Ark Undead

Squeak...

The wooden door opened on its own when no one was around, and light shone out of the room, rushing towards the bell in front of Enya!

Ding!

The crisp sound of bells rang out, ringing in Enya's ears and making her head spin.

The sound Enya made when she shook it earlier was like the buzzing of a mosquito before this loud bang.

The bell cleared away the ice crystals around the house and sang its way down the mountain path, heading towards the snowy landscape.

It is to announce that someone has completed the trial of sainthood, and a new sainthood has been born.

Enya's vision blurred, and she felt as if all her strength had been drained.

She leaned backward, about to fall to the ground!

A hand reached out and caught Enya, preventing her from hitting her head on the ground in a tragic way.

The gray-white gauntlet took out a syringe, removed the protective cap from the tip of the syringe, and inserted the thin needle into Enya's shoulder.

As the injection was administered, Enya's pale face gradually regained its color, and her breathing slowly became steady.

It must have worked.

After the injection was finished, the person pulled out the syringe and threw it on the ground next to them.

"Carry her and take her to the side, under the tree, to lie down for a while."

The immortal handed Enya to Skadi behind him, and Skadi carefully took Enya.

The Undead stood up from where he was, looking at the building in front of him and the bells on the wooden frame.

Seemingly sensing the gaze of the undead, the bell trembled slightly, just like a person, as if it were excitedly witnessing something.

The immortal remained silent. He approached the bell and reached out his hand.

jingle--

The bells chimed softly, emitting joyful sounds when touched by the undead.

Then, a faint blue light appeared.

The light stirred up the surrounding clouds and whipped up a fierce wind.

Then, boundless snow and wind rose with the gale, sweeping across the entire Shenju.

Skadi was putting Enya down when she turned around and saw the blizzard sweeping in.

But the snowstorm didn't come because of her.

She witnessed the wind and snow sweep towards the Undead, completely obscuring his figure.

The gale and snowflakes swirled around the undead, obscuring his vision and preventing him from seeing anything but the snowflakes.

At that moment, he felt as if he were being carried by something, soaring into the air and heading to another place.

And it was amidst this swirling snowstorm that the undead vaguely heard a voice.

That soft murmur is the sigh of the lonely one who has been lost, and also the joy of the one who has been waiting.

"Ah...it's you."

"Lord Ashes."

84. Please, light the flame, eleven thousand!

(Suggested background music for this chapter: SlaveKnightGael, the theme for the Gael boss fight in the Ringed City from Dark Souls 3 DLC)

"This is...blood..."

His gray beard still bore traces of blood from devouring flesh, and his withered face was almost unrecognizable.

An aged and numb voice rang in the nameless hero's ears, and he remained silent, unsure how to respond.

After a moment of trembling, the greatsword gripped tightly in his hand was thrust forward again, plunging deep into the chest of the aged knight.

The crimson blood, gleaming with a blackish light, dripped down, corroding the once-shining greatsword, as if emitting a mournful wail.

The immortal took a deep breath.

"Yes, I saw it."

"Take it to... Miss..."

The knight wearing a scarlet turban had lost his reason; he was simply repeating his last thoughts and words before he lost his mind.

"Have...Miss, draw..."

laugh.

The undead drew his greatsword and caught the elderly knight who was falling helplessly to the ground.

He gently put his arm around the old knight's shoulder and slowly laid him down on the ground, where they lay down in the boundless sea of ​​sand, gazing at the now deep sky.

"Ah...it's blood..."

Ding-dong.

The greatsword he had been holding tightly fell to the ground as his body grew cold.

The greatsword, originally intended for execution, had part of its blade broken off after endless battles.

The sword was pitted and covered in blood-red rust and darkness.

The undead knelt gently beside him, scooping up the nearly congealed blood with his gauntlet.

That is the depth itself, no longer simply blood, but a vessel for dark souls.

It's hard to imagine that such a massive number of dark souls could exist within a single person.

However, this is merely the paint for wishes, and the fuel for hope.

Where should the story begin?

When the Undead awoke again, he encountered the aged knight in a church during his search for the Lord of Cinder.

At that time, he was praying to the goddess of sin.

No one knows how long he waited here, or how long he prayed here.

His attention was drawn to a pair of large hands that pushed open the door of the small purification chapel.

Upon seeing the silent knight, he smelled a familiar scent.

That was the person he was yearning for, the person he was searching for, and the other ashes in the prophecy that would ignite the fire.

He said his name was Gale and he was looking for ashes.

"Ah, you smell of ashes. You are ashes, aren't you?"

The elderly knight wore tattered armor and a red turban that could be described as worn out.

His somewhat obsequious tone made the Undead frown slightly.

The knight seemed to have never done such pleading and flattery before; it was despicable and somewhat vulgar.

Nevertheless, there was nothing to hide about his identity as Ash.

After all, if it weren't for the Ashes, which knight would come here to search for the Lord of Cinder who escaped the throne?

"Yes."

The Undead nodded slightly, reached out and lit the campfire, then sat down beside it to rest for a while.

"Hehe, it's you, another Ashes."

In a slightly neurotic tone, he quietly pulled a corner of a painting from his pocket.

"This is a piece of Ariandel. Come, touch it, touch it."

The aged knight held the scroll close to the undead, pleading and speaking in a frenzied tone.

The Undead took a slight step back, looking at the elderly knight before him, not understanding why he would do such a thing.

"Who are you? Why do you want me to touch this?"

The undead did not heed the knight's words to touch it, but instead asked a question.

Upon hearing the undead's response, the aged knight immediately prostrated himself on the ground in grief, cradling a corner of the scroll in his hands and raising it high above his head.

"Please, touch the scroll, let the flames ignite in Aerydel! Let the young lady see the flames!"

After saying this, he raised his head again, looked at the undead with his long-dried eyes, and spoke in a seductive tone.

Do you want to know about the sealed land of the dwarves? Do you want to know the truth of history?

"Come on, touch it, and I'll let you... hehehe... I'll let you see it."

The hunched knight then lifted the scroll and brought it close to the Undead.

The undead stared at the aged knight before him, and without a word, he made his choice.

Ereder's world of painting.

This was supposed to be the final destination for the homeless, and the last choice for all those who have reached the end of their rope.

Hidden within the painting is another world, a cold world devoid of flame.

However, with the erosion of time, the scroll that served as the vessel for the world gradually decayed.

Within this painting, outsiders are unwilling to leave that cold, buried place.

The pain of being burned by the flames made it impossible for her to accept her predetermined fate when facing fire.

He was supposed to be the one to usurp the flame, but instead, he abandoned everything that belonged to him and hid in the last home of the homeless.

Snowflakes and the cold wind soothed the burns on her face, but also locked her heart away.

It originates from a prophecy that existed when the painting was created.

"When ashes are in pairs, fire will ignite."

The nuns from Rondor forbade the painter to pick up a paintbrush and were always careful to prevent any other ashes from entering the painting.

But it was ultimately an inescapable fate.