Ark Undead

"Ah, it's you, Lord Ash."

Gale extended her hand to the arriving hero.

"Give me...dark soul...ah...blood..."

The Undead silently took down the greatsword hanging on its back.

Gale roared as he hurled the dwarf king's corpse at the undead.

He was going to deliver paint to the young lady, and this paint was inside his own body.

He promised to deliver the paint to the young lady during the battle; the paint was inside his comrade's body.

At the end of time, there is no longer a duel between kings, only two immortals fighting for a promise.

The greatsword pierced through the body, which was stretched by the dark soul, for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

The knight, driven mad by the dark soul, regained some semblance of clarity in the final moments of his life.

Blood stained his gray beard. Gail lowered his head and scooped up the blood that had dripped from his body.

"Ashes, my lord... it's blood..."

He once again held up the object in his hands and presented it to the immortal, speaking softly to him in a hoarse voice and with a parched throat.

It was as if, at the place where the two met, the elderly Gale held up the fragments of the painting in her hands, pleading with the undead to touch them.

Humble, yet full of hope.

"This is...blood."

The Undead exerted its strength, piercing the slave knight's body once more with its blade.

The blood, thick like tar, slowly seeped from the wound that pierced through the armor and the body.

"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...

Thick blood sprayed out.

The slave knight, who had fought his entire life, gave his life for his last master.

But he left with a smile.

Looking at the blood flowing from his own body in his hand, he felt as if he had found a treasure.

-

Awakening from his memories, the Undead opened his eyes.

The reason he remembered those things was because of the familiar feeling brought by that dark blue light.

It was that half-dragon girl, and the unique, icy aura that belonged to Aerydel.

However, this painting should perhaps be renamed.

"..."

Now, swept up by the wind and snow, the undead have lifted the veil veiled by magic and come to the back of the sacred mountain, hidden on its surface.

He returned to the foot of the sacred mountain.

But the foot of the sacred mountain is now completely different from what it used to be.

Dilapidated houses, fences everywhere.

What's puzzling is that such a huge village has no one living in it.

The Undead looked toward the entrance to the road to the Holy Mountain and saw people kneeling there.

His pupils contracted slightly as he saw a familiar figure.

It was those crows who, in Ariandel's paintings, pleaded with him to set fire to the scrolls, burn them, and rebuild their homes.

They knelt at the foot of the sacred mountain, stretching upwards along the mountain path, yet they had lost the breath of life.

The immortals walked towards the mountain path.

He wanted to go up and see what they were worshipping.

As you walk up the mountain path, the Undead will see more Crowman corpses.

There were also some human corpses mixed in, but they were all lying prostrate on the ground, moving forward along the mountain path.

A fierce snowstorm raged, and snowflakes pelted the Undead, piling up a small layer of snow on his shoulders.

The grey-white knight continued his journey, ascending the mountain path.

These familiar steps and familiar locations all signify that this is the sacred mountain of Kalan.

Just a day earlier, the Undead had witnessed Enya walking up these steps to the top of the mountain.

The closer you get to the top of the mountain, the more corpses you'll see.

Undead can occasionally be seen holding small knives on corpses.

In this little world, there is no sunrise or sunset.

The candles will be blown out by the strong wind, and the lights will be covered by the snow.

Only the endless starlight accompanied the bodies of these martyrs.

This is a place where time stands still.

The immortals ascended the mountain until they reached the last set of steps and arrived at the summit.

Here, the gale-force winds tear at people's bodies like cold, curved blades.

And atop this mountain stands a church.

Just like the church in that painting by Aureidl.

The Undead reached out and grasped the greatsword on his back. He went to the door and pushed it open.

Squeak...

With a sickening sound, candlelight flickered through the crack in the open door, allowing the undead to glimpse the scene inside the hall.

It was a pile of corpses in the corner, and blood scattered all over the ground.

In the center of the hall, a trembling figure placed his arm on the royal artifact that was originally used to contain the flames.

Blood fell into it, trying to suppress something that wanted to burst forth.

Hearing the door open, the person let out a sharp, weak voice.

"So...there are still people alive?"

He chuckled softly for a moment, the sound sending chills down your spine.

"Well... after me, it's your turn."

The undead entered the hall, and his footsteps caught the attention of the crow people.

The footsteps were so steady, and there was a sound of metal clashing.

So he turned around and looked at the undead behind him.

"Outsiders?"

The crow-man sighed and then couldn't help coughing twice.

"Leave this place quickly! This is no longer a haven for the lost...cough cough cough! You're too late...no..."

But before he could finish speaking, he noticed something different about the person standing in front of him.

It was a scorching heat, the smell of fire.

"Are you... Ashes?"

The weakened crow-man turned around cautiously, but he still placed his hand on the royal weapon.

With his cloudy eyes, he tried to make out the appearance of the immortal.

The immortals responded to him.

"Hmm...where is this?"

"Haha... Ee ha ha ha... Ha... Waaaaah..."

A sharp laugh rang out, then turned into a mournful sob a moment later.

After a bout of weeping, the crow-man still answered the undead's question.

"This is... the world of Ashes' paintings. It is an ancient world of paintings left behind by the Ashes, whose flames have been extinguished."

The immortal nodded slightly.

That's it.

The crow-man continued.

"But... something has its eye on the young lady."

He raised his dim eyes, his withered body bleeding as blood flowed into the royal artifact, and spoke.

"If you have time, please listen to my story..."

"Please, grant my request."

...

The ashes brought with them the blood of dark souls mixed with various pigments.

The half-dragon girl raised her paintbrush and applied color to the canvas sewn by the gods.

It was a very cold, dark, yet soft painting.

It became a hiding place for many people.

After the generation ended, the people of the Fire Age who found their way here remained.