uninhabited, yet one could hear bursts of low howls and weeping coming from inside.
Herluth was accustomed to this. His gaze merely swept over, and a deathly silence echoed in the air.
Continuing forward along the main road, they arrived at a garden, but the garden was filled with nothing but withered flowers.
"Do you want to hear the story of these flowers?"
As Herluth walked, a trace of irony played across his face.
"Why not tell it?"
Seeing him like this, Linge knew he was someone who couldn't keep his mouth shut. Since it was just a story, it wouldn't hurt to listen.
"The monarch we support is actually a woman."
Seeing that Linge's face remained calm, Herluth's eyebrow twitched as he continued, "Of course, as long as they have the ability, it doesn't matter if they're male or female, right?"
"Yeah."
Linge really didn't understand why the other man was so fixated on such a moronic question, but as a listener, he indeed had to maintain interaction with the storyteller for the story to continue.
"But women always have this or that problem, for example..."
Herluth kicked up a withered flower. Petals and dust fell, revealing a whiteness mixed with mottled blood-red. One after another drifted before Linge's eyes; he recognized them—they were all roses.
"For example... so-called love."
"Love?"
Linge raised an eyebrow slightly. If love was the theme, few creators could refuse it.
"Yes, love..."
Herluth looked up toward the depths of the castle.
"Noble marriages always involve too many forces beyond one's control. It's not something that can be decided by liking or disliking someone."
"Give and take, exchange of interests—to put it bluntly, it's using marriage as a bond to integrate power."
Linge easily picked up the thread, then shook his head slightly. "Perhaps this is also a type of networking society?"
"I like that way of putting it. To put it bluntly, these fellows aren't anything special!"
Herluth laughed, his face full of cheer as he continued, "It's just that these marriages dominated by patriarchs are often hard to make happy. And if the power of the husband and wife is similar but there's a rift between them, then most of the time they both just do their own thing..."
At this point, he paused, the smile on his face receding significantly.
"But my lord and her husband, who was of equal status, were very much in love and had offspring. It was as if she truly had the blessing of the heavens and attained true fulfillment... Unfortunately, after her husband died on the battlefield, everything changed." Herluth began to state calmly, his tone turning cold.
"The one who loved and protected her had departed, and her former family began to look at her with different eyes... As a woman, how was she supposed to protect everything her husband left behind?"
Faced with this question, Linge could only remain silent.
Throughout history, the behavior of 'preying on a husbandless household' was not uncommon.
"So, she was terrified. She could only constantly take the blood of young girls to maintain her youth, and use terrifying means to drive her subjects, showing a cruel appearance to others. Naturally, she became a true tyrant and began to enjoy it..."
Then, Herluth turned back to look at Linge, making the latter feel bewildered.
"Can you imagine what such a person truly longs for in her heart?"
Linge hesitated for a moment and asked tentatively, "Love?"
"Yes, that poor woman is clearly stained with filthy, crimson sin, yet she still yearns for that pure white love, unable to find release..."
Herluth picked up the flowers one by one and rubbed them in his palm, squeezing out a few drops of ink as thick as fresh blood.
Then, he opened his hand. In his palm was a clump of white petals; when the wind blew, the flowers all scattered and drifted in the air, like the curtain falling on a pure white love poem.
"So, she had a weakness! So, she fell irredeemably in love with another man! So, she received... betrayal!"
After speaking, Herluth walked deeper into the castle without a word. Linge was still looking back at the garden; Herluth likely knew Linge would follow, leaving only one last sentence.
"This is our 'King', the already flawless 'King'!"
"..."
Linge remained silent. He looked at the rows of white roses that seemed carefully tended to yet were stained with ink-red and completely withered, swaying in the wind like dying candles... Entering the black castle and looking closer, he found the wall bricks were all iron-gray and filled with cracks; where the firelight shone, dark red seemed to be faintly flowing.
Under his spiritual vision, he could sense that perhaps magic was flowing within the walls, or perhaps souls... No, it was likely just... blood.
Linge walked calmly through the corridor. He was curious about this place, but remained restrained... After all, a scene like this wasn't enough to intimidate him.
"Walking in here gives one the feeling of being eaten, wouldn't you say?"
Herluth held a torch ahead, his eye sockets cast in shadows that flickered with the light.
"I don't feel that way." Linge shook his head.
"I'm like a stone in a latrine; my soul is turbid and my blood stinks... If it eats me, won't it find me disgusting?"
"Not necessarily... right?"
Herluth's brow furrowed as he turned back to look at Linge, his words carrying a hint of encouragement.
"Woodworth, you're a good person. You shouldn't belittle yourself like that. Being an 'Undead' definitely doesn't mean your status is lowly. For people like us, status is decided by 'power' after all!"
"Perhaps."
Under Herluth's gaze, Linge nodded several times, his words carrying a sense of helplessness, "After all, we... are all monsters!"
"Heh..."
The two continued forward.
After turning a corner, Linge noticed something slightly strange.
On the long red carpet with gold trim, there were traces of mud, likely from someone having walked over it... This wasn't unusual.
But the shape of the prints... were they plum blossom prints?
Some kind of large creature... perhaps a dog?
A pet?
Linge looked up and stopped thinking about it.
Because in the shadows ahead, a certain presence was already waiting there.
"Hey, Kebro!" Herluth waved his hand with an exaggerated smile on his face.
The person he mentioned looked up at him, then locked eyes with Linge.
At first glance, Linge noticed his eyes were very turbid, a ghostly blue, as if covered in a layer of grime.
The fellow wore a gold-trimmed sacrificial robe and a white liturgical crown on his head. His face, and possibly even his entire body except for those eyes, was completely wrapped in bandages, looking exactly like a mummy.
Linge's eyes didn't change, but his hand already reached behind him.
Enemy!!
"Whoa, whoa, don't!" Herluth hurriedly pulled him back, waving his hands in front of him and shouting, "One of us!"
Hearing this, Linge stopped his movement but remained still, because Kebro was staring at him with a deep gaze.
"Oh, a lost little bird?"
The bandaged clergyman, the man named Kebro, spoke in a voice as raspy as if it were coming from a broken tobacco pipe.
"A decent talent, quite the gaze. Herluth, it seems your plan isn't without merit..."
Then, Kebro looked up, scanning Linge from top to bottom as if admiring him.
"The limbs aren't strong, but they have great resilience; it's an extremely healthy physique. But... there's a scent somewhat similar to Lindamel, why is that?"
His gaze drifted to Herluth, waiting for an answer.
"Forget your damn past!"
Herluth was already a bit impatient with him and waved his hand. "Yes, this fellow right here is an 'Undead'!"
"An Undead, wow, an Undead!"
Kebro's gaze locked onto Linge intensely.
"Will you chase me? Will you judge me?!"
The cloth strips wrapping him were blown by magic, drifting gently. He gave a loud shout: "Arrogant!"
Kebro opened his arms like a holy cross, sacred and tall, yet he himself was like a mad demon, impassioned.
"You will not welcome any salvation; you shall eventually be entwined by the Undead curse! You can only keep moving forward! Keep numbing yourself! Undead, your very existence... is your original sin!!"
Linge originally didn't want to pay attention to these words, but they were as bright as a brand. The more he resisted, the more he felt their troublesome nature.
"Nonsense! Could it be that the reason you ended up like this is because of blasphemy?"
After speaking, Linge relaxed. Upon closer thought, he felt this image of the man indeed had a huge difference from traditional clergymen, and Linge guessed that the other party was very likely that... plague!
Taking lives is a plague, but words that can easily manipulate people's thoughts... are they not also a 'plague'?
Creeeeeak—
A piercing grinding sound rang out in the air, perhaps someone's teeth grinding together.
At this extremely abrupt moment, Herluth suddenly stepped between the two, his gaze fixed on Jaburo.
"You two settle down. Don't forget... He is everywhere!"
"He...?"
Jaburo's lips trembled as he looked around, as if he were in a desperate situation.
"Your Majesty? Your Majesty!"
"Both monarch and my god, I earnestly seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being thirsts for you, in this dry and waterless land!"
Kebro spoke with a trembling voice, hurriedly adjusting his sacrificial robe and kneeling on the ground.
"Damn it, this guy is starting again. Let's go, quick!"
Seeing this, Herluth's mouth twitched. He hurriedly urged Linge and pointed ahead.
"This is...?"
Linge hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly withdrew his hand.
Forget it, he thought.
After all, the timing wasn't right and the information was insufficient. Being reckless and impulsive now would hardly lead to a good result.
"Let's go. While this guy is still tidying his appearance, let's hurry to the front. Otherwise, the path will be blocked by him later, and no one will be able to leave!"
What?
Though he didn't understand the meaning, Linge could only follow.
As he ran ahead, Linge heard a rhythmic thumping sound and looked back.
He saw Kebro chanting scriptures, his hands pressed together high above his head. He took a step forward, then moved his hands to his chest and took another step. Then, he moved his hands away from his chest, palms down toward the ground, knees touching first, then his whole body prostrating on the ground.
Thump!
He kowtowed heavily on the ground, the scriptures never stopping from his lips.
"Go, go, go, don't look! This bald donkey is just like this, no one can control him!"
Herluth was at a corner, constantly urging him. Linge had to follow, but suddenly, he stopped and looked behind him into the deep darkness.
Something was hidden in there... no, not a thing, but a giant beast.
Linge had already gripped his sword, his hot blood beginning to surge.
Herluth noticed something was wrong. He glanced at the shadow, his brow relaxing as he waved and shouted.
"Polo, no need to hide. This fellow is with me; he's definitely not an enemy!"
The air froze for a moment, then a beast that was taller than Linge just by standing walked out—it was a giant wolf.
Linge didn't lower his guard. That silly dog was still staring at him and slowly approaching.
"Brother, rest assured, Polo is really a good dog, just a big eater..."
Herluth also became a bit uncertain, because the giant wolf named Polo was still staring at Linge, slowly stepping forward to sniff him. The latter's killing intent seemed to have reached its limit and could break out at any moment.
"Polo! You..."
Before he could finish, Polo just sniffed twice, then excitedly stuck out its tongue, tail wagging as it circled around Linge.
"Um... so that's how it is. It seems he really likes you."