Chapter Twenty-Three: Salvation or Death?

In a dim, shadowy underground cavern, a group of young adventurers listened intently to the words of a talking skeleton—a scene that was, by any measure, wholly bizarre.

“…My name is Robert Willanster. I was once a dwarf. My friends called me ‘the Quencher’…” the skeleton spoke in a low, echoing voice. We had already half guessed as much, particularly because his name, his stature, and the legend of the dwarf known as “the Quencher” all matched perfectly.

“…A year ago, I discovered this vein of ore and began to excavate the mine here. At that time, I had no idea of the horrors buried beneath, nor did I imagine that I was digging the graves for myself and for all those around me…”

“…Everything went smoothly at first. Precious metals flowed out of the earth, bringing us a steady stream of wealth. We believed we had found a treasure, and so we worked all the harder—unwittingly hastening the release of a demon…”

“…During one excavation, we broke through a stone wall and found this enormous cavern. Foolishness, greed, and curiosity led me to make a decision I would forever regret: I decided to build a passage into this cavern and continue digging…”

“…We dug out these chambers…” As he spoke, “Undead Robert Willanster” gestured toward several openings in the cavern’s lower level, then continued, “…and found some chests sealed with wards. Like all fools who should be punished for their greed, we tore off the seals and released a monstrous fiend. No, even calling it a fiend wouldn’t do; it was the Lord of Deathless Spirits, the Master of Decay, the most loyal and merciless hound of the End-King—the Archlich Makenskar…”

“…He drained the life from every last one of us; none were spared. He wrung out our souls, turning the dead into decaying monsters suspended between life and death, to serve as his lowliest slaves. He obliterated the mine, burying all its secrets here…”

“…Fortunately, I wore an amulet blessed by the Supreme God. It could not save me from death, but it protected my soul from the archlich’s torment. Yet, the amulet cannot shield me forever. I can feel my soul dissipating. I prayed to the Supreme God to send warriors, so I might share this dreadful secret before I fade. I am already weak; I cannot last much longer. But now, you have come…”

“…Go to the Valen Fortress. Inform Marquis Menewar that Makenskar has escaped. Time is short—the archlich seems to have found a way to guide the Wasted Lands back to the continent of Falweir. The End-King’s armies will soon sweep over the land. War is at hand. We must prepare!”

“And there is one small favor I must ask of you…” Just as I thought the dwarf had finished, he made another request:

“…When my soul dissipates, my body will become a monster, just like my companions. Dwarves do not fear death, but death must come with dignity. I cannot let my body become an enemy to my own soul.” Here, his voice paused. Even as a decayer, incapable of expression, I sensed he was making a grave decision.

“Destroy me after I become a monster,” he said.

“I will surrender my soul and relinquish this semblance of life. All I ask is that you stop me, kill my dead body again, and let me die quietly as a dwarf.”

“…I have… lived… far too long…”

“Will you… help me…”

The dwarf lifted his sturdy head, his empty black eye sockets fixed on me, full of silent pleading.

I could not answer.

Should I not do as he asked? To prevent the birth of a monster, to grant peace to a good soul. Reason told me I should accept, to release him from this endless agony. No one should deny such a request, for it concerns the final rest of a good soul.

Yet, it was so difficult.

This decayer still possessed a complete soul; he could feel pain and regret. I could not convince myself he was already dead—if a person’s body is broken but the soul remains, are they truly dead? Those who have lost an arm, a leg, or even an eye—are they dead? Compared to them, this undead before me had merely lost more of his flesh, but he was still a “person,” alive, intelligent, and not lacking in nobility.

Could I watch such a one destroy himself before my eyes and then, without hesitation, desecrate his corpse?

“Just take the quest!” Niu Baiwan’s voice came from behind me. I glanced back; he seemed a bit impatient.

“Don’t worry, just accept the quest and step back. We can handle a level-15 monster!” B-flat Minor Nocturne said, eager for action.

“…You… aren’t… stuck… too… are you…” Even Dingding Xiaoge, slow as ever, urged me on. Watching their restless anticipation, I truly could not comprehend: was destroying a once-human monster really something to be excited about?

Perhaps, to my Voidwalker companions, death was almost optimistic. According to them, death was not the end; there was always a chance for resurrection. Maybe, for Robert Willanster, the dwarven master metallurgist, the same would hold true.

But I simply could not like the feeling.

“All right. I will help you!” I gritted my teeth and nodded.

“I cannot express my gratitude, brave adventurer. May the blessings of the Supreme God, Darimos, be ever upon you…” The undead Robert Willanster thanked me, his pale jaw quirking back in a strange, contented smile. He gently cupped the pendant at his chest, knelt, and bowed his head in reverence, chanting softly. As his hollow, mechanical voice faded, I seemed to see a faint shimmer rising from him, drifting gently through the air until it vanished completely. This light was unlike any I had seen before—certainly not “will-o’-the-wisp”—but something truly wondrous, flickering with the primal force of life itself.

When all the light had faded, I caught the scent of danger from the dwarf skeleton before me.

It was the chill of slaughter. I knew, then, that the kneeling skeleton had become a merciless machine of death, devoid of all human trace.

This was a battle I would rather not remember.

Rather than say I struggled to forget, it would be more accurate to say I never managed to retain any clear memory of it at all.

Completely transformed into a monster, “the Quencher” Robert Willanster swung his battleaxe at me without hesitation, his mind—once so full of mineralogy and metallurgy—now wholly possessed by a frenzy for killing. The axe crashed against my shield with a ringing clang, numbing my arm.

I never struck back, only raising my shield reflexively to protect my face. In truth, I think it was not the axe I feared, but his face—his skull with those deep, black, empty eyes.

For a moment, I considered casting aside all weakness, facing the decayer as a true warrior, and cutting him down without mercy. Yet every time I saw his numb, rigid face, I could not help but recall his desperate plea for destruction. He yearned for atonement and had already paid dearly for his deeds. He begged me to destroy his body—I agreed, but in truth, I had no right. There was nothing in him that needed saving by others.

So I could only cower behind my shield, betraying both his wish and my promise, letting that evil force drive his body to commit atrocities his true self would never condone.

Thank goodness for my companions; they were not so sentimental or indecisive. Destroying a level-15 decayer was not hard for them. Soon, the sturdy dwarf skeleton was frozen solid by Dingding Xiaoge’s Frost Witch, then shattered into fragments. Bone shards and ice chips were strewn everywhere, mingling with the remains of other skeletons.

The battle was over.

Having fulfilled Robert Willanster’s last wish, my Voidwalker companions were in high spirits—and I could not fault them. They had saved a soul, granted a dwarf his final request, and given him a death of dignity and honor. They had every reason to feel pleased.

But for my part, I could feel no joy.

Was he truly “killed,” or “saved”?

It was a question I was never willing to ponder.

In the cavern behind Robert Willanster, we found an Advanced Miner’s Manual and an iron pick named “The Metal Gatherer,” which increased mining skill by thirty points—both treasures that made Dingding Xiaoge, our only miner, absolutely covetous.

“…Could I… have… both of these…” His excitement was completely hidden by his slow speech, leaving no hint of joy in his tone.

Though these were the most valuable items of our adventure, they meant nothing to the rest of us, so there was no objection to giving both to Dingding Xiaoge. Thus, our half-orc warlock not only completed the quest but saw his mining ability improve dramatically, making him the luckiest among us.

In his happiness, Dingding Xiaoge generously offered to share some metals and ores with us if needed—which was perfect for my studies in alchemy. Besides me, B-flat Minor Nocturne also benefited, since his chosen life skill was armorsmithing.

The elven druid girl, Fairy Descended Faceplant, received the “Amulet of Faith” that had hung from Robert Willanster’s neck. This amulet, originally meant for the most devout followers of Darimos, contained the power of faith, granting its wearer thirty points of mana and increased resistance to soul magic.

What puzzled me was that, though the druid girl was a devout worshipper of the nature goddess Natchania, she didn’t mind at all wearing an amulet belonging to a follower of the Supreme God.

But seeing her excitement, I suspected she had no idea what the amulet really meant—she simply wanted something pretty to hang around her neck. All women, regardless of race, have an endless appetite for ornaments. I’d wager that even the most devout priestess of order and light would rather wear a skull pendant symbolizing despair and death than leave her neck bare.

Apart from herbs and food, the skeleton monsters in the mine had also dropped some coins—probably carried in life, and when Makenskar turned them into decayers, these unlucky miners hadn’t had time to change clothes. They certainly wouldn’t need the coins now.

Other than the usual loot and coins, Niu Baiwan received nothing extra. But he didn’t seem disappointed. In fact, he might have felt himself the biggest winner:

“…What’s the big deal? When I was level one, I came here alone from Ironhoof Valley. Met plenty of high-level monsters on the way—these skeletons are nothing…” I doubted he would tell the druid girl that he only ended up in Campnavia City by getting hopelessly lost.

“…I’ve even seen a dragon, a green one. When you level up, I’ll take you to kill it…” Niu Baiwan was boasting away. Men always act tough around women, but when a level-12 minotaur warrior brags about “slaying dragons,” it’s less bravado and more shameless bluster.

Niu Baiwan and Fairy Descended Faceplant walked ahead, picking up the pace as if on purpose, widening the gap between us. The elven druid girl seemed to forget our existence, staying close by his side, frequently bursting into laughter at his jokes. Soon, they were swallowed by darkness, leaving only the faint names above their heads visible. Niu Baiwan’s long name hovered like a walking billboard, looking rather comical. Before long, even their names disappeared from sight.

“No one offers unsolicited kindness unless they’re up to something!” muttered B-flat Minor Nocturne, grinding his teeth as he watched their forms fade.

“…Only those… who try to offer kindness… but fail… say things like that…” I was growing used to Dingding Xiaoge’s timely pearls of wisdom in moments like these.

The gnome bard rolled his eyes, glaring resentfully at the half-orc warlock:

“Dingding Xiaoge, it’s only after meeting you that I realized two things I’ve misunderstood since childhood.”

“…What things?”

“First, sometimes people who tell the truth are really annoying. Second…” He lowered his voice, drawing close to Dingding Xiaoge.

“…And the second…?” After a moment, Dingding Xiaoge asked, haltingly.

“…The second is, when you talk to someone up close, it’s very easy to step on their foot!” With that, B-flat Minor Nocturne stomped hard on the half-orc’s toes and stormed off in a huff.

With Dingding Xiaoge’s glacial reaction speed, he didn’t respond at all at first. Not until the bard had taken a dozen steps away did he finally react…

“Ah…” The half-orc’s long, slow voice expressed the pain in his toes:

“…That was… definitely… petty… revenge…”

“Aaah…” Just as the gnome bard and the half-orc warlock were bickering at the rear, up ahead came another piercing scream from Fairy Descended Faceplant and a panicked cry for help from Niu Baiwan: “Help…!”

We immediately guessed that the minotaur and the elven druid had once again walked into an ambush.

Despite his constant complaints about failing to catch the elven girl’s eye, B-flat Minor Nocturne shot forward with me the moment we heard the cries. Dingding Xiaoge, too, deployed his erratic teleporting footwork, sometimes in front of us, sometimes behind, flitting like a phantom.

“You big idiot, I told you not to walk so far ahead—if something happens, how are we supposed to save you…” Night Nocturne grumbled as he hurried along. But when Niu Baiwan and Fairy Faceplant reappeared, his complaints died on his lips.

The sight before us left even the talkative bard speechless.

He wasn’t the only one stunned; I too stood dumbfounded, eyes wide in disbelief.

The pair walking ahead hadn’t met with any real danger—in fact, our minotaur warrior was perfectly unharmed, standing slack-jawed and gaping at the scene before him, his tongue lolling so far out he could have licked his neck.

Only one among us was actually fighting: our elven druid girl, Fairy Descended Faceplant. Words can scarcely describe her performance: eyes squeezed shut in terror, hands clawing frantically before her—though she had taken on the form of a massive bear, she still moved with the helpless panic of a frightened little girl.

A schoolgirl’s clumsy struggles might be amusing, but the reflexes of a panic-stricken bear were something else entirely. Two skeleton monsters, armed with pickaxes and shovels, stood before the druid. Rather than fearsome undead, they looked more like pitiable victims under siege. Each swipe of her bear claws sent bone fragments flying, while their blunt weapons barely scratched her. The druid bear had lost less than a third of her health; the floor was littered with shattered skeletons.

“What happened?” I asked the shaken Niu Baiwan.

“We were just walking, and a group of skeletons—five, maybe—jumped out from a corner. We weren’t ready. One ended up face to face with her, and she started screaming—almost scared me to death. After that… Well, I never even got a chance to fight. This is how it ended…” He spread his hands, inviting me to take in the carnage.

“Aah… Help… So scary, so scary…” the druid girl wailed, even as she swatted the last skeleton to pieces. She seemed entirely unaware of her own actions, her claws still flailing before her chest, as if she might never stop unless someone intervened.

It’s been said that fear can sometimes unlock tremendous power within us, letting us do things we never imagined. I’d always thought that was nonsense—cowards can’t become heroes just by being afraid—but now, I wondered if fear might be even stronger than people think.

We all sighed helplessly at the scene. Niu Baiwan, blushing, stepped forward and patted the druid’s shoulder.

“It’s all right now, they’re all gone…”

The elven druid seemed to hear him. Her claws hesitated, her tightly shut eyes peeking open just a crack. Only after confirming there was no danger did she open them fully.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! They just jumped out and scared me half to death. I’m such a coward—afraid of the dark, afraid of ghosts—you must think I’m ridiculous.” She returned to her elf form, cheeks burning red.

Our faces were probably even redder than hers.

“How did they… die?” she asked, looking around in confusion before finally fixing her gaze on Niu Baiwan. “Was it you?”

“Um… uh…” Niu Baiwan seemed too shocked by her prowess to reply, only hesitating and mumbling a few sounds.

Sadly, the elven girl took his hesitation for assent.

“I knew it! You’re amazing!” she exclaimed, gazing at him with admiration that left him flustered and red to the tips of his horns.

I didn’t understand why she always assumed Niu Baiwan was the strongest among us—it was far from the truth. Perhaps, for gentle girls, a rugged exterior really does inspire a sense of safety.

I had to admit, it was a beautiful mistake.

Before long, we returned to the main hall, on our way out of the mine. Niu Baiwan and the elf girl walked ahead, side by side, the bats of the mine no longer a threat. The rest of us followed at a distance, keeping them just within sight.

At last, the half-orc warlock Dingding Xiaoge broke the long silence:

“I think… even if that druid girl… was alone… she could clean out the whole cavern herself…”

I had to admit, he’d spoken a truth that left us men both embarrassed and a little ashamed.

(Here’s a recommendation for a truly remarkable novel. What’s so remarkable isn’t just the writing, but the author himself… ah! Kongzi Ji, the relentless advertising genius behind “Three Years, Class Two’s World.” I was deeply impressed by his tireless marketing. They say the highest level of advertising is to make people’s eyes light up—or go completely dark. He’s succeeded in the latter, brilliantly.

The novel’s actually quite good, though it takes a while to get going—slower even than me. I don’t know how you’d feel reading fifteen chapters only to find the title “The Real Story Is Just Beginning…” Myself, I felt: history has turned another page.

If you have the patience, give it a try. There’s suspense, the writing is clean (though his aerial combat scenes aren’t exactly expert), and as for the plot… well, it hasn’t really started yet. Honestly, I was just moved by his shameless marketing and gave him a bookmark out of professional sympathy.

Space-Time Transmission Hotline: http:///BookReader/188218.aspx)