Chapter 257: Reckless Greed

Thud! Thud!

Thoren’s boots echoed softly in the still, quiet atmosphere. Behind him, an undead servant carried Neville on its shoulder like a sack of grain.

He could have allowed the man to die and then used his Grave Whisper skill to interrogate his spirit, but he decided against that course of action.

First, he needed to find the location of those who were targeting him for death. Second, he was not one hundred percent sure that Neville was actually the mole in their temporary party.

Under such uncertain circumstances, he could not allow Neville to die just yet.

Even though he was not going to allow him to die, he was also not going to free him from captivity.

When Neville finally wakes up, he will need to answer some very important questions.

Just then, Thoren arrived at the other side of the wooden booths and halted his track abruptly.

Before him stood a half-destroyed manor, its walls crumbling and its towers fallen. Broken weapons and shattered shields lay scattered everywhere on the ground.

Bones and skeletons littered the ground like a carpet of death.

The air reeked of a heavy, metallic scent that clung to the lungs.

More importantly, he could faintly hear the sound of an ongoing battle echoing from somewhere deep within the ruined structure.

“How is this possible?” He knitted his brow in confusion and proceeded forward with careful, measured steps.

Crunch! Crunch!

He had barely taken a few steps when he stepped on ancient bones, crushing them under his boot with sickening cracks.

He looked down at the crossed bones and exhaled deeply through his nose. Still, he continued further toward the gate of the manor.

The previously thick metallic gate had been shattered into smithereens long ago. Fragments of it were scattered everywhere across the entrance.

He walked into the manor courtyard and saw the full horror of the ancient battle. Carcasses of unknown beasts lay on the ground, their bones picked clean by time.

Some of the carcasses had human skeletons clamped in their jaws, while others had weapons plunged deep into their ribcages.

Subconsciously, Thoren took another deep breath as he walked deeper into the death filled manor.

Broken bricks and stones scattered on the ground like fallen tears. Weapon marks and claw marks appeared on every wall surface.

The more he went deeper into the manor, the more the ghostly battle cries increased in volume and intensity.

It was as if he was standing in the midst of an ongoing brutal battle. Yet, he saw nothing living around him.

His strong perception did not even capture any source of the sounds. Everything was empty, devoid of any life or movement.

He walked into the manor’s main hall, where dry, ancient blood splattered across the stone floor like dark paint.

Hung on the ceiling were old, faded curtains, swaying gently under a breeze that came from nowhere.

Inside the hall, the sound of battle had completely vanished, replaced by the faint whisper of angry argument.

Apart from the heated argument, he also heard people praying in the background, their voices desperate and pleading.

They prayed in a strange, ancient tongue that hurt his ears. Just from their tone, he could feel their deep desperation.

Their grief was palpable in the air.

“What really happened here?” He mused, looking at the ruins around him in puzzlement.

The ghostly whispers seemed to be on an infinite, repeating loop, playing the same tragedy over and over.

After listening for a moment, Thoren decided not to listen any longer. His gaze shifted to a giant statue standing at the other end of the hall.

He walked closer to the statue and saw marks of battle scarred its surface, yet the statue remained completely intact.

He could tell that whoever had attacked the manor had wanted to destroy this statue, but they had failed completely.

He shifted his gaze from the statue’s face and focused on the chain wrapped around the statue’s neck.

It was a dark golden chain, emanating a strong, mysterious aura that made the hairs on his arm stand up.

“What a strong mysterious aura,” he whispered under his breath in awe.

Without anyone telling him, he knew the chain was no ordinary object. It was something truly special.

Whoosh!

From his undead space, a lesser undead servant emerged. It froze for a second, sensing the holy energy, before walking toward the statue on its master’s command.

Arriving at the base of the statue, the undead servant tried to climb up to reach the chain. Then a strong, blinding holy light erupted from the statue’s body.

Ahhh!

Thoren gripped his head and screamed in agony. A soul rending pain erupted from deep within his mind.

He staggered backward, sweat dripping from his forehead in heavy drops.

Just as he was on the brink of falling to the ground, the pain vanished mysteriously and completely. For a full ten seconds, he stood gasping for air, his heart pounding heavily against his ribs.

Slowly, he raised his head and wiped off the beads of sweat from his forehead.

His face was marred with genuine dread and fear.

“What was that?” His voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

The holy power seemed to actively try to tear his soul apart from his body. If not for his strong, awakened soul, he would have long turned into an empty, mindless husk.

“That was too close,” he mused, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Much too close,” he repeated.

He stared at the location where his undead servant had been standing and saw that it had turned into nothing but a pile of fine dust.

Gasp!

A sharp gasp escaped from his lips. His lips trembled, and his jaw slowly dropped open in shock.

He stared at the statue intently, finally realizing why it had not been destroyed in the ancient war.

After so many years had passed, the statue still maintained some of its original holy power.

’Is this the statue of some forgotten god?’ he could not help but think.

With everything he had discovered so far in this ruin, he would not rule out the possibility that gods truly existed in this world.

’Am I going to lose the mysterious golden chain?’ He squinted his eyes, trying to ignore the lingering pain from his soul.

’Impossible,’ he decided firmly.

’Since I found it, it now belongs to me and no one else.’

His eyes burned with greed and fierce determination. His undead servant might have been burned to crisp by the holy energy, but he refused to believe the same holy energy would affect him as severely.

Without further hesitation, he walked forward toward the towering statue. His back was straight; his heart pounded heavily against his chest like a war drum.

Rationally, he was supposed to abandon the mysterious chain and look for other rare items elsewhere in the ruin.

Yet his greed made him lose all rationality and caution. If he failed to withstand the holy light this time, he would be gone for good, his soul scattered to the winds.

Still, Thoren continued forward, knowing full well that his action was foolish and reckless. He arrived before the statue and reached out his hand.

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