Shadow of the Evil God

"What's the name of a dead person in this place?" he asked.

"Cesar."

"You can call me that from now on." Cesar said indifferently.

"Isn't that too casual?"

Cesar didn't think it was casual. Some time ago, he even considered calling himself an online name. After being stripped of his real name, his online account name became his most self-identifying name. Even if it was just a random sequence of English letters he had typed on the keyboard, it was his own name, not someone else's.

Fortunately, his reason helped him suppress some of his overly absurd thoughts.

He needed a name that matched the human cognition in this world, and the name of a dead person was naturally the easiest.

Not long after, the new Byakugan stood up. He saluted Cesar with a swordsman's grace, then slapped Cesar in a sack and carried him, like a corpse, out of the dark outer reaches of the castle's underground. Along the way, they encountered several castle servants, but faced no questioning.

With the dead White Eyes' memory of the road and courtyard environment, the fake White Eyes carried Cesar around a group of castle guards, through the path in the backyard, and arrived at the secluded

Deep in the quiet garden.

No one questioned why the witch's swordsman was carrying a sack of human remains. Even if the castle's owner had never participated in any cult rituals and was just an ordinary noble, burying corpses in his own garden would not be surprising. Everyone knew that nobles always had some shameful secrets, and even more often those involved human lives.

For servants, appropriate silence can help them live longer.

Who made the Earl trust the witch so much, and why was this sword-wielding guard the witch's confidant?

The process of reaching the secluded place went more smoothly than expected. Although it was Cesar who proposed the risky method, he did not expect that it would actually be carried out in this way.

"Is it really that easy?" Cesar asked, carrying his things.

"That's nothing." Fake White Eyes said in a low, hoarse voice, "If it weren't so easy, the Count wouldn't be in such a hurry to complete the sacrifice."

White Eyes' memories revealed many things, one of which was that the Count actually valued the creatures known in the scriptures as the Faceless Ones. Unlike Cesar's claims, he wouldn't leave them underground for years, waiting until they were remembered. However, since the newly born Faceless Ones had already recognized him as their master, Count Thane's previous concerns were no longer relevant.

Now, he had left the past behind. Although for someone like him, leaving the past behind was easier than turning the pages of a book, his escape from the nobles' castle would not be a rebirth if he could not find a stable place to stay. If he could not think clearly about his future, he would still die of starvation, disease, or be killed by the soldiers who pursued him.

It only takes a few words to say, but it is difficult to do.

Escaping from the nobleman's castle through the garden path was the first step. After escaping from the castle, he still had to cross the high wall that separated Upper Noien and Lower Noien. When he reached the slums of Lower Noien, which were as complex as an ant nest, he still had to cross the towering walls built by Noien to guard against attacks from the grassland people. When he arrived outside the city, he still had to travel a long distance, through the wilderness and villages, until he was out of the jurisdiction of the Noien territory, so as not to be caught by the count's soldiers who were chasing him.

In this way, he barely ensured his life safety and could consider where to settle down.

However, unexpected troubles always arise at various times, so to prevent being caught off guard when unexpected events occur, it is always necessary to make more preparations in advance. The wilderness of my homeland is difficult to travel, and the wilderness of this world is even more difficult. All kinds of supplies must be fully prepared before leaving the city.

As if to verify Cesar's idea, in front of a hillside that could barely be called a shortcut, he saw about ten people weaving through the garden path and walking along the route they were about to meet him.

"These people are the Earl's guests," Baiyan pointed out.

"What guest? Explain clearly." Cesar pried open the hole in the sack and saw a blond young man in fine clothes, several sword-wielding guards, and many servants. The others were crowded together, so he couldn't see clearly.

"They are all members of the tax collector's entourage. The tax collector himself is not here, but the earl's relatives are. Because the earl himself has no descendants, his brothers have been plotting to take over the family fortune. Every year when the king sends a tax collector, his brothers' children are always with him. It's a different one each year, and so far there have been more than ten."

"So fertile," Cesar exclaimed. "Why doesn't the Count himself have children? Do these sacrifices and curses cause a person to lose their fertility?"

"I don't know, but the witch Corini has children, and she has been helping these two... They are coming towards us."

Unlike the Earl's servants, who were overly sensible, these outsiders seemed eager to cause trouble. Even though they recognized Baiyan as one of the witch's sword-wielding guards, they still approached him when they saw the sack that might contain a corpse. Several of the sword-wielding guards made a detour to surround Baiyan, accelerating their approach. The remaining servants gathered together, surrounding the young man in fine clothes and an indistinct figure, smiling and chatting. They clearly believed that a few sword-wielding guards would be enough to bring Baiyan over for questioning.

Cesar observed the men approaching them, noting their skillful movements, as if they were accustomed to forcing people into their master's presence. The leader had an arrogant expression, clearly seeing the glare as an opportunity to prove his ability.

As they stood beside and in front of Baiyan, Cesar noticed that they looked very different from the locals. In the castle of Upper Noyen, even the servants were weathered, muscular, and almost universally taciturn. These men before him looked more like nobles on a spring outing. They had fair skin, intricately patterned pendants around their necks, and bird emblems embroidered on their chests, a bird emblem he had never seen before in his homeland.

The leader said something that Cesar couldn't understand at all, and the other five people gathered on either side of them, observing the white eyes warily, as if they were examining a criminal who urgently needed to be convicted.

"He said he was a swordsman from the royal capital and gave a long surname that he said was his family name. He asked me to hand over the sack to them for inspection in the name of the kingdom's laws." Baiyan told him in a low voice.

The leading swordsman suddenly shouted, looking suspiciously at the burn on Baiyan's arm - a simulated scar, but also completely perfect. The man glared at Baiyan, spat, and shouted something that Cesar couldn't understand.

"He suspected that I was insulting him with vicious curses." Baiyan said again.

The leader sent another question, and this time he rolled his eyes in response, but the other party was even more shocked, and then a series of fierce arguments followed. Even if he couldn't understand the meaning, just by looking at the man's tone and facial expression, Cesar could understand that this group of people were deliberately provoking in order to explain the mission.

They would not give up until they had thoroughly checked the contents of the sack.

Negotiation is impossible, not to mention that they don't speak the same language. Even if they could communicate, they can't expect a stranger of unknown origin to survive the conflict of interests between the nobles.

There are many ways to survive, the premise is that they cannot be discovered by Earl Thane and the witches around him. The former has been immersed in cult sacrifices for many years and his ability is difficult to measure, not to mention the latter.

Now that he had considered all the factors, the next decision was clear. "Drain the leader's blood, and then cooperate with me," Cesar said.

Hearing the sack, believed to be a corpse, actually speak, the leader was stunned for a moment. He reached out to pull at Baiyan's wrist, and the others rushed forward. In the moment he reached out, Baiyan raised his sword, glancing through the man's mail, cleaving him in half from jaw to head. Blood gushed out of his open throat like a fountain, soaking the sack and clothes, and seeping onto Cesar's skin.

Then it seeped in extremely strangely and disappeared.

What did the Faceless One say?

She said: "You will long to open wounds, to hurt others, to reap the pleasure of torture. The more you give, the more you will receive. Your senses and flesh and blood will rise endlessly, ignoring the constraints of the material world, until your blood is finally drained and your spirit is completely destroyed..."

Cesar didn't feel any pleasure, but he was hungry, very hungry. He hadn't eaten in days, and the blood seeping into his skin not only didn't bring him pleasure, but only exacerbated his hunger. The pain in his abdomen became more pronounced, and everything around his eye sockets was rimmed with a blood-red mist.

The dead man's blood seeped into his body through the skin of his face, throat and arms. The pungent smell permeated his sensory nerves, making everything blurry.

He felt himself floating, seeping into other things—everything was contaminated by him. He could contaminate them all if he wanted to! The leader's blood seeped into his body, while his consciousness seeped into the environment outside his body. He felt himself seeping through clothes, sacks, dust, and reaching those living human bodies.

He saw visions of these people, bleeding and screaming, naked and ripped, rolling on the ground like torn wineskins. They sprayed blood like aged wine, emitting a rich aroma. An inexplicable desire seized him, trying to comprehend the need to make the illusion a reality. Those strange sensations swirled in his mind, like pieces of glass piercing his eyes, causing a sharp sting.

The feeling was subjective, but that was precisely the effect of the ritual. The extreme sensory experience that flooded his mind and spirit energized his body, subtly distorting his form and existence, as if a slight tug could transform him from a stable human form into a wriggling blood mist.

An inexplicable desire clawed at his heart like a wild beast, craving, screaming, panting, mad with hunger, wanting to tear apart all the living bodies within his sensory range. He wanted to dissolve with them, turning into a formless blood mist, and then the servants in the castle, and then everyone in the Norn Fortress.

As more and more people died in the massacre, their souls and flesh dissolved together and merged into the mist. This screaming blood mist would expand larger and larger, sweeping across the world like a hurricane.

By then, he would be the formless monster itself.

Was it wonderful? Very wonderful, and that was the sensory illusion the ritual had given him, and at the same time, the reality it promised him. This was its most terrifying aspect, but also its most fascinating.

What does he need to do at this time? He needs to grasp the boundary between reality and imagination, and keep his mind clear while using it. If he fails, he will degenerate mentally and lose his mind as recorded in the scriptures.

Those bizarre and crazy fantasies filled him, driving him to tear open the sack and leap from White Eyes' shoulders like a ghost, rushing towards the guard on his left who had hurriedly drawn his sword. They embraced and wrestled, tumbling into the thicket of branches and leaves. He rammed his forehead into his face, feeling the man's teeth break, his nose caved in, and his head fall limply back. Then he rammed it again, and the face shattered before his forehead, almost turning into a pool of rotten bones.

The other sword-wielding guard was stunned, but instinctively drew his sword and thrust it down, the trajectory precise and deadly, leaving him with almost no time to dodge. The tip of the sword pierced through his clothes and pierced into his right side, embedding itself just below his ribs.

Cesar felt excruciating pain, yet his own blood not only did not seep into his body, but instead gushed out, soaking the sword of the sword-bearing guard. An extreme sensory experience—or rather, his own pain and bloodshed—reinvigorated his body. He felt his limbs become stronger, his movements more agile, and even his vitality more abundant.

This is simply ridiculous, as if as long as he is cruel enough to operate on himself and bleed, he will become stronger.

What would he do if he couldn't resist this temptation? Would he bleed himself to death, willingly and unaware of it?

Without a second thought, he grabbed the dead man's sword and slashed upwards, colliding with the other's blade - once, twice, three times, without any skill, just incredible brute force. He didn't even stand up, let alone use the usual human force techniques. The other party lost his balance and tried to retreat, but the leader's sword had already smashed him.

The blade of the sword pierced through the man's mail and pierced his heart.

The tip of the sword seemed to be sucked to the heart.

Cesar took a breath and turned to look at the Faceless One, who was standing not far away.

Three lifeless bodies lay at her feet, their eyes still wide open, their throats lacerated with massive wounds, as if they had been slit open in an instant.

"Use the trees as cover and charge towards the gap," he said.

Suddenly, Cesar heard a whisper, and a series of sharp gray broken lines cut through the air, brushed past the branches, and pierced their bodies. The plants within the contact range were drying up and dying at a speed visible to the naked eye.

What is it? Witchcraft?

The Faceless One grabbed him and threw him backward, tumbling through a large patch of bushes until he crashed into the back of an ancient tree. Cesar felt the stones hitting his bones and the branches rubbing against his wounds, and he almost cried out in pain.

"How could there be someone who knows witchcraft among those people?" He lay on the ground and looked out. "Is there any other escape route?"

"No, there's no need." Fake White Eyes asserted, "That's just a witch's child. An apprentice and assistant. I guess it's the Earl's nephew who is seducing women." At this point, White Eyes' face squirmed, and cracks appeared on it.

"You mean the threat isn't that big? We can handle it between the two of us?"

"She lacks the ability to protect herself. As long as I can get close, I can quickly take care of her."

Cesar looked around - the castle garden was a complex environment, with roads and paths crisscrossing, towering trees and shrubs everywhere, dividing the place into many fragmented small pieces.

"Okay then," he lowered his voice, "You approach the group from the left, and I'll approach from the right. The one targeted by the hex will deal with the apprentice, and the other will deal with her protector."

"But your injuries are already very serious."

"It's not fatal. Let's escape first. There must be a clinic outside."

Chapter 5 Death Fight

Lush bushes and towering ancient trees crisscrossed the area, dividing it into many narrow paths. Even during the day, the area was covered with shadows, obstructing people's sight and dispersing the sounds of their movements. Cesar didn't understand wizards and didn't know which environment was more advantageous to him, but it was better than charging in the open.

He grabbed his sword and rushed into the bushes in the morning mist. As he hid his body, he felt the crackling of small branches breaking under his feet.

After running a few steps, he heard dark whispers among the swaying branches, sounds that should not be made by humans, like snakes spitting out their tongues in the forest. Dim light spread through the morning mist, like sunlight filtering into the bottom of a lake, looking eerie and inexplicable.

Suddenly, a sharp hissing sound exploded, and the air creaked as if it was rubbed. Cesar heard the trees being penetrated, saw the wood fragments explode, and the withered and gray branches and leaves flew everywhere, forming a twisted vortex. But he found that the witchcraft was not falling where he was, so he breathed a sigh of relief and continued to walk quickly.

Most of the tax collector's servants were in a panic. Some ran away, some huddled together behind the ancient trees, but some formed a formation to protect the young wizard and kept her behind them.

As Cesar emerged from the bushes, a crossbow bolt came hurtling towards him with a sharp whistling sound. However, to him, who had lost too much blood, the bolt seemed slow, like a mouse swimming slowly through sticky butter, cutting through the pervasive fog with great difficulty.

He raised his hand, grabbed the arrow, and could almost feel the slight tremor of the taut bowstring as it shot out.

The arrowhead was made of steel, its edge extremely sharp, and it inevitably sliced ​​through his palm. Cesar shuddered at the intense pain, and his newly reassured state of mind dissipated. No matter how much his strength increased, or how keen his perceptions became, he was still a human being, as fragile as paper.

The idea of ​​completely transforming himself suddenly expanded and brewed in his heart like a storm.

No, that's not right, there's no need for that.

Cesar forced himself to control his thoughts. He was not a hungry beast that could not rush over and bite the meat in front of him.

He steadily parried more powerful arrows. His wrist gradually went numb, making it difficult to grip the sword, but soon, through the blood loss, he regained an inexplicable strength. He flung the arrow in his left hand, feeling something inexplicable filling his arm. He looked again and saw that the force of the throw had penetrated the crossbowman's face, causing his cheek to cave in on the impact, and blood and bone splattered from the back of his shattered skull.

Cesar felt a few people looking at him with horror, not because of what he had done, but because of what he looked like.

Those people knew him, he thought, or rather, they knew the strange attitude he was now showing.

This is perhaps not surprising; the Count wasn't the only one to offer sacrifices to the alien god Analik, nor was Cesar the only one to perform the ritual. This suggests that there must have been individuals like him who had spread terror throughout the world and were subsequently eliminated. Later texts would describe these individuals in meticulous detail, striving to track down, verify, and eliminate any suspicious individuals with similar characteristics.

If his guess was correct, then even if he escaped from the Earl's castle, it would be difficult for him to find peace outside Noien's territory.

But okay

As long as he hadn't reached a dead end, everything was fine. He had been accustomed to a precarious life in his previous life, and it was nothing more than a repeat of the situation in a different place.

Seeing the Faceless Man fighting with the faceless wizard on the other side, Cesar stepped forward quickly, split one of the blockers in his way, cut off half of his head and threw it into the air.

.

After the blade passed, the man was left with only an empty mouth with half a bloody tongue bouncing around, like a leech in a red wine glass. Blood splattered on Cesar's body, quickly coagulating into dark spots, then fading in color and disappearing without a trace.

Someone noticed his abnormality, their faces filled with horror, and turned to flee, but he was powerless to stop them; he had neither the will nor the ability. His priority now was to resolve all his problems as quickly as possible, then find a clinic to save his life before he bled to death. He continued to advance quickly. Just as he was about to attack the young noble in the finery, someone suddenly appeared from thin air and stood before him.

Cesar didn't observe the other person carefully, and subconsciously prepared to strike with his sword. At this moment, the Faceless One suddenly screamed in surprise, and let out more than just a rolling of eyes—it was like a cry of surprise from many men, women, and children. He realized it was a warning and immediately took two steps back, sizing up the unknown being before him.

This man emerged from behind the ancient tree, his massive figure dwarfing everyone present except Cesar. His skin was rough and yellow, his shoulders and back broad, and his waist relatively slender, but only for him. His long, tangled black hair, nearly frozen to ice, fell to his waist, tied in a knot at the end, fluttering in the wind like a chain of wild beast's fangs.

He was wearing an ordinary brown leather coat, worn, simple, and stained, much like those of a rough-hewn hunter in the countryside. However, through his bare arms, Cesar could feel his taut muscles wriggling in the swirling morning mist. Many of his muscles were connected in ways that were definitely not normal for humans.

The unknown figure took a step forward, keeping a distance from Cesar. His dark eyes, wide and unblinking, stared at him. He shielded the young nobleman, who was glaring at Cesar, from behind him, carefully examined the bodies scattered on either side of Cesar, and then grinned at him.

"That's the steppe sword dancer!"

The fake eye roll came over, but Cesar said nothing, just observing the other party vigilantly. The wizard over there also fell silent, as if he felt that something was wrong.

Cesar naturally didn't understand the meaning of the sword dancer, but the fact that the grassland people appeared in the center of a fortress built to defend against the grassland people, and to protect a noble young man who was a generational enemy, the meaning of this matter was very subtle.

Based on the wizard's reaction, he had already imagined a traitor's plan to take down the Noyen Fortress with internal and external cooperation. The initiator of the conspiracy was the young nobleman who came with the tax collector, and was also the nephew of Earl Thane.

Thinking about it this way, Noien is a really bizarre place. The lord of the fortress is a cult leader who has filled the castle base with evil monsters. His brother, who has family differences with him, has joined forces with the kingdom's foreign enemies and wants to invite the wolf into the house.

This frontier fortress was likely beyond saving, either destroyed by the city lord's cultic rituals or by a siege waged by the grassland people. As for Cesar, he had neither the ability nor the obligation to save this place from disaster.

"na'v kouk! e'jiu!"

The sword dancer spoke something in an incomprehensible language, his voice powerful and forceful, like a challenge, a challenge to a duel. Then, he approached Cesar with his unarmed arms outstretched, a smile as if offering a friend an embrace. He approached, each step larger than Cesar's retreating strides.

Cesar had no idea what the man was saying, he only knew that he was losing more blood and that he had to fight quickly or his life would be in danger.

He slashed with his sword, a broad arc of radiant light, again without skill, relying solely on inexplicable brute force. But the steppe man raised his right hand and grasped the blade between his thumb and index finger. Then, with a twist of his wrist, he took the sword into his own hand.

Cesar couldn't understand how the other man did it - the way his arm muscles twisted would tear the ligaments of a normal human being.

The sword dancer spun his sword in a perfect arc, and with the momentum of the rotation, he threw it back, towards Cesar. The two servants were tumbling out of the garden, trying to inform the tax collector or Count Thane, when they were struck in the back by the sword.

Seeing that the grassland people also wanted to silence him, Cesar's guess became more certain.

The throw sent the blade spinning like a top behind one of the men, slicing a gaping wound from the back of his head to his lower back. Then, carrying the mangled body, it pierced the man before it, like two pieces of meat on a skewer. The two men, intent on running to report the news, collided violently, their limbs tangled and falling into the bushes with a loud crash.

The sword dancer smiled cruelly and rushed towards Cesar. He only had time to stretch out his arm and grab the other's wrist, and then he and the man who had thrown away his weapon grappled with each other like two wrestlers. Seeing that he was cooperating, the other's mouth widened, and he looked extremely excited.

Cesar could see that the grassland people wanted to try their hand at the evil things recorded in the literature, and showing their bravery in a fight to the death like this might be very glorious in their eyes.

Fortunately, although he had never practiced swordplay, why would he practice swordplay when he could use guns? But he had played fighting. Even if he had no accomplishments, at least he was not bad.