"This is too…"
Roger looked around at the skeletons and zombies wandering in the cemetery, listening to the strange wind and howling in the garden. His legs trembled, and he clung tightly to Matar's right hand.
A full moon hung high in the sky like a massive pupil, gazing down at the nightwalkers below—Roger, Alpha, Randy, Matar, and ten members of the Hades mercenaries—along with Kogas leading the way at the front.
The Vulture, Kogas, was indeed bald as his nickname implied. Scars from countless battles crisscrossed his wrinkled scalp. He wore light armor, and a thin, needle-like sword hung at his waist.
He radiated a murderous aura, making it clear he wasn't someone to mess with. Upon seeing Roger's terrified expression, he snorted contemptuously and muttered:
"You'd better not make so much noise, or you'll alert—"
"Glaah!"
Before he could finish, a sharp sound cut him off. Everyone turned toward the source and saw Roger stepping on something. Hmm? Not a branch—it was wriggling. Looking closer, they realized it was a skeletal arm.
Though broken, it crawled along the ground like a spider. Its owner, a one-armed skeleton, was sprawled on the ground, struggling to rise.
"Waah!" Roger screamed, leaping into Matar's arms. His Guardian Eye activated automatically due reflex, holy light bursting forth from his body.
The noise roused every skeleton and zombie in the cemetery. They turned their heads toward the intruders and rushed in from all directions, fangs bared and claws out. Some leaped from trees, while others clawed their way from beneath tombstones.
"Holy warriors, make way!" Kogas pointed and shouted at Elfa.
Without hesitation, Elfa charged forward with his shield raised, clearing a path like a tank. The rest followed closely, retreating while fighting to keep pace with him.
Ordinary skeletons and zombies were no match for them—especially with a swordsman present. Chopping through them was like slicing vegetables. However, the creatures in this cemetery were different. Blood-soaked and more terrifying than normal undead, they were unusually resilient—bones harder than steel.
Only warriors above Level 5 could cut them cleanly. Roger and lower-level warriors struggled, sometimes needing minutes just to bring down a single skeleton—let alone the thick-skinned zombies. Worst of all, they were endless. More just kept appearing. At this rate, even a swordsman would be exhausted to death.
There was only one option: reach the mausoleum as quickly as possible.
As the creepy, howling mausoleum loomed closer, a sense of relief swept through the group. Matar had long since left Roger behind. They'd discovered his Guardian Eye could repel blood skeletons and zombies, so they handed him Elfa's tower shield and had him act as a front-line beacon.
Thus, once the panic settled, the group adapted quickly, coordinating like a single sharp sword aimed at the heart of the mausoleum.
Aside from one unfortunate second-level warrior—dragged into a swarm and devoured due to poor positioning—the others reached the mausoleum entrance safely.
Sensing their arrival, the howling from within grew louder, morphing into an ear-splitting scream. The sound waves were so painful everyone clutched their ears.
Even the undead pursuing them recoiled in fear. Some skeletons collapsed mid-run, their limbs flailing like scorpions as they dragged themselves backward.
The mausoleum's gate stood open. Cobwebs, insects, and the occasional bat clung to its archway. A damp, cold breeze flowed out from within, tainted with mold.
Kogas led the way with a magic crystal lantern. The Hades mercenaries followed behind with torches, filing into the passage. Thanks to their guide, the journey was smooth and relatively safe. Soon, they reached the main tomb chamber.
A giant crystal coffin sat at the center, holding a shriveled corpse dressed in regal clothing. Its face was pale and withered.
Ice magic crystals were embedded in the coffin, casting a faint blue glow and releasing cold mist that veiled the area in frost. Around the coffin were various burial goods—silverware, gold, and ceremonial items.
As everyone crowded into the chamber, the torchlight brightened the space. Every corner became clearly visible. There wasn't much else to see—just some statues and decorative vessels.
What stood out were five peculiar formations etched into the floor—each the size of a basin, with eerie patterns. Nearby were twisted mummies and half-rotted corpses, their limbs contorted and faces grotesque. Blackened blood stained the stone floor, and the stench was enough to churn anyone's stomach.
The newer recruits turned pale; one or two even vomited. Roger and his group, having seen far worse on Klin Island, simply averted their gazes.
"You lot, stand on the formation," Kog'gas ordered a few Hades recruits. Though he wasn't officially their commander, Roger had told them beforehand to follow Kog'gas's lead.
Five mercenaries stepped onto the formations. At first, nothing happened. Everyone held their breath, tension thick in the air. The only sound was the constant howling echoing through the tomb.
Suddenly, the tomb shook. Dust and rubble fell from the ceiling. Crimson light surged from each formation, wrapping around the five men in an instant.
The mercenaries panicked, struggling to flee, but the red light held them fast. They screamed in terror.
"Help!" Elfa roared. Randy and Matar sprang into action, sprinting toward the formations.
Roger, closest to them, was about to follow when a strong hand grabbed his shoulder. Turning, he saw Marco—disguised as a mercenary—pulling him back.
"Don't go," Marco said grimly. "You'll die."
Startled, Roger stumbled back several steps.
Almost on cue, the formations unleashed beams of red light at Elfa and the others. Randy ducked behind Elfa. Elfa braced himself and raised his massive shield. The beams struck, blasting them backward over ten meters.
Elfa grimaced, his arms numb from the impact. Matar dodged swiftly, twisting mid-air to avoid two more beams before retreating. She saw dozens of light spots forming in the formations—getting closer meant triggering more beams.
Within seconds, the five mercenaries were drained dry. Their corpses fell to the ground—mummified.
The formations flared with intense red light. The tomb's howling grew wilder—like thunder shaking the walls and rattling their ears.
Then, the crystal coffin creaked open. Its lid thudded to the floor, and thick white mist poured out, flooding the room.
Pah!
A desiccated hand gripped the edge of the coffin. The corpse slowly sat up. Its eyes opened—solid red, without pupils or whites. Just two blood-red leaves pasted to a dead man's face.
"Ughhhh…" the mummy rasped. One hand on the coffin, the other pointed at them.
"Be careful. The main force has arrived," Marco whispered behind Roger.
Just then, the five red formations linked into a large pentagram. The ground squirmed.
A grotesque figure emerged from the red light—bloodied, bald, faceless. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. No genitals. Just a muscular figure with a long, thin tail swaying behind him. He was drenched in blood, revolting to look at.
This was the source of the howling—though no one could tell how it produced sound.
"It really is the Faceless Blood Demon!" Marco said excitedly.
"Faceless Blood Demon?" Roger began to ask—but the creature lunged at him.
Instinctively, Roger activated his Guardian Eye and swung his giant sword.
Clang!
The sword was knocked aside. The demon's fist slammed into his shield, making it tremble violently.
"What terrifying strength!" Roger's heart pounded. The light elements in his body—built up painstakingly—had nearly been shattered by the single blow.
His Guardian Eye had burned through nearly all his reserves just to block it. And this was after a significant improvement since Klin Island.
Judging by sheer strength, this monster was far superior to the Yellow Springs Beast!
While it focused on Roger, the others joined the fight. Kogas led the charge. His thin sword pierced the demon several times, leaving bloody holes.
This blade—Bee Sting—was a cursed sword crafted by the dwarf master Mofan, later gifted to Kogas by Marquis Paglen. It was long, thin, with deep blood grooves and a deadly enchantment that caused wounds to fester rapidly.
Even the smallest cut would rot within minutes. Mofan had regretted making it and intended to destroy it—but his apprentice stole the sword and fled. Along the way, the apprentice was killed by horse thieves, and so the cursed sword entered the annals of Nirn.
The curse clearly worked. The Faceless Blood Demon shrieked, patches of black necrosis spreading across its blood-red skin.
Then Matar and Randy struck—one with green, the other with yellow fighting spirit—blasting its ribs from both sides.
Elfa arrived last. His magic silver greatsword drove straight through the monster's torso with a thud, nailing it to the wall behind.
"Good job, Elfa," Roger said, breathing heavily.