A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

"What is this?" Mira murmured softly, her eyes lowered.

"I don't know." Bray wasn't sure either, so he simply said that.

"Thank you for telling me the story." Mira let go of my hand and tilted her head back.

"Thanks for the corny joke too."

"This light is the most dazzling I've ever seen." Mira stared in a daze at the swirling, rising light.

"You should go now."

"Indeed, it's almost time."

In fact, Bray can now roughly estimate how long he can stay in the "Wandering Tomb"—he could actually stay a little longer.

But it seems unnecessary.

Bray and Mira cannot promise never to separate again, nor can they guarantee they will meet again.

"Goodbye." Mira waved to the adventurer who turned and left without hesitation.

Her meeting with Bray was like a minor episode in his long adventure, almost negligible.

But she really enjoyed these little episodes.

She is like a small rest stop, where weary people can sit down, rest properly, and tell their stories.

Bray can rest at home or tell everyone around him everything.

But that is not the same as the "Wandering Tomb"; they are completely different in nature.

It's like the feeling of confiding your troubles to your family is different from the feeling of confiding your troubles to a bartender you met at a bar.

The bartender will listen to the story, and will continue to calmly wipe his glass, or pour a drink for someone who is feeling down.

Mira watched Bray's figure recede into the distance until he completely disappeared into the overlapping shadows of the undead.

I met Bray, got to know Bray, guided Bray, and now I know that Bray has started a family and has children.

Everything felt incredibly strange; I had never felt this way before becoming a gravedigger.

“They haven’t let me get any more tattoos since then.” Mira smiled and walked slowly to the towering ancient tree.

She gently stroked the rough bark of the ancient tree.

Mira's fingers slid down along the texture of the bark until they finally touched a crack.

This tree has never had any cracks.

"An era of rampant silver seeds?" Mira murmured.

"As expected, this kind of thing can't be reversed by one person alone," she remarked.

No matter how strong Bray becomes now, he can't change the overall trend.

Even knowing the truth, Mira was still willing to silently bless this adventurer who had once been guided by her own brother.

"Keep up the good work, and I hope to see you again next time."

She didn't want this adventurer, with whom she shared a destiny, to also wander in this graveyard. "This blood is really thick." Betty stretched his shoulders; his overcoat was stained with blood.

This blood was the blood of his kind.

If you're familiar with Betley, you might immediately think that the owners of this blood must all be cultists.

Regardless, those cult members are living, breathing human beings.

Butcher, serial killer—these words perfectly describe this guy.

They have completely different philosophies from Bray, who adheres to the principle of not easily slaughtering.

If he is wrong, he probably won't deny it.

But it's equally impossible to prevent him from doing so.

What is a cultist? Beattie has his own judgment, but if you disagree with his, he can immediately pull out a book that clearly defines a cult.

"It stinks horribly, beyond redemption." Betley looked at the blood on his body with disgust.

He was surrounded by walls stained with blood, and on those walls were neatly arranged reliefs of deities.

The reliefs were so sacred, each one radiating a warm and comforting smile.

After glancing at the reliefs, Beatley casually smashed them with a punch.

"Disgusting and hypocritical reliefs."

"Isn't your world of the Black Iron race already collapsing? You're still slaughtering your own kind like this. Aren't you afraid of the Black Iron race becoming extinct?" Afrena said coldly from behind Betley.

Normally, He would wear nice clothes, but only when Betley stormed into the cult's stronghold would He wear a simple robe.

Because He knew that there would be blood everywhere at that time, and He Himself would also be stained with some of it.

What a speechless madman, a ruthless avenger in his naiveté.

However, it was precisely because Betley was so crazy that he seemed exceptionally pure, and Aphrena felt quite at ease around him.

“You don’t care if these things are my kind.” Betley suddenly laughed, grabbed one of the people pretending to be dead on the ground, and casually threw him toward the relief sculpture.

"These guys, when the Black Iron race is in real crisis, all they do is 'eat people'."

“Who knows, in the end, the ones who kill the most Black Iron races won’t be those Silver races flying all over the sky, but them.” Betley didn’t think he had done anything wrong by killing these people.

It would be incredibly naive to think that cult members still possess some humanity.

So naive that you could lose your life in a heartbeat.

"Ezos, the Daughter of Dawn, has countless beautiful names, including the White-winged Goddess, the Golden-Crowned Goddess, and the King of the Chariots."

"The doctrines written by His followers advocate sacrifice to create a beautiful world for other believers, and advocate 'rebirth' as ​​guardians to spread the gospel of God."

“However, it’s ridiculous that the guardian deity is something like this.” After saying that, Betley suddenly turned around and slammed his right arm, covered in black dragon scales, directly into the white figure behind him.

It was a moving suit of armor.

The exquisite armor was more magnificent than any nobleman's adornment, and it also had magically powered wings at the back.

The entire image is modeled after an angel.

However, these things are not magical artifacts, nor are they ordinary puppets.

Each piece of active armor is assembled by several people.

"Get out of here!" Betley roared ferociously, and with a forceful pull, the entire suit of armor shattered instantly.

A liquid that looked like blood but was too sticky splattered out.

And deformed organs.

The gods worshipped by this cult may be beautifully described, but only they themselves know how heinous the actions of these cult members truly are.

The so-called reincarnation is like this: a living person is squeezed into this armor using divine magic.

So that's how it is. No wonder it was a sacrifice.

But they were also afraid of death, and later they even used people who were not believers to make these guardians.

They would label those people as "heretics" and then arrest them.

There were many elderly people and children among them.

"What do you think? They're imitating you angels creating monsters." Betley smiled at Afrena, as if the grotesque expression he had just made was an illusion.

“I don’t think these things resemble us in any way.” Afrena turned her head away; she would never admit that these active armors had any similarity to her.

Wings? If that counts, then what about the bird?

Avrena would rather say that the birds are related to her than that these fleshy growths covered in beautiful armor are related to her.

"I don't think so either."

“At least you’re not so aloof and arrogant as to have lost people’s hearts,” Beatrix shrugged.

"Are you talking bad about me?" Afrena frowned, a hint of displeasure appearing on her beautiful face.

"I was just praising you, don't misunderstand," Bette said, twirling his pocket watch on his finger and chuckling.

He stopped the pocket watch from swinging around, and with a flick of his wrist, opened the lid and glanced at the treasured photograph hidden inside the cracked mirror.

"However, you're right, the world of the Black Iron race is truly in ruins. It won't do if too many Black Iron race members die."

“Numbers are the foundation for the survival of the Black Iron race,” Betley murmured.

"So you're still committing massacres?"

“No, no, no, these don’t count as people.” Betley laughed heartily, completely oblivious to the problem with what he was saying.

Human nature is inherently evil, and cults are places where this evil is amplified infinitely.

Once human malice is amplified, is it possible to return to normal? Betley didn't believe that was possible.

Some people may think he is too extreme, but he doesn't care.

If a ghost seeking revenge against all cults cared about these things, he wouldn't be a terrifying figure.

"What are you going to do next?" Afrena asked.

"Are you still going to kill people? This time you've killed hundreds of people. This cult has truly been wiped off the face of the earth."

"To be honest, is it possible that one day you will wipe out all the cults in the world?"

“That’s impossible.” Betley answered Aphrena’s question without hesitation.

"As long as there is original sin in people's hearts, whether it is greed or jealousy, as long as these things exist, cults will continue to emerge and will never be eradicated."

"Thinking about it like that gets me a little excited. I could never finish my revenge in my lifetime, and I wouldn't feel lost at all." Betley laughed, like a wild beast tearing apart its prey.

Afrena looked at Betley with a subtle expression, her neck involuntarily shrinking back.

"By the way, are you also going to set up a magic circle here?" Afrena asked casually, remembering something.

“It’s already buried,” Betley replied.

He traveled all over the world, burying intricate magic arrays beneath the ground.

Over the years, the area covered by the magic circle has become incredibly vast.

However, Aphrena still doesn't know what these magic circles are used for.

“And, if you ask me what I’m going to do next…” Beatrix said, turning his ring around.

"This is something we need to think about carefully."

---

P.S.: I'm working overtime, so today's update is a single post: "Welcome, welcome!" A little girl wearing a huge witch's hat nervously clutches the brim of her hat.

"Welcome back!" After thinking for a few seconds, the little girl bowed deeply and said in her loudest voice.

In this place where the ground was pitch black and only countless bookshelves stood tall, the little girl's voice was exceptionally loud.

The echoes piled up, making the little girl a little embarrassed, as if she had spoken too loudly.

"Serya, you don't have to speak so loudly." Betley walked up to her and helped the child named Serya straighten her hat.

This is the "bookshelf" in the ring, but Beatrix rarely comes in.

Because he didn't know how to face this innocent and adorable Seraya.

He still remembers the first time he received the ring and the first time he saw Seraya.

She stutters, but then she musters up the courage to speak, just like her younger sister.

Thinking about this, he was even more afraid to enter this place.

"Because...because you rarely come in." Seraya lowered her head, clutching the hem of her skirt with both hands, looking a little aggrieved.

She didn't know if other ring wearers also rarely spoke to the ring's own will, but at least Beatrix did.

Seraya sometimes wonders if Beatrix dislikes her.

However, this was clearly Seraya overthinking things; Beatrix didn't dislike this slightly clumsy little girl at all.

It was clumsy, but the way they kept trying was truly moving.

“Serea, I want to read a book.” Beatrix didn’t answer Serea’s question, but said to her in a very soft voice.

"Want to read a book?" Seraya's eyes lit up immediately when she heard the word "book".