As an NPC, having a lot of skills is quite reasonable, right?

The transformation project of the Blackwater Rift Valley is in full swing.

Moen temporarily handed over the daily management of the camp to Lily. Although the little girl didn't talk much, her heterochromatic eyes only needed to sweep over her coldly, and even the most unruly players would obediently go to work.

Meanwhile, in the abandoned camp, a player with the ID "Only by Deleting the Database Can You Escape" was directing a group of people to work enthusiastically.

"Dig the foundation two meters deeper! Reinforce the load-bearing walls with ironwood!"

"Hey you, don't build a septic tank upwind of the cafeteria! Don't you know anything about civil engineering?!"

According to Da Boluo's casual conversation, the person who deleted the database is actually a senior operations engineer at a major internet company, a part-time post-apocalyptic survival enthusiast, and has an almost obsessive love for fortress construction.

Moen once pretended to pass by and glanced at his blueprints. He had transformed the originally rudimentary camp into a war fortress that combined air defense, blast protection, and even underground shelters.

It's a perfect match for my major!

Moen confidently handed the camp over to the players to manage; what was needed now was an instructor specifically for Ember.

A light rain was falling, making the muddy roads of the slums even more difficult to traverse. When Moen waded through the puddles to a dilapidated wooden hut, the rain showed no signs of letting up.

The man living here is a middle-aged man named Hansen.

He was once an elite training officer in the Tribunal branch, and during a beast tide, he had his right arm bitten off by a gray wolf while covering the evacuation of civilians.

Once a person becomes disabled, their position as training officer is naturally lost, and their pension after being forced into retirement is further embezzled at each level, leaving them with only a few dozen copper coins per month as a stipend.

"Is he/she not here?"

Moen looked at the locked door and a bunch of white flowers hanging from the eaves.

That was a sign that a family member had passed away. Moen inquired around and found out that Hansen's mother, the old woman who had always been his only family member, had passed away yesterday.

The rain was getting heavier and heavier. At the entrance of the cemetery, Hansen was soaked to the bone, supporting himself with one hand on a heavy ironwood coffin.

Because of the house, the bedding where the mother slept was always damp and not warm at night. However, she never complained about Hansen. She often said, "My son is a hero who saved people."

So Hansen spent all his savings to have the best carpenter make a waterproof coffin so that his mother would no longer suffer from dampness underground.

However, at this moment, he was stopped at the gate.

"Fifty silver coins." The cemetery caretaker, with a face full of scars, was picking his teeth and stood impatiently in the middle of the road.

"But I've already paid ten silver coins," Hansen said in a hoarse, pleading voice. "This funeral fee is set by the church."

"That was yesterday's price!"

The administrator glanced at the coffin, a greedy glint in his eyes: "Your mother's coffin carries too much resentment! If you bury it there, it will interfere with the purification rune array set up by the [Gravekeeper] of the Soul-Soothing Hall! These fifty silver coins are for reinforcing the rune array!"

As he spoke, the administrator took out a cheap alchemical disc from his pocket, which had its sensitivity adjusted, and pointed to the red indicator on it.

There was no murderous aura at all; he was simply blinded by gambling losses at the tavern last night and desperately needed money to recoup his losses. This honest, crippled man in front of him was a perfect target.

"I don't have that much money."

Hansen used all his money to buy a coffin. He lowered his head, and the water droplets that kept sliding down his cheeks were indistinguishable as rain or tears.

He trembled as he took a sword from his waist.

It was a standard-issue steel longsword. Although the scabbard was worn, the hilt was still shiny. It was the only thing he kept when he retired.

"This sword is made of fine steel and is worth at least a hundred silver coins. I'll give it to you as payment, please let my mother be buried." Hansen bent his back, which had never bowed to an enemy before, and handed over the sword with both hands.

"Snapped!"

The administrator casually waved his hand, knocking the sword directly into the muddy water.

"Don't try to fool me with this junk! I want money! Clanging gold and silver coins!"

He stomped on the sword and ground it hard: "If you don't have money, drag the coffin back! Don't dirty the church grounds!"

Hansen stared blankly at the sword that was being trampled under his feet. It was the glory of his life, but now it was worthless.

Not far away, Moen, behind a tree, witnessed the whole thing.

"It's... absolutely rotten."

Moen's eyes were cold as he opened the system panel.

[Issue an urgent quest, "Why Must Glory Sleep?", to Ember faction players within the affected area.]

[Objective: Head to the western suburban cemetery to assist Instructor Hansen, who is about to join the Embers]

[Rewards: Reputation +50, Experience +200, Fate Dust x3]

Big Pineapple, who had originally come to the city to buy materials, was now hidden among the onlookers. He had been hesitant because of his church affiliation, but the mission gave him confidence.

"Dare to bully our assigned instructor?! Brothers! We've got a job to do!!"

He shouted in the Nohanville chat channel of the forum, and within minutes, dozens of players who were working nearby put down what they were doing, picked up pickaxes, axes, and wooden clubs, and stormed towards the cemetery.

"stop!!!"

With a loud shout, Big Pineapple took the lead, followed by dozens of Divine Graces.

The administrator was startled by the commotion: "Who...who are you? Are you planning a rebellion?"

Big Pineapple pulled out a found copy of the "Law of Judgment" from his pocket and flipped through it noisily: "According to Article 12 of Chapter 3 of the Law: Extorting church staff (including retired or deceased staff) is considered blasphemy and is punishable by fifty lashes and a fine of ten times the amount!"

Big Pineapple shoved the book into the administrator's face, spitting everywhere: "How much did you just say? Fifty silver coins? Fine! According to the law, you have to pay Uncle Hansen five hundred silver coins! Give it to me!"

The administrator was bewildered: "This...this is the old law."

"Old laws are still laws! What? You want to represent the God of Judgment and change the law? Are you greater than God?" A huge accusation was slapped on him.

Seeing that he couldn't win the argument, the administrator was about to run away when a player suddenly shouted:

"Brothers! The administrator says the old lady is harboring resentment! Come on! Let's all pray for her and dispel this resentment!"

Dozens of players instantly surrounded the coffin and the administrator.

They held torches, iron swords, and even mud-covered pickaxes.

Then, at a command, dozens of people knelt down in unison, hands clasped together:

May the holy light deceive you! Rest in peace, old lady!

"Namo Amitabha... no, may judgment protect us!"

Hallelujah! Have a safe trip!

The cheap alchemical disc worn by the administrator, used to detect magical fluctuations, started jumping wildly due to the sudden outbreak of dozens of emotional fluctuations around him.

"Crack!" The watch face exploded.

"It's green! It's green!" the player shouted.

"The old lady's resentment has dissipated!"

The administrator turned pale with fright at the group of lunatics and turned to run away.

"Hey? Sir, don't go!" Dozens of players surged forward like a wall, and no matter how the administrator tried to push them, they couldn't budge them.

Big Pineapple pressed his face against his, grinning like a devil: "Sir, look at your dark complexion, you must be possessed by resentment. Don't move, dozens of our brothers will help you purify yourself!"

As they spoke, dozens of unwashed hands began groping the administrator.

The administrator was completely devastated. He felt that if he didn't give in soon, these lunatics would devour him alive, and if they attracted the attention of real patrol knights, he would be unable to cover up his extortion.

Bury it! Bury it now!

The administrator slumped to the ground, tears and snot streaming down his face: "Free burial! Please, please stop touching it!"

……

The rain stopped, and Hansen's mother was finally laid to rest.

The players did not disperse, but spontaneously stood in front of the tombstone.

Instead of flowers, some players somehow managed to get a bunch of paper money, and someone roasted some wolf meat and placed it in front of the tombstone.

The firelight flickered, and the strangers put away their playful smiles, bowing deeply to the tombstone, not for anything else, but for Uncle Hansen's bow and his sword soaking in the mud.

A patrolling knight passed by in the distance and saw the group of Godsbane burning things and distributing roasted meat around the cemetery. Although he found their behavior strange, he didn't pay much attention since it didn't cause any serious harm.

As the crowd dispersed, Hansen picked up the mud-covered sword, sat down, and used his remaining right arm to support the tip of the sword while repeatedly wiping the mud off the blade with his left hand.

Hansen, who never sheds a tear even when bleeding, now had red eyes.

Moen emerged from behind the tree and handed Hansen a clean handkerchief: "Instructor Hansen, I have a job here."

Moen pointed to the departing figures of the group of players who were fooling around in the distance: "As you can see, these people may have some mental issues, but they have warm hearts."

"I need someone to teach them how to wield a sword and how to survive in this world."

"Room and board are provided, and the salary is ten times your pension. The only thing to watch out for is not to train them to death."

At this point, Moen thought for a moment and added with a smile, "Although they aren't afraid of death either."

Hansen watched the players' backs as they walked away, then looked at the polished sword in his hand.

He remained silent for a long time, then hung his sword back at his waist, gave Moen a standard military salute, and a long-lost smile appeared on his face: "As long as there's wine to drink, I'll take these bastards."