Extraordinary Pedigree.

Chapter 46: Thirst and Fury

Night fell, and the wind whispered softly. On the desolate outskirts of the mining area, two newly formed mounds of earth remained after the soil had been turned over.

The ground was still damp, a mixture of blood and mud, which was smoothed out again and again by rough hands.

Lupercal stood before the grave, his hands cracked and bloodied, his knuckles worn raw, and dirt still clinging to his fingers. It was the pit he had dug himself, the mound he had covered himself.

The small shoulders trembled slightly in the night wind, yet remained taut.

Xia Xiu stood quietly behind him, without saying a word or making a move, only tapping the ground with his silver cane, like a silent gaze.

He did not urge the boy on, allowing him to remain silent before the grave.

After an unknown amount of time, Lupercal finally spoke slowly, his voice low and hoarse, yet carrying an unusual firmness:

"I'm leaving."

His gaze remained fixed on the grave mound, as if he were bidding a final farewell to the cold earth beneath his feet.

"I will live well... I will take good care of myself."

He was breathing rapidly, but he still clenched his teeth, his tone heavier than his age suggested:

“One day, I will destroy the Fifth Church with my own hands and make it pay for all of this.”

The night wind howled, carrying away the last lingering sound.

The boy finally turned around, his eyes no longer avoiding his gaze, but looking directly at the blond man behind him.

His youthful face held a hint of prematurely awakened coldness as he softly called out:

"Let's go... Father."

Xia Xiu was slightly taken aback, then silently reached out his hand. That hand grasped the boy's small hand, without saying a word.

Beneath their feet, a twisted Möbius strip appeared, slowly rotating, and a stream of silvery light gradually engulfed their figures.

The next moment, only two lonely grave mounds remained in the darkness, standing silently in the wilderness.

The wind swept by, stirring up dust, sealing this silent farewell deep in the darkness.

……

……

Three days later, in the Far East City.

Deep within a forgotten ruin, a dilapidated stone building stands in the shadows, its exterior resembling an old house on the verge of collapse, yet its interior has been restored by Montfort. The dust has been swept away, the walls covered with canvas, and parchment and copied scriptures are laid out on the stone table. He is bent over, his pen moving rapidly, drafting the outline of the *Universal Scripture*. This is the core document of the Horizon Initiative, used to unify faith and rally more people willing to oppose the Fifth Church.

The room wasn't empty. Seven people sat scattered around; they were the first members of the Shepherd's Order personally recruited by Monford. At this moment, they were disguised as ordinary merchants and craftsmen, listening intently with solemn expressions. According to Xia Xiu's plan, the Shepherd's Order would infiltrate various places in the future to gather intelligence, retrieve sacred relics, and secretly sow the seeds of revolution on the horizon.

But today, Monford has something more important to do.

He raised his gaze and looked at the two people standing by the door. They were his most trusted old friends.

The room was dimly lit, with only a few oil lamps casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The air smelled of damp wood and dust, making one's chest feel heavy.

Monford raised his eyes and looked at the two people standing by the door.

That was his most trusted old friend.

The first was named Alan Holt, a burly man with a towering frame and broad shoulders that could almost block out a doorway. A long, old scar ran across his face, a mark left by remnants of a cult while escorting refugees. The scars, however, only accentuated his taciturn nature; he was a man of few words, yet never one to back down. Even in the most difficult years, he supported many orphans and widows with an iron will.

The second is Seris Dane, a former ranger. He has a cheerful personality, an innate sharpness in his eyes, and eyes as sharp as an eagle's. He once infiltrated the stronghold of the Church of St. Cuthbert's Inquisition alone, rescuing an innocent girl from blood and fire. That story is widely known among the lower classes of Far East City, and many children regard him as a hero.

Both of them were comrades-in-arms who had fought alongside Monford, and both were indignant at witnessing the decay of a peaceful nation.

As Monford looked at them, a surge of emotion welled up in his chest.

He remembered that he was once a mortal like them, but now he was a saintly being.

“Alan, Seris.”

His voice was deep, like iron striking stone, carrying an undeniable weight.

The two exchanged a glance, their gazes firm yet tinged with a subtle tension.

Monford took a deep breath and slowly raised his palm.

As his blood and qi circulated, the power forged by the Saint suddenly began to operate. His bones emitted a deep rumble, his muscles tensed like steel cables, and his figure grew taller, like an armored beast.

With a casual clench of his fist and a gentle exertion of force, the stone table in front of him cracked, the fissures spreading out like snakes.

"Hiss—" The seven members of the shepherd's group all gasped in unison.

A look of shock appeared on the faces of both Alan and Seris.

This wasn't the first time they had witnessed the power of divine intervention; Monford had shown it to them before, and their expressions then were even more shocked than they were now.

Even though it wasn't the first time they'd seen it, when that power erupted from Monford's body again, they couldn't help but hold their breath and feel a tightness in their chests.

How to describe this feeling?
When facing the Holy Warriors, they felt as if they were facing a real behemoth—an armed saint who could tear apart street heretics and confront the Church's Imperial Guard head-on.

This is the awe-inspiring power of the Children of the Courtyard. Even mortals who have witnessed it many times will still feel their hearts tremble when they face them directly.

In this frozen atmosphere, Monford's voice suddenly rang out, resounding like iron, echoing through the narrow stone chamber:

"This is a gift from that great one."

"The grace of holiness, forged in the flesh of God."

"It gave me a new life, making me no longer an ordinary person, but a warrior who can fight heretics head-on."

Each word seemed to have been forged in flames, carrying a heavy heat.

Montfort paused, his gaze slowly sweeping over the two of them, his voice lowering further, like a stone hammer striking the heart:
"I have already explained the whole story to you."

"The Fifth Church, how much poison it has sown on this land. Heretics are spreading in the streets and alleys, and the virus of civilization is slowly devouring its foundation. Far East City has rotted beyond recognition under their shadow."

As he finished speaking, his chest heaved, and flames ignited in his eyes. He could no longer contain his anger and slammed his fist on the cracked stone table, sending stone chips flying.

"I'm angry!"

"I am outraged by those false saints who sit high on their divine thrones yet allow corruption to run rampant!"

"I am outraged by those blasphemers who enslave the people in the name of the Fifth Truth!"

"I am furious that this land has been swallowed by darkness, and I am furious that the cries of countless loyal and heroic souls go unanswered!"

He raised his arms high, his voice suddenly rising, like a preacher on an altar:
"Therefore, I will use this anger to burn the rest of my life, follow that great man, and wield my holy-forged body like a falling hammer to crush all cancers!"

In the name of the horizon—

"I will destroy the Fifth Church!"

Monford slowly stretched out his hands, palms facing up, as if to lift the two people in front of him.

His voice was steady and powerful, each word like a hammer blow striking Alan and Seris's chest.

"Therefore, I will build a horizon."

"We must establish a wolf pack force—the sharpest fangs—to annihilate any heretics who dare to approach!"

The seven members of the shepherd's council held their breath, staring intently, as if the only sound in the room was the resounding echo.

Monford's gaze fell directly on the faces of his two old friends, and he said in a deep voice:

“I need you. More precisely—I want you to undergo the surgical transformation of the Children of the Courtyard, to become true wolf warriors, and to fight alongside me.” He paused, his tone becoming more solemn, as if announcing a life-or-death pact.

"Are you willing to join? I won't hide it, this surgery carries unavoidable risks—if it fails, you may never wake up again."

He lowered his head and slowly added:

"If you are unwilling... I will not force you. Here is a memory-erasing potion. Drink it and you will forget everything that happened tonight. That way you will have no regrets, you will not be involved, and you will not have to worry about the Fifth Church watching you. At least... for now, you won't."

Monford's voice suddenly lowered, but his eyes were sharp as blades:

"But remember, the shadow of the Fifth Church is everywhere; the Kingdom of Peace has no choice but to confront it."

Alan and Seris exchanged a glance. In that instant, it seemed as if a silent conversation was completed between them. Alan clenched his thick fist, his knuckles turning white; Seris's hawk-like eyes flashed with a cold light.

They all turned around at the same time, meeting Monford's gaze.

“Since someone has to walk this path,” Alan said in a low voice, hoarse but with unwavering determination, “then let us walk it.”

“We are willing to undergo the surgery,” Seris said, his tone crisp and decisive, with the resolve of a wandering knight.

“Then come with me,” Monford said.

……

……

Underground secret room.

The latch was pulled down, and the room fell silent.

Monford led Alan and Seris through a narrow passage, their footsteps echoing between the stone walls.

He pushed open an iron door at the end, and a blast of cold air hit him. Inside was a small modification room: the walls were embedded with conduits and engravings, and the floor was covered with a removable sink; in the very center, a silver-gray capsule had already unfolded at his pre-entered command, and layers of mechanical arms were steadily stationary, like a raptor with its claws retracted.

“It’s just the three of us.” Monford turned to confirm, his gaze sweeping over the two men’s faces. “Let’s begin.”

He raised his hand, gesturing for Alan to lie down in the surgical tray.

The metal straps are fastened, and the tourniquet and drainage needle are connected in place.

Monford brought up the surgical panel and tapped with his fingertip.

For any recipient undergoing the "Children of the Courtyard" transformation, the first two organs determine whether they can cross the threshold of "mortal bones":

"Heart of Revelation": A second heart. Placed in the posterior chest cavity, it is connected in parallel with the original heart. Its purpose is to provide redundant circulation and instantaneous cardiac support; in cases of blood loss, hypoxia, or visceral shock, it takes over pumping blood to maintain oxygen supply and blood pressure, allowing the recipient to continue moving and fighting in extreme combat situations.

"Abel's Bone": a bone gland. Implanted in the spinal base and sternal manubrium, it secretes remodeling hormones, directing bone end growth, medullary cavity reinforcement, and bone plate fusion. The result is increased height, a surge in density, and resistance to cracking under pressure, providing a load-bearing framework for subsequent tendons and armored cortical layers.

The command was given, and the first surgical arm opened.

"Enter the position."

The fine needle pierced the skin, and the core of the sacred rune then pierced Aylan's chest cavity.

With a flash of energy, the "Heart of Revelation" slid into the positioning chamber.

The next second, the second heart thumped loudly, like a war drum hitting the ground; then, the rhythm synchronized with the original heart, the two pumps worked in parallel, and the return pressure instantly increased. Alan's chest swelled, he instinctively inhaled, blood was forcibly pushed to his limbs, and the veins under his skin bulged.

"Hold on." Monford pressed down on his acromioclavicular joint and raised the pain threshold.

The second surgical arm is pressed down, and the osteogenous module is inserted into the spine.

The stinging pain transformed into a pounding hammer blow; short, rapid "cracks" echoed from his spine, like a carpenter rapidly setting mortises in the darkness. His periosteum bulged, his trabeculae extended, his ribcage expanded by an inch, and the edges of his clavicle and scapula were pushed outward; his femur and tibia were forced to grow, and his legs slowly lengthened. Alan's breathing had turned into low, labored gasps; he clenched his teeth, tears welling in his eyes, but he didn't cry out.

Seris stood to the side, his fingers clenching and unclenching, his palms sweating. He had seen modified warriors before, but he had never witnessed the entire process of bone reconstruction at such close range—the sound was like a file scraping against his nerves, giving him goosebumps involuntarily.

In the third minute of the bone remodeling, a green stripe lit up on the surgical panel, indicating that the bone density had exceeded the first threshold. Monford immediately initiated the spinal cord protection procedure to prevent bone spurs from compressing the nerve roots. He stared at the numbers and said curtly, "Hold on for another thirty seconds. Once it crosses the line, we'll move to the repositioning and cooling phase."

Alan responded with only a muffled groan.

Thirty seconds later, coolant was poured in, and the red light turned green.

When the metal straps loosened, his chest was half a circle wider than before he entered the slot, his height increased by two fists, his shoulder line resembled a horizontal beam, and his whole body seemed to have stepped directly from robust into the category of "weight-bearing".

The two hearts were now almost in sync, their echoes forming a drum in the empty metal room.

The cold air had not yet dissipated, and the renovated room was filled with the smell of medicine mixed with rust.

Monford's gaze was fixed intently on Alan. The burly militia commander sat quietly at the edge of the operating table, his shoulders rising and falling, his chest bulging like two bellows about to explode. His skin was an unnatural red, and his veins throbbed beneath his skin like venomous snakes.

At that moment, Monford held his breath.

The surgery performed by the Holy One was incredibly cruel. Even a single "Heart of Revelation" or "Bone of Abel" could crush a mortal's body in an instant if the procedure went wrong.

Acute rejection is the most common, with severe cardiac arrhythmia, ruptured blood vessels, bone cavities compressing nerves... ranging from paralysis in mild cases to sudden death in severe cases.

This is the best possible outcome of going out of control. The worst possible outcome is that genes go out of control and mutations occur.

It should be noted that the gene seed given by Xia Xiu was a Blood Oath Seed from the Blood Oath Legion, and this batch of seeds was born with the aftereffects of Blood Rage.

His hand was already on the injection box at his waist, inside which lay a tube of silvery-white euthanasia.

If Alan couldn't hold on any longer, he could only grant him "merciful rest."

Time seemed to be frozen at this moment, and the air was so oppressive that even breathing felt extremely heavy.

Just then, Alan took a deep breath!

"Click——"

His chest bones felt as if they were being forcibly pried open, and with a loud bang like a chain snapping, his back straightened abruptly.

His eyes snapped open, pupils instantly shrinking to pinpoints. Blood surged through his body, veins bulged, and his face flushed crimson. Then, he let out a roar almost like that of a wild beast.

That was bloodlust.

Reason was consumed by brutality and bloodlust. Alan was like a powder keg that had been lit. His body, which had grown to 2.1 meters tall, pounced on Monford!

Monford's heart sank suddenly.

A wave of sadness washed over him. He knew that what he had to do now was to give the other person euthanasia, but when faced with his old friend, the hand holding the euthanasia drug hesitated for a moment.

But that moment of hesitation allowed the enraged Alan to pounce on him!

--boom!

Monford's eyes turned cold, and his body suddenly grew taller. The functions of his Saint Forged power erupted in full force, his skeleton expanded with a roar, his muscles bulged like iron cables, and his body swelled to 2.8 meters tall, like a walking steel war puppet.

The two bodies collided like giant beasts clashing. Monford, however, remained firmly in place, raising a single fist, his left arm muscles surging, and slamming it down!

"Boom!"

This punch sent Alan sprawling to the ground, shattering the stone slab. Before he could give Alan any chance to struggle, he pressed his knee down, his entire shin slamming into Alan's chest, pinning the enraged body to the ground with the cold efficiency of a police officer subduing a criminal.

He raised his other hand, his thumb prying open the cap of the euthanasia drug, the cold needle gleaming, ready to pierce his chest at any moment.

Monford looked down at his friend, who was still struggling frantically, his eyes revealing a deep sense of reluctance and determination.

He murmured softly, as if bidding a final farewell:

"...I'm sorry, Alan."

(End of this chapter)