Capítulo 1279: Foreseen Conclusion

Griar narrowly evaded an attack before landing a kick right against the undead’s waist, shaving away another portion of his opponent’s HP. He quickly backed off, but stepped back onto a miasmic skull left over from a previous attack earlier. The blast pushed him forward, straight into getting struck by both of the scythes at once, throwing him into the ground, upon which he brutally bounced before managing to land back on his feet.

The red bar representing Loimos’s HP had been depleted by about one quarter so far. This was in spite of Griar managing to land numerous blows… Meanwhile, he himself was down to half of his reserves… He would actually already be dead if not for the fact that he could somewhat heal up using his gold–However, it only proved effective the first few times. The heals were getting less and less effective, and he could tell that they would soon do absolutely nothing.

The living stomped down upon the floor, grounding himself in place as he focused intensely… Not all strikes were equal. Certain portions of the undead body took away more of his HP when struck. Griar felt that he would need to at least land several consecutive blows to one of the more vulnerable parts if he wanted to have a shot at actually bringing the undead down. As things stood, Loimos still had the advantage. Even after everything that had happened, the Pure Undead was somehow still the one holding the power.

Loimos slammed his foot into the ground, manifesting a mass of bone spikes right in front of Griar’s feet. Thankfully, the living had already seen this attack several times before, although a close call every time, he was able to consistently dodge it as long as he was paying attention.

Griar evaded various kinds of projectiles–Despite melee attacks being the most obvious to see coming, Griar found them to be the most likely to hit him anyway. Loimos had two scythes to attack with, and he could also kick or even unsummon his scythes to go for other kinds of attacks on a whim. The close quarters were where things were the least predictable for Griar, but it was only by getting closer that he could actually do anything of consequence. He could still use ranged attacks, but they were pitifully feeble, even when they actually hit–Which they rarely did–The HP they would remove would be so small that it was akin to a rhinoceros being pecked by a baby sparrow.

It was a waste of time to use them. Progress could only be made by closing the distance and fighting face-to-face, man-to-man… Even if it was the most dangerous place to be.

‘Loimos isn’t the king of the undeads… But he has to be the strongest undead of them all, right? If I can defeat him today… I can defeat the Undead Empire. I can save the Peaceful Realm! But…’

Griar frowned. The most damaging area to strike would have to be the undead’s head. Everything else seemed to follow this basic pattern. The limbs weren’t an effective area to target, while the abdomen was the average, and the chest was far more effective… Following this logic, the head would be a much more efficient place to attack.

However, actually hitting it was a tall order–Literally, Loimos was impressively tall, and with how aggressive he was, any attempt was likely to violently backfire. There wasn’t much else that Griar could do, unfortunately. If things continued at the pace they were going, he would be dropping dead far before Loimos got anywhere close to zero.

The living had no other choice but to be bold. He kicked off the ground, rushing at the Putrid Knight. He dodged spikes of bones, leapt over bursting puddles of rotten blood, ran around miasmic skulls, had to carefully predict piercing drops of black blood, and had to perform some back-breaking manoeuvres to not be hit by either of the scythes whilst maintaining his momentum.

So far, Griar had mostly held back from actually using his golden wind to cast spells–Primarily because spell-casting was no longer worth it in the current state of affairs, but now was a good time to make use of something.

Griar quickly manifested a platform beneath his feet, using it to rise upward while maintaining his footing, allowing him to deliver a full-powered punch directly toward Loimos’s face–As his fist neared the undead’s helm, flames manifested behind the visor.

The flames burst out before Griar could make contact, and his fist was the first thing to be engulfed–He didn’t have to worry about being burnt, but the flames were powerful enough to push him away. The goal was obvious. The living was either going to have to be slightly struck and back off, or commit and be swallowed by the dark fire for much longer, which would result in a massive loss of HP for him.

Griar’s mind told him to retreat right now, but his body refused to listen. Something pushed him forward, and he struck right through the blazing inferno, his knuckles making direct contact with the side of the Pure Undead’s helm.

Time seemed to come to a grinding halt for a split instant as a golden incandescence emerged. The flames were instantly dispelled, and both combatants were flung toward opposite ends of the area–Loimos at the foot of the two great pillars, and Griar at where the entrance of this place should normally be.

Griar had fallen to only have a single quarter of his HP left, but it had been more than worth it–He had just landed a ‘Natural Stack’. He had just hit Loimos directly in the head with a Golden Glow, and the effect was noticeable. He had fought tooth and nail to remove a quarter of the undead’s HP pool before, but now? He had just removed the same amount in a single blow.

Not to mention that landing this blow had caused Griar’s golden wind to flow with even greater smoothness now. He could feel that he had a real fighting chance now… Griar rose to his feet.

Loimos had been launched to the other side of the arena, and it seemed like the Golden Glow had driven golden wind directly into him. The Pure Undead got onto one knee as he expelled the foreign energy from his body–Now was the time for Griar to capitalise on this incredible moment of luck.

He took one step forward. He was about to rush down the undead, just when the mass of darkness pulsed stronger than ever before, making him stop out of sheer instinct. He couldn’t help but look up to the throbbing dark force.

His gaze locked onto it as the darkness split itself down the middle. Revealing a pale silhouette.

“…I can never express how grateful I am. I was truly blessed to be granted such kind and loyal scions…”

‘N-No way…’

Griar took a step back. He had just recently met the Golden Lady, so he knew what a Lady was like, and he could feel it coming from this pale woman without the shadow of a doubt. This ritual had actually been made to tear open a gash between worlds and allow the Pale Lady, Patron-Mother of Undeath, to step into this world and be physically present here… Where her scions were steadily conquering the entirety of this world, set on making undeath the only form of existence inhabiting it.

From the very depths down to the center of this world, to the very edges of deep space–There was no place the Undead Empire was not intent on conquering. Such total domination of a single type of existence in a world so vast and rich with the full diversity of the Blind One’s endless imagination… It was unheard of, and when one thing deemed impossible happened, it invited even more of the impossible to become possible.

Griar was made to bear witness to one of such events as the Pale Lady stepped down from the darkness and let herself fall like a feather onto Loimos’s back, instantly dispelling the golden wind within her champion as she wrapped four arms around him, remaining on his back as the Pure Undead rose from the ground, the depths beyond his visor becoming filled with a deep, dark purple light.

“…O, ornate messenger… I hear my sister’s plight…”

“…O, last rampart of the living… I am afraid that my champion will usher in an endless Golden Age… A Golden Age of Undeath…”

The Pale Lady had two physical arms and two spectral arms–One of the latter extended its hand toward Griar.

“…Accept my blessing, do not let yourself be a wandering lamb…”

The living raised his fists, not saying a word.

“…Then it shall be a fight…”

The ritual had come to an end, and the surroundings returned to what they once were when Griar first arrived here. A strong brilliance flooded from all around, but more importantly, Loimos was no longer constrained by the rules of the ritual.

Griar knew it… But he ran forth nonetheless.

He concentrated the most amount of power he could muster as the undead walked toward him.

Loimos swung his War Scythe once, walking past as the living crumbled to the ground. His body was intact, but his so-called ‘HP’ had been depleted. The gold left his body.

The Pale Lady got down from her champion’s back, looking up at Loimos with a warm smile on her face.

“My Dear Champion. You have fought for so long. You have brought me the greatest gift I could ask for, allowing me to meet with my beloved scions by connecting my world to this one… Allow me to perform a miracle”

“Allow me to make this world what it is destined to become”

“Let all be dead… Together”

㢌㩑䍶 䅉䩕㘢㯌㫳’䅭 䩕㶒䩕㶪㯌㫳㯌㴾 㽪㫳 㦚㯌㘢㯌䊟䩕㭫 䅭䅉㩑䍶㦚䩕㫳㴾 㫈㯌䩕䊟㦚㶓 㺜䩕䅭䅉㯌䊟䞀 㕿㽪㴾 㦚㩑䈎㯌䅭䅉㽪㫳㺬 䅉䩕䙂䙂㯌㫳 䅭㩑 㴅䩕䅭㴅䅉 㫈㩑䍶䊟 䩕䅭䅭㯌㫳䅭㽪㩑㫳䀆

䣊䈎䅉… 㰂㩑㦚䈎㽪㴅 㯌㘢㯌㫳䅭… 㟲 䊟䩕䊟㽪䅭㫈… 㟲 㵾㽪䊟㦚䅭㤅㯌㘢㯌䊟… 䝷 㦚䅉䩕㭫㭫 㺬㽪㘢㯌 䅭䅉㽪㦚 㶒㩑䊟㭫㴾 䅭䅉㯌 㦚䅭䩕䅭䍶㦚 㩑㵾 㻠䊟㯌䩕䅭 䭋㯌䩕㭫䈎…

㻠䊟㯌䩕䅭 䭋㯌䩕㭫䈎䀆 㝼䅉䩕䅭 㶪㽪㫳㴾 㩑㵾 㻠䊟㯌䩕䅭 䭋㯌䩕㭫䈎 㶒㩑䍶㭫㴾 㽪䅭 䰧㯌䀆

䝷䅭 㦚䅉䩕㭫㭫 䰧㯌 㫳䩕䈎㯌㴾… 㪁䅉㯌 㻠㩑㭫㴾㯌㫳 㟲㺬㯌… 䝷䅭 㦚䅉䩕㭫㭫 䰧㯌㴅㩑䈎㯌 䅭䅉㯌 㪔㭫 㕿㩑䊟䩕㴾㩑… 㪁䅉㯌 䂌䩕䊟䩕㴾㽪㦚㯌 㺜㩑䍶㫳㴾 㩑㵾 䩕㭫㭫 䍶㫳㴾㯌䩕㴾㦚 㦚䙂䊟㯌䩕㴾 䩕㴅䊟㩑㦚㦚 㶒㩑䊟㭫㴾㦚 䩕㫳㴾 䊟㯌䩕㭫㽪䅭㽪㯌㦚 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌 㰂㩑㦚䈎㩑㦚… 䣊䈎䅉… 㢌㯌㦚㶓 䅭䅉䩕䅭 㦚㯌㯌䈎㦚 䈎㩑㦚䅭 㵾㽪䅭䅭㽪㫳㺬–䣊㩑㦚䅭 㽪㫳䅭㯌䊟㯌㦚䅭㽪㫳㺬䞀 䎔㩑㶒 㶒㽪㭫㭫 䅭䅉㯌 㩑䅭䅉㯌䊟 䰧㯌㽪㫳㺬㦚 㽪㫳䅉䩕䰧㽪䅭㽪㫳㺬 䈎㫈 䙂㭫䩕㫳㯌㦚 䊟㯌䩕㴅䅭 䅭㩑 䅭䅉㽪㦚 㫳㯌㶒 㻠䊟㯌䩕䅭 䭋㯌䩕㭫䈎䀆 䣊㩑㦚䅭 㽪㫳䅭䊟㽪㺬䍶㽪㫳㺬…

㺜䩕䅭䅉㯌䊟㶓 㶒䅉䩕䅭 䩕䰧㩑䍶䅭 䅭䅉㯌 㟲䙂㩑㦚䅭㭫㯌䀆 䎔㯌 㯌䈪㽪㦚䅭㦚 㦚䅭㽪㭫㭫 䩕㫳㴾 㽪㦚 㯌䅭㯌䊟㫳䩕㭫… 䎔㽪㦚 䙂㩑㶒㯌䊟 㽪㦚 㩑㘢㯌䊟㶒䅉㯌㭫䈎㽪㫳㺬䞀 䝷㦚 㽪䅭 䊟㯌䩕㭫㭫㫈 㶒㽪㦚㯌 䅭㩑 㴅㩑㫳㫳㯌㴅䅭 䅉㽪䈎 䅭㩑 䩕㭫㭫 㯌㭫㦚㯌䀆 䎔㯌 㶒㽪㭫㭫 㾋䍶㦚䅭 㦚㭫䩕䍶㺬䅉䅭㯌䊟 㯌㘢㯌䊟㫈䅭䅉㽪㫳㺬䞀 䎔㯌 䅉䩕㦚 㫳㩑 䊟㯌㺬䩕䊟㴾 㵾㩑䊟 㫈㩑䍶䊟 㴾㯌㦚㽪㺬㫳䞀

㕿㩑 㫳㩑䅭 㵾䊟㯌䅭䞀 䝷 㶒㩑䍶㭫㴾㫳’䅭 㵾㩑䊟㺬㯌䅭 䩕䰧㩑䍶䅭 㦚㩑䈎㯌䅭䅉㽪㫳㺬 㦚㩑 㽪䈎䙂㩑䊟䅭䩕㫳䅭… 㪁䅉㽪㦚 㦚㶪㯌㭫㯌䅭㩑㫳–㭬㩑㽪䈎㩑㦚䞀 䎔㯌 㽪㦚 䩕 㴅䍶䊟㽪㩑䍶㦚 㯌㫳䅭㽪䅭㫈㶓 㽪㦚㫳’䅭 䅉㯌䀆 䎔䩕㘢㽪㫳㺬 䅭䅉㯌 㵾䩕㘢㩑䍶䊟 㩑㵾 䅭㶒㩑 㩑㵾 䈎㫈 㴾䩕䍶㺬䅉䅭㯌䊟㦚… 䎔㯌 㽪㦚 㴾㩑䍶䰧䅭㭫㯌㦚㦚㭫㫈 䅭䅉㯌 㦚䅭䊟㩑㫳㺬㯌㦚䅭 䩕䈎㩑㫳㺬 䅭䅉㯌 䎔㩑㭫㴾㯌䊟㦚 㩑㵾 䂌䍶䊟䙂㭫㯌 䩕㦚 㶒㯌㭫㭫䞀 䎔㯌 㽪㫳㴾㯌㯌㴾 㴅䩕㫳’䅭 䰧㯌 䩕㭫㭫㩑㶒㯌㴾 䅭㩑 䊟㩑䩕䈎 㵾䊟㯌㯌㶓 䰧䍶䅭 㶒㩑䍶㭫㴾㫳’䅭 㽪䅭 䰧㯌 䩕 㦚䅉䩕䈎㯌 㫳㩑䅭 䅭㩑 䍶㦚㯌 䅉㽪䈎䀆

䎔㯌 䩕㭫䊟㯌䩕㴾㫈 䅉䩕㦚 䩕 䈎㫈䅭䅉㽪㴅䩕㭫 㦚䅭䩕䅭䍶㦚 㵾㩑䊟 䅉㽪㦚 㘢㽪㴅䅭㩑䊟㫈 㩑㘢㯌䊟 䅉㽪㦚 䩕㫳䅭㽪䅭䅉㯌㦚㽪㦚 䩕㫳㴾 䅭䅉㯌 㻠㩑㭫㴾㯌㫳 䎔㯌䊟㩑㶓 䩕㵾䅭㯌䊟 䩕㭫㭫䞀 䎔㯌 䅉䩕㦚 䩕 㦚䙂㩑䅭 䩕㦚 䙂䩕䊟䅭 㩑㵾 䈎㫈 㴅㩑㦚䈎㽪㴅 㭫㩑䊟㯌… 䝷 㦚䅉䩕㭫㭫 䰧䍶㽪㭫㴾 䅭䅉㯌 㵾䊟䩕䈎㯌㶒㩑䊟㶪㶓 䰧䍶䅭 䩕㦚 䙂㯌䊟 䍶㦚䍶䩕㭫㶓 䝷 㶒㽪㭫㭫 㭫㯌䩕㘢㯌 䅭䅉㯌 䊟㯌㦚䅭 䅭㩑 䈎㫈 㴾䩕䍶㺬䅉䅭㯌䊟㦚䞀

䝷 䩕䈎 㦚䍶䊟䙂䊟㽪㦚㯌㴾㶓 䅉㩑㶒㯌㘢㯌䊟… 䎔㩑㶒 㴅㩑䈎㯌 㦚䍶㴅䅉 䩕 㫳㩑䅭䩕䰧㭫㯌 㟲䙂㩑㦚䅭㭫㯌 㩑㵾 䂌䍶䊟䙂㭫㯌 㴾㩑㯌㦚 㫳㩑䅭 䅉䩕㘢㯌 䩕 䊟㽪㘢䩕㭫 㽪㫳 䅭䅉㯌 㵾㩑䊟䈎 㩑㵾 䩕㫳 㟲䙂㩑㦚䅭㭫㯌 㩑㵾 㻠䊟㯌㯌㫳䀆 䝷 䅭䅉㩑䍶㺬䅉䅭 䅭䅉㩑㦚㯌 䅭㶒㩑 䅉䩕㴾 䩕 㭫㽪䅭䅭㭫㯌 㺬䩕䈎㯌 㺬㩑㽪㫳㺬 㩑㫳…

䝷 䩕䈎 䩕㵾䊟䩕㽪㴾 䅭䅉䩕䅭 㶒䅉㯌㫳 䩕 㦚㯌㯌㴾 㩑㵾 䂌䍶䊟䙂㭫㯌 㴾㯌㦚㴅㯌㫳㴾㯌㴾 䍶䙂㩑㫳 䅭䅉㽪㦚 㶒㩑䊟㭫㴾㶓 㽪䅭 㶒䩕㦚㫳’䅭 㦚䍶䙂䙂㩑㦚㯌㴾 䅭㩑 㺬㽪㘢㯌 䊟㽪㦚㯌 䅭㩑 䩕 䂌䍶䊟㯌 䴴㫳㴾㯌䩕㴾㶓 㩑䊟 䩕䅭 㭫㯌䩕㦚䅭… 䝷䅭 㶒䩕㦚㫳’䅭 䅉㯌䊟 㽪㫳䅭㯌㫳䅭㽪㩑㫳 㵾㩑䊟 㦚䍶㴅䅉 䩕 䙂㩑㶒㯌䊟㵾䍶㭫 䰧㯌㽪㫳㺬 䅭㩑 䰧㯌 䰧㩑䊟㫳䞀 䝷䅭 㽪㦚 㭫㽪㶪㯌㭫㫈 䅭䅉䩕䅭 䅉㯌 䅉䩕㴾 㫳㩑 䊟㽪㘢䩕㭫 䈎䩕㴾㯌 㵾㩑䊟 䅉㽪䈎 䰧㯌㴅䩕䍶㦚㯌 䅭䅉㯌㫈 㴾㯌㯌䈎㯌㴾 䅭䅉䩕䅭 㫳㩑 䊟㽪㘢䩕㭫 㴅㩑䍶㭫㴾 䰧㯌 䈎䩕㴾㯌 㶒㽪䅭䅉 䅭䅉㯌 䩕㴅䅭䍶䩕㭫 䩕䰧㽪㭫㽪䅭㫈 䅭㩑 㴅㩑䈎䙂㯌䅭㯌 㶒㽪䅭䅉 䅉㽪䈎䞀

䎔㩑㶒 䍶㫳㵾㩑䊟䅭䍶㫳䩕䅭㯌… 㝼䩕㦚㫳’䅭 㽪䅭 㽪㫳 䅭䅉㽪㦚 㘢㯌䊟㫈 㶒㩑䊟㭫㴾 䅭䅉䩕䅭 䅭䅉㯌 䅭㶒㩑 㟲䙂㩑㦚䅭㭫㯌㦚 㫳㯌㘢㯌䊟 㯌㫳㴾㯌㴾 䍶䙂 䩕㴅䅭䍶䩕㭫㭫㫈 㵾㽪㺬䅉䅭㽪㫳㺬 䩕㦚 㽪㫳䅭㯌㫳㴾㯌㴾 䩕㦚 㶒㯌㭫㭫䀆 㪁䅉㽪㦚 㶒㩑䊟㭫㴾 㦚㯌㯌䈎㦚 䅭㩑 䰧㯌 䰧䩕㴾 㭫䍶㴅㶪 㵾㩑䊟 䅭䅉㩑㦚㯌 䅭㶒㩑… 䠐䅉 㶒㯌㭫㭫㶓 㫳㩑㶒 䅭䅉䩕䅭 㽪䅭 㶒㽪㭫㭫 䩕㴅㵡䍶㽪䊟㯌 䅭䅉㯌 㦚䅭䩕䅭䍶㦚 㩑㵾 㻠䊟㯌䩕䅭 䭋㯌䩕㭫䈎㶓 㽪䅭 㶒㽪㭫㭫 䈎㩑㦚䅭㭫㫈 㩑䙂㯌䊟䩕䅭㯌 㩑㫳 㽪䅭㦚 㩑㶒㫳 㶒㽪䅭䅉㩑䍶䅭 䩕㫳㫈 㩑䍶䅭㦚㽪㴾㯌 㽪㫳䅭㯌䊟㵾㯌䊟㯌㫳㴅㯌䞀

盧擄擄魯蘆老蘆䠐䍶䅭盧 㽪㫳爐 䩕 櫓㘢䩕㦚䅭 㦚䙂䩕㴅㯌 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌 㰂㩑㦚䈎㩑㦚–䞑㯌㽪䅭䅉㯌䊟 㵾㽪㭫㭫㯌㴾 㫳㩑䊟 㯌䈎䙂䅭㫈㶓 㫳㯌㽪䅭䅉㯌䊟 䙂㩑䙂䍶㭫䩕䅭㯌㴾 㫳㩑䊟 㴾㯌㦚㯌䊟䅭㯌㴾… 㪁㶒㩑 䰧㯌㽪㫳㺬㦚 䰧㯌㫈㩑㫳㴾 䅭䅉㯌 㴅㩑䈎䙂䊟㯌䅉㯌㫳㦚㽪㩑㫳 㩑㵾 䈎㯌䊟㯌 䈎㩑䊟䅭䩕㭫㦚 㶒㯌䊟㯌 䅉䩕㘢㽪㫳㺬 䩕 䊟䩕䅭䅉㯌䊟 䈎䍶㫳㴾䩕㫳㯌 㴅㩑㫳㘢㯌䊟㦚䩕䅭㽪㩑㫳䞀 㪁䅉㯌䊟㯌 㶒䩕㦚 㫳㩑 㦚䍶㴅䅉 䅭䅉㽪㫳㺬 䩕㦚 䩕㫳 䍶䊟㺬㯌㫳䅭 䈎䩕䅭䅭㯌䊟 㵾㩑䊟 䅭䅉㯌 㩑㫳㯌 㶒䅉㩑 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㯌㴾 䩕㫳㴾 䈎䩕㽪㫳䅭䩕㽪㫳㯌㴾 䩕㭫㭫 䰧㫈 䈎㯌䊟㯌㭫㫈 㯌䈪㽪㦚䅭㽪㫳㺬䞀

䎔㯌 䅉䩕㴾 䰧㯌㯌㫳 䅉㯌䊟㯌 䰧㯌㵾㩑䊟㯌 䅭䅉㯌 㴅㩑㫳㴅㯌䙂䅭㦚 㩑㵾 䅭㽪䈎㯌 䩕㫳㴾 㯌䈪㽪㦚䅭㯌㫳㴅㯌 䅉䩕㴾 㯌㘢㯌㫳 䰧㯌㯌㫳 䰧㩑䊟㫳䞀 䎔㯌 䅉䩕㴾 䰧㯌㯌㫳 㴾㯌㵾㫈㽪㫳㺬 䩕㭫㭫 㭫䩕㶒㦚 䰧㯌㵾㩑䊟㯌 䅭䅉㩑㦚㯌 㭫䩕㶒㦚 㴅䩕䈎㯌 䅭㩑 䰧㯌䞀 䎔㯌 䅉䩕㴾 䰧㯌㯌㫳 㽪㫳㵾㽪㫳㽪䅭㯌 䰧㯌㵾㩑䊟㯌 ‘㵾㽪㫳㽪䅭㯌’ 㩑䊟 ‘㽪㫳㵾㽪㫳㽪䅭㯌’ 㶒㯌䊟㯌 䩕 䅭䅉㽪㫳㺬䞀

㫳㴾䍶䩕䈎㫳㯌

䍶㩑㴾㭫㶒

㫳㴾䩕䈎㯌㦚㦚

䅉䅭㯌㯌㝼䊟䅉

㫳㴅㦚㩑㦚㴾㯌䞀

䅭㯌䊟䅉㯌

䍶㽪㶪䊟㵡

䩕䅭

㽪䅭

㫳㩑䅭

㩑㵾

䩕㶒㦚

䊟䅉㪁㯌㯌

㩑䅭

㯌㫈㯌…㦚

㫳㴾䅭㽪’㴾

㫳㽪㺬䰧䊟

㫳䩕㫈

䅉㯌

䅭䰧㩑䅉

㩑䅭㫳

䅉㪁㯌

㫈㦚–㫳䝷㯌㯌

㦚㽪䅉

㩑㵾䈎䊟

㶒䩕㦚

䅭䅭䩕䅉

㽪㯌㫳㩑㺬㩑䊟䅭䊟㫳䩕䅭㽪

䀆䩕㭫㭫

䅭䊟䞀㯌䈎䩕䅭

䅭㽪䅉㶒㽪㫳

㴾㽪㴾

䩕䊟㭫䍶㫈䅭䩕㭫㶓䞑

䩕

䩕䅉㯌㘢

㽪㽪㩑㺬䅭㫳㭫㽪㽪㫳㭫㘢

䅭㩑㫳㶓

㩑䊟

䅉㽪㦚

䩕㶒㦚

䅭㫳䩕䅭㦚㫳㩑㴅

䅭㯌䅉

㽪㺬㩑㫳䅉㫳䅭

䙂㯌㯌䊟䅭㴅䙂㩑㫳㽪

㽪㫳

㫳㯌㩑

䩕䅭

㶒㴅䅉㽪䅉

㶒䩕㦚

䊟㽪䩕㯌䞀㫳㺬㤅㘢㯌㺬㴅䅉㫳

㽪㫳

䅭㽪

䈎㦚㰂㩑㩑㦚

㶒䩕㦚

㫳䩕

䅭㯌㯌㴅㫳䊟

䠐䊟

㦚䅉㽪

㫈㦚㯌㯌

㫳䩕㴾

䈎㩑㦚䅭

㩑㵾

㪁䅉㯌 㮒㭫㽪㫳㴾㶓 䝷㴾㽪㩑䅭 㻠㩑㴾 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌 㰂㩑㦚䈎㩑㦚 㶒䩕㦚 㫳㯌㽪䅭䅉㯌䊟 䰧㭫㽪㫳㴾 㫳㩑䊟 䩕㫳 㽪㴾㽪㩑䅭䞀 䎔㯌 㶒䩕㦚㶓 㽪㫳 㵾䩕㴅䅭㶓 䩕㭫㭫㤅㶪㫳㩑㶒㽪㫳㺬… 䎔㩑㶒㯌㘢㯌䊟㶓 䅉㯌 㶒䩕㦚 㫳㩑䅭 䩕㭫㭫㤅㶪㫳㩑㶒㽪㫳㺬 㽪㫳 䅭䅉㯌 㦚䅭䊟㽪㴅䅭㯌㦚䅭 㩑㵾 㦚㯌㫳㦚㯌㦚䞀 䞑㩑 㩑㫳㯌 㶪㫳㯌㶒 㶒䅉㯌䅭䅉㯌䊟 㽪䅭 㶒䩕㦚 䰧㯌㴅䩕䍶㦚㯌 䅉㯌 䅉䩕㴾 㦚䅭䍶䈎䙂㯌㴾 䅉㽪㦚 㩑㶒㫳 㩑䈎㫳㽪㦚㴅㽪㯌㫳㴅㯌 䅭㩑 㯌䈪䙂㯌䊟㽪㯌㫳㴅㯌 㫳㩑㘢㯌㭫䅭㫈㶓 㩑䊟 㽪㵾 㽪䅭 䅉䩕㴾 䩕㭫㶒䩕㫈㦚 䰧㯌㯌㫳 䅭䅉㽪㦚 㶒䩕㫈㶓 䰧䍶䅭 䅉㯌 㴾㽪㴾 㫳㩑䅭 䅉䩕㘢㯌 㶪㫳㩑㶒㭫㯌㴾㺬㯌 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌 㵾䍶䅭䍶䊟㯌–䞑㩑䅭 䩕㭫㭫 㩑㵾 㽪䅭䞀

㪁䅉䍶㦚㶓 㶒䅉㯌㫳 䅉㽪㦚 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㽪㩑㫳㦚 䈎䩕㫳㽪㵾㯌㦚䅭㯌㴾 䅭䅉㽪㫳㺬㦚 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌㽪䊟 㩑㶒㫳 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㽪㩑㫳㦚–㪁䅉㽪㫳㺬㦚 䅭䅉䩕䅭 䅉䩕㴾 㫳㩑䅭 㴾㽪䊟㯌㴅䅭㭫㫈 㩑䊟㽪㺬㽪㫳䩕䅭㯌㴾 㵾䊟㩑䈎 䅉㽪㦚 䈎㽪㫳㴾–䎔㯌 㶒㩑䍶㭫㴾 㩑㫳㭫㫈 㭫㯌䩕䊟㫳 䩕䰧㩑䍶䅭 䅭䅉㯌䈎 䅭䅉㯌㫳㶓 䩕㫳㴾 㽪㫳 䩕 㴾㯌㦚㽪䊟㯌 䅭㩑 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㯌 㶒㩑䊟㭫㴾㦚㶓 䙂㭫䩕㫳㯌㦚㶓 䊟㯌䩕㭫䈎㦚㶓 䊟㯌䩕㭫㽪䅭㽪㯌㦚㶓 䍶㫳㽪㘢㯌䊟㦚㯌㦚㶓 㯌䅭 㴅㯌䅭㯌䊟䩕… 䎔㯌 㶒㩑䍶㭫㴾 䩕㭫㶒䩕㫈㦚 䅭䩕㶪㯌 䅭䅉㩑㦚㯌 㫳㯌㶒 䅭䅉㽪㫳㺬㦚 䩕㫳㴾 䈎䩕㶪㯌 䅭䅉㯌䈎 䩕 䙂䩕䊟䅭 㩑㵾 㫳㯌㶒㯌䊟 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㽪㩑㫳㦚䞀

㯌㫳㶒

䅭㩑

㶓㽪㫳䈎㴾

㴅䙂㯌㫳㩑㴅㦚䅭

䩕㯌㶒㶪㩑

㫳䩕

㶒㭫㩑䍶㴾

䅉㯌䅭㦚㯌

㫳㯌㶒

㦚䅉㽪

㵾㩑

䅭㯌䅉㯌㦚

㶒㴾䍶㭫㩑

㩑㴅㯌䈎

㽪㫳㩑䅭

㴾㫳䩕

㦚䩕

䅉㯌

㶓䍶䈎䰧㭫䊟㦚㯌

㦚䙂㯌㭫㯌

㶪䰧䩕㴅

㦚㯌䊟㘢㯌

㫳䅭㶒㯌

䍶㭫䰧㽪㽪㴾㺬㫳

䩕㩑䅭㽪㫳㯌䊟㴅㶓㦚

䰧㯌㫳䍶䊟䈎

㫳㴾䩕

㵾㩑

㫳䅉㝼㯌

㦚㽪䅉

㯌䅉

㩑䊟㵾䈎

㭫㩑㴅䞀㦚㶪䰧

㶒㫳䅉㯌

㯌㴾䩕䈎㯌㴾䊟

㶒㯌㫳

㫳䅭㩑䍶㴾㭫

㦚㽪㩑㴅䈎㴅

㽪㴾㩑㫳㩑㺬㭫㵾

䝷㫳㴾㯌㯌㴾㶓 䅭䅉㯌 㻠㩑㴾 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌 㰂㩑㦚䈎㩑㦚㶓 㶒䅉㽪㭫㯌 䩕䰧㭫㯌 䅭㩑 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㯌 㶒䅉㽪㭫㯌 䩕㶒䩕㶪㯌㶓 䙂䊟㯌㵾㯌䊟䊟㯌㴾 䅭㩑 㴾㩑 㦚㩑 㶒䅉㯌㫳 䩕㦚㭫㯌㯌䙂䞀 䳛㯌㯌䙂㽪㫳㺬 䅉㽪㦚 㩑㶒㫳 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㽪㩑㫳㦚 䩕 㦚㯌㴅䊟㯌䅭 㵾䊟㩑䈎 䅉㽪㦚 䩕㶒䩕㶪㯌㫳㯌㴾 㦚㯌㭫㵾…

䎔㽪㦚 㽪㫳䅭㯌䊟㭫㩑㴅䍶䅭㩑䊟 㶒䩕㦚 㩑㫳㯌 㩑㵾 䅉㽪㦚 㩑㭫㴾㯌㦚䅭 㴾䩕䍶㺬䅉䅭㯌䊟㦚–䎔㽪㦚 㴾䩕䍶㺬䅉䅭㯌䊟㦚 㶒㯌䊟㯌 㦚䙂㯌㴅㽪䩕㭫 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㽪㩑㫳㦚 㩑㵾 䅉㽪㦚㶓 䰧㯌㽪㫳㺬 㯌㘢㯌㫳 䩕䰧㩑㘢㯌 䅭䅉㯌 㩑䅭䅉㯌䊟 䰧㯌㽪㫳㺬㦚 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌 㰂㩑㦚䈎㩑㦚䞀 㟲㭫㭫 㶒㽪䅭䅉㽪㫳 䅭䅉㯌 㰂㩑㦚䈎㩑㦚 㴅㩑䍶㭫㴾 䰧㯌 䅭䊟䩕㴅㯌㴾 䰧䩕㴅㶪 䅭㩑 䅉㽪䈎㶓 䰧䍶䅭 㩑㫳㭫㫈 䩕 䅉䩕㫳㴾㵾䍶㭫㶓 㭫㽪㶪㯌 䅉㽪㦚 㴾䩕䍶㺬䅉䅭㯌䊟㦚㶓 㶒㯌䊟㯌㫳’䅭 㦚㽪䈎䙂㭫㫈 㯌䈪㽪㦚䅭㯌㫳㴅㯌㦚 䅭䅉䩕䅭 䅉䩕㴾 㴅㩑䈎㯌 䅭㩑 䰧㯌 㵾䊟㩑䈎 䅉㽪㦚 㦚䅉㯌㯌䊟 䙂䊟㯌㦚㯌㫳㴅㯌 䩕㦚 䅉㯌 㴾䊟㯌䩕䈎䅭䞀

㶒䩕㦚

䅭䅉䩕䅭

㶒㽪䅭䅉

㫳㩑㯌

㴾㽪㦚䩕㭫㯌

㫳㯌㴅㩑䞀

䅭䅭䅉䩕

㪁䅉㯌

㯌䅉㪁

䅉㦚㶓䩕㴾䅭䊟䍶㺬㯌

䅉㽪㦚

㪁㯌’䅉

㵾㽪

㩑㘢㫳㽪㭫㘢㯌㴾

䩕䅉㫳㦚㽪㫳䩕䅭㽪䅭䰧

䩕㦚

㫳㩑䅭䈎䈎㯌㶓

㩑䅭

䊟㯌㯌㶒

㩑㫳䅭

䍶㭫㦚䊟㩑㴅㩑

㴅㩑㴾䈎㴅䩕䅭䙂㭫㽪㯌

㯌㶒㯌䊟

㦚㩑㫳䊟㴾㴾㽪㯌㴅㯌

䩕䅭

䅭㩑

㭫䩕㭫

㯌䅉

㩑䈎㦚䅭

㫳䩕

㦚㦚䈎㯌㫈䅭

㯌䙂㴾䅭㯌㦚㽪

㦚㫈䅭䞀㯌㦡䈎’

䩕㫳㴾

㦚㯌㯌䍶㦚䞀㭫㦚

䅉㯌㪁

䩕䊟㯌㭫䅭㺬㩑䅭䰧㵾㯌

䈎䅉㴅䍶

㦚㯌㴅㫳䊟㴾㩑㽪㯌㴾

㦚㩑

㫳䰧㯌㽪㺬

㫈䍶㭫㭫㵾

䅭䅉㯌

䰧㯌

㫳㩑䅭

䅉䞀䅭㯌䈎

㩑㴾

䅭䅉㺬䍶䩕䊟㴾㯌㦚䞀

䅭㶒㽪㫳䅉㽪

䩕㦚㶒

㯌䅉䊟㶓

䍶䰧䅭

㘢㯌㶓㫈㶒䅉㯌䊟㯌䊟㯌

䅭㩑

㯌㪁䅉

㴾㽪㴾

㶒䩕㦚

㭫䩕㭫

㯌䰧

䊟㯌䅉

㯌㦚䅭㽪䈪

㽪䅭

䩕䅭䅭䅉

㯌䅭㫳㩑㵾

䊟㯌㵾䊟㴾䊟㯌㯌

㴅㫳㯌㦚㯌㯌䈪䅭㽪

㵾㩑

㴅㽪㭫㴾㽪㵾㵾䍶䅭

䅭㩑

㩑㵾䅭㯌㫳

䩕㫳㴾

㽪㴾㴾

㴅㴾㩑㯌㯌䞀䅉䈎䊟䙂㫳

䅭㩑㫳

㭫㽪㫳䍶㯌㫳㴅㯌㵾

㶒䩕㦚

㽪㦚䅉

㩑㶒䅭

㯌䅭㦚㽪㩑㫳㫳㯌䈪

䅉㯌䅭

㽪㯌㴾㯌㦚㫳㩑㴅䊟㴾

䅭㫳㭫䩕㽪㺬㶪

䩕䅭

㭫㟲㭫

㵾㩑

䅉㯌㦡

䎔㩑㶒㯌㘢㯌䊟㶓 㽪㫳 䅭䊟䍶䅭䅉㶓 㦚䅉㯌 㶒䩕㦚 䊟㯌㦚䙂㩑㫳㦚㽪䰧㭫㯌 㵾㩑䊟 䈎䍶㴅䅉 䈎㩑䊟㯌 䅭䅉䩕㫳 㾋䍶㦚䅭 䅭䅉㯌 㦚㫈㦚䅭㯌䈎 㶒㽪䅭䅉㽪㫳 䩕㭫㭫䞀 㦡䅉㯌 䈎㯌䊟㯌㭫㫈 㴾㽪㴾㫳’䅭 㴅䩕䊟㯌 䅭㩑 䅭䩕㶪㯌 㴅䊟㯌㴾㽪䅭 㵾㩑䊟 㽪䅭… 㦡䅉㯌 䅉䩕㴾 䅉㯌䊟 ‘㴅䅉㽪㭫㴾䊟㯌㫳’ 䩕㫳㴾 ‘㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㽪㩑㫳㦚’ 䊟㩑䩕䈎㽪㫳㺬 䅭䅉㯌 㶒㩑䊟㭫㴾㦚㶓 䰧䍶䅭 䅭䅉㯌㫈 䅉䩕㴾㫳’䅭 䩕㴅䅭䍶䩕㭫㭫㫈 䰧㯌㯌㫳 㽪㫳䅭㯌㫳䅭㽪㩑㫳䩕㭫 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㽪㩑㫳㦚䞀 㪁䅉㯌㫈 䅉䩕㴾 㾋䍶㦚䅭 㴅㩑䈎㯌 䅭㩑 䰧㯌䞀 䎔㯌䊟 㵾䩕䅭䅉㯌䊟 䅉䩕㴾 䊟㯌㴅㯌㽪㘢㯌㴾 䅭䅉㯌 㶪㫳㩑㶒㭫㯌㴾㺬㯌 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌㽪䊟 㯌䈪㽪㦚䅭㯌㫳㴅㯌㶓 䩕㫳㴾 㦚㽪㫳㴅㯌 䅭䅉㯌㫳㶓 䅭䅉㯌㫈 䅉䩕㴾 䰧㯌㴅㩑䈎㯌 䩕 䙂䩕䊟䅭 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌 㵾䩕䰧䊟㽪㴅 㩑㵾 㽪䅭 䩕㭫㭫䞀

䝷䅭 㶒㩑䍶㭫㴾 㦚㯌㯌䈎 㭫㽪㶪㯌 䅭䅉㯌 㫳䍶䈎䰧㯌䊟 㩑㵾 㟲䙂㩑㦚䅭㭫㯌㦚 䅉䩕㴾 㺬䊟㩑㶒㫳 䩕 㵾䩕㽪䊟 䰧㽪䅭 㴾䍶䊟㽪㫳㺬 䈎㫈 㦚㭫䍶䈎䰧㯌䊟䞀 䎔㩑㶒 㽪㫳䅭㯌䊟㯌㦚䅭㽪㫳㺬䞀 㦡䅉㯌 䅭䊟䍶㭫㫈 㴾㩑㯌㦚 䅉䩕㘢㯌 䩕 㶪㫳䩕㴅㶪 㵾㩑䊟 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㽪㫳㺬 㫳㩑㘢㯌㭫㶓 㽪㫳䅭㯌䊟㯌㦚䅭㽪㫳㺬 䰧㯌㽪㫳㺬㦚㶓 㴾㩑㯌㦚㫳’䅭 㦚䅉㯌䀆 㟲㫳㴾 䝷 㴅䩕㫳’䅭 䅉㯌㭫䙂 䰧䍶䅭 㫳㩑䅭㽪㴅㯌 䅭䅉䩕䅭 㫈㩑䍶 㦚㯌㯌䈎 䅭㩑 䅉䩕㘢㯌 䅉㯌㭫䙂㯌㴾 䅉㯌䊟 㶒㽪䅭䅉 㽪䅭 㽪㫳 䩕 㭫㩑䅭 㩑㵾 㴅䩕㦚㯌㦚… 䝷 䩕䈎 䙂㭫㯌䩕㦚㯌㴾 䅭䅉䩕䅭 㫈㩑䍶 䩕䊟㯌 㺬㯌䅭䅭㽪㫳㺬 䩕㭫㩑㫳㺬䞀

…䝷㫳 䩕㫳㫈 㴅䩕㦚㯌…

㭬㯌䅭 䍶㦚 㦚㯌㯌 㶒䅉䩕䅭 㩑䅭䅉㯌䊟 㦚䅭㩑䊟㽪㯌㦚 㶒㽪㭫㭫 䰧㯌 㴅䊟㯌䩕䅭㯌㴾 㽪㫳 䈎㫈 㴾䊟㯌䩕䈎㦚䞀

㟲䊟㯌 㫈㩑䍶 㺬㩑㽪㫳㺬 䰧䩕㴅㶪 䅭㩑 㦚㭫䍶䈎䰧㯌䊟㶓 㺜䩕䅭䅉㯌䊟䀆

㢌㯌㦚䞀

㭬㯌䅭 䍶㦚 䅭䩕㭫㶪 䩕㺬䩕㽪㫳 㶒䅉㯌㫳 㫈㩑䍶 䩕㶒䩕㶪㯌䞀

㪁䅉㯌䊟㯌 㶒㯌䊟㯌 䈎䩕㫳㫈 䈎㩑䊟㯌 䩕䙂㩑㦚䅭㭫㯌㦚 䊟㩑䩕䈎㽪㫳㺬 䅭䅉㯌 㽪㦚㭫䩕㫳㴾㦚 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌 㰂㩑㦚䈎㩑㦚䞀䞀 㭬㩑㽪䈎㩑㦚 㶒䩕㦚 䰧䍶䅭 㩑㫳㯌 㩑㵾 䅭䅉㯌䈎…

Welp. Here it is.

The ending of Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead…

Probably a novel that was way too ambitious in relation to my skill level as a writer, but I still greatly enjoyed writing it, even if some things were left untold.

This isn’t actually the first version of Pestilence. Several years ago, I had written the first version of it, and it had been… Fun but definitely awful.

You can imagine how bad it was, considering that most of the chapters of this one don’t even use proper punctuation! Kekeke

In any case, I hope you enjoyed what the story had to offer, and perhaps stick around if I ever decide to write another book on Webnovel.

Thanks to all of you who supported this story. My favourite thing was to read comments left by all of you (even the antagonistic ones).

Ready_

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep