Chapter 4: Changes and Speculations

The small street was swept by the wind, lifting fragments of snow like dust in the air.
Creak… crash!
Someone’s door or window hadn’t been closed properly, slamming shut with a loud noise that echoed far and wide. Combined with the lifeless surroundings, it was jarring enough to make one’s heart tremble.
The houses facing the street had dim lights. Under the porch entwined with withered ivy,Neo listened carefully, pricking up his ears from time to time and sniffing the air.
Three minutes after the battle, his blood still flowed rapidly. Stimulated by this, his body swelled with each pulse, especially in his face—just as it did after any intense exercise.
Yes, intense exercise. Though the battle itself lasted less than two minutes from start to finish, it drained his energy and stamina severely. By his rough estimate, he could only carry out similar raids twice more, assuming the next one would also go smoothly.
Of course, if he pushed himself further, he was confident he could double that number. But he believed no advanced recovery techniques would appear out of nowhere—at least not in the short term. He needed to save some strength.
Moreover, the safety of his loved ones gave him peace of mind. He even began considering whether to take Melian and Dave with him to Solis as displaced nobles in this bitter winter, or to fight hard until Tulip Town was restored.
Neo was somewhat aware of the military strength of the Holy Church and the three kingdoms. Even if the demons succeeded in this operation and acted arrogantly, on the surface world, they were still like black snow—melting quickly under the sunlight. On the surface, they were like clumps of grass after autumn; they seemed large but scattered at the slightest wind, lacking any foundation.
“Erdret Domain should have 1–2 decent nobles and a few real commanders, right? With just a quarter of the sense of responsibility and honor typical of noble and military commanders, now that the crisis in Solis City is largely resolved, they should start purging the dark forces causing trouble in the southern plains. Even from a purely selfish standpoint, there’s no reason to abandon a legacy built over centuries…”
Neo’s thoughts were already quite conservative. He just hadn’t expected that at dawn the previous day, after he and Adrien set off, the situation in Solis City took a dramatic turn. Right in Black Iron Square, evil blood sacrifices and dark desecrations triggered a terrifying magical plague known as “Death Spot Rot Sprout”—a malignant disease also called “Death Sore,” “Magic Mummy Disease,” or “Pus Plague” (actually caused by the loss of both bound water and free water in the body).
At the same time, the well-prepared demons incited the barbaric tribes west of Erdret Domain to launch raids on the hollow West Wind Fury War Corps’ camp. Losing a battle was one thing, but the destruction of the camp, the looting or burning of supplies and food—under such weather, even a pig could understand how deadly this was.

The headquarters of the Eagle Knights in the east also suffered a surprise attack, but despite heavy casualties, they managed to hold their ground, providing a retreat route for the people and soldiers of Erdrit. But worse was yet to come. Five minutes after the Glorious Church in Solis City was defiled by darkness, Benedict, the archbishop and highest authority of the Light Church in the Free Alliance, who was sleeping soundly, was awakened by a priest who informed him of the incident. The usually calm Benedict flew into a rage. This act of desecration was extraordinary—it was committed by believers, and its consequences were severe. If those who usually enjoyed the grace of the gods abandoned their faith and defiled symbols of divinity in times of crisis, it not only indicated a problem with their character and devotion but also meant that the local clergy responsible for religious affairs deserved death. As the consequences spread upward, Benedict realized that his tenure as archbishop was likely over. A magical letter detailing the incident was quickly sent to the Holy See. Benedict didn’t dare hide such a matter; the Glorious Church had a map of its churches, which could immediately show if any churches had been destroyed or desecrated. The pope was furious and handed the case over to the Inquisition. Also known as the “Holy Tribunal” or “Sanctuary of Judgment,” what kind of people were in this institution? Well, when it came to killing and punishment, its experts could serve as instructors for demons. There was no doubt about it—the Inquisition, with its tough stance, immediately sentenced all defilers to death. Three thousand Inquisitors of the Blood Cross boarded the airships Saint Farret, SaintSaint Hill, and Saint Gregory and traveled thousands of miles from the Holy See headquarters to Solis City. While Nio and Adrian were fighting the forces of darkness in the North Bay Leaf Forest, the Inquisitors parachuted into Solis. All the remaining forces of darkness there, along with those identified as defilers by the Holy Light Beads, were killed. Even those defilers who fled to the military camps outside the city were not spared. The Glorious Church had existed for tens of thousands of years and had a highly efficient system for identifying its followers. The massacre ended within an hour. Afterwards, the few remaining faithful were taken away by the airships. As for those non-church people and soldiers suffering from “dead sores,” the fanatical Inquisitors declared, “Those who abandon their gods shall not be forgiven; those who do not believe in our lord shall not be saved! Go and seek help from lords or kings.” Then they left. After the killings by the forces of darkness and the purge by the Glorious Church, over 40% of Solis City’s population died. The war-torn people of Erdrit received no aid from the alliance but instead heard news that barbarian foreign forces had broken into the West Wind stronghold and then marched straight in to plunder Erdrit. Under such circumstances, the people and soldiers split into two factions: those who wanted to flee east and those who wanted to hold their ground. Clearly, neither faction had any intention of saving the villages in the southern plains that had been captured by the forces of darkness. If Nio chose to wait, all that awaited him would be the barbarian foreign forces, who would take over and inflict further suffering on those villages.

The strong wind turned the sky a murky dark red; such nights resembled the dim light of dusk and dawn. Only creatures with the innate ability to see in low light could see properly. For Neo, it was like being in a sandstorm, fog, or murky water—his vision was greatly impaired. The wind also greatly affected his hearing and sense of smell, significantly reducing Neo’s range of perception. Yet he wasn’t ready to give up easily, as he wasn’t the only one affected.

His breathing gradually slowed, and the excitement caused by killing and intense exertion receded like tides. Neo could clearly feel his thoughts becoming once again focused and sharp.

Checking himself, he found that his disguise suit was undamaged. Over time, the previous mud had completely frozen into a hard crust, but it didn’t hinder his movement.

The disguise suit was simple to make: a loose garment soaked in a thin slurry made from melted snow and the ashes of Dark Cultists. After putting it on, it was wrapped with cloth strips. This solved the problem of armor and leather garments becoming easily muddy while still not restricting movement.

It turned out the disguise suit was useful—or rather, the ashes of the Dark Cultists could indeed prevent undead creatures from detecting “vital energy.”

After losing his greasy, filthy coating due to his werewolf transformation, Neo began thinking about how to avoid detection by the undead and their hounds during his next mission. Later, when preparing temporary beds for Dave and Milien, he used the cotton clothes of the Dark Cultists, which naturally sparked his inspiration.

“Judging from the reactions of those two zombies in the earlier battle, 10 meters is the warning distance. After all, even with a mask, it can’t block the exhaust fumes from breathing. There seems to be no good solution to this problem…” Neo thought silently while rechecking his equipment. He was now less than 30 meters away from the scene of the massacre.

Earlier, although the copper whistle hadn’t been blown, the demonized man had let out a roar, and the wind carried that sound far away. Neo decided to wait and see if he could intercept a group along the way.

After patiently waiting for over ten minutes with no abnormalities, all he heard in the wind was the eerie chewing sounds of the two zombies.

“Good.”

Neo turned back. This time, he didn’t spare the two zombies. Before killing them, he tested the effective detection-blocking distance of the disguise suit again. The new figure was 7 meters, but since chewing distracted the zombies’ attention and his approach this time wasn’t as intense or breath-heavy as before, it was safer to set the limit at 10 meters.

The two zombie test subjects were stronger, more resilient, and had better agility and reflexes than ordinary zombies, but that still wasn’t enough to overcome their fatal weaknesses as low-level undead. If fighting alone without considering time constraints, even a Level 1 warrior could easily win. With Neo’s strength as a Level 4 warrior and his sharp steel sword, he could easily cut through the zombies’ nascent, rubbery flesh. Killing these two took almost no effort.

By this time, Carlon’s corpse was so ravaged that it was unrecognizable. Moreover, Neo had deliberately taken away any items on him that could help identify him. Thus, even if his own parents came, they would likely not be able to recognize him from just the corpse. But Neo’s goal wasn’t that. On the contrary, he left his opponent a subtle yet discernible flaw, making them believe that Dave and Milien had been successfully rescued—that was his real intention.

Neo made some simple adjustments to the crime scene, such as the victim’s wounds. By examining the smoothness of the wounds, he could roughly estimate the enemy’s strength. Combined with other clues, he could learn more—whether the enemy was skilled in agility and shooting or purely strong, whether they preferred using their right hand or both hands, and even infer their tactics from footprints and other traces, thereby roughly determining their personality—whether they were strategic planners or fighters who charged headfirst… Putting himself in their shoes, Neo didn’t rule out the possibility that among the Dark Claws there were professionals, so he thought it was still valuable to tidy up the scene.

Through some subtle adjustments, Neo made it seem as though 3–5 people had launched a surprise attack. He figured the Dark Claws left behind would likely be willing to accept such an explanation.

Willingness to accept, in Neo’s view, was the true key to deception.

As Neo had predicted, Eirlys was eager to believe that 3–5 people had carried out this attack, as well as another similar one, because such an assumption fit well with his previous theories—typical of inertial thinking.

Additionally, though Eirlys wasn’t a good person, he wasn’t beyond human nature. He harbored an unconscious, even self-deceptive, bias in favor of his own side. Rather than accepting the fact that his side had suffered heavy losses due to a single opponent, Eirlys preferred to believe it was a group of skilled and well-planned fighters… This was what Neo considered the key to deception: willingness to accept.

By now, nearly an hour had passed since “Chatty” and “Listless” were brutally killed by Neo. Someone first discovered the site of the second murder, and only after the entire town was on high alert was this site found.

“Look, this is where it started!” Eirlys pointed at the entrance to the secret room in the Manmoris ancestral home, his voice tinged with satisfaction. Although it was too late, he had discovered the entrance to this secret room using magic to trace the lingering aura from Carlon’s corpse.

“Our enemies are clever! At the very least, they knew that the smell of blood would easily attract my immortal servants.” Picking up a small, charred branch, Eirlys hummed, “Lavender wood—they even knew to light this to remove odors from their hideout. It’s a shame they ran into me.”

“Master, does this mean the victim stayed in the secret room for a long time, which is why there’s so much of his lingering scent?” It was Imotun, the leader of the Demons, who made the inference. With two patrol teams in the town having been assassinated, he could no longer remain calm and had come to investigate the scene as well.

“Mm,” added Eirith. “It also shows this guy has a strong body odor, well-developed sweat glands, and he certainly didn’t let himself go hungry.” Eirith pointed to a corner of the secret room, where there was a small wooden barrel containing excrement.
“Carlon, this man is Carlon, the head guard of the Manmoris family,” Imoth said firmly. He and Eirith already knew this place was the ancestral home of the Manmoris family. That dark cultist who had come to search here before, only to let their target slip by right under their noses, had been sent by Imoth to hell to reflect on his mistakes.
“It’s very likely— the head guard, along with a pair of children from the Manmoris family. It seems they’ve been abused. Look at their bowel movements; those two kids haven’t eaten much in three days.” Though he spoke seriously, Eirith’s mind, at that moment, conjured up the image of Milien being pinned down by a burly man and abused at will. Eirith had long known of the “Most Beautiful Tulip of Tures” and regretted not having found that delicate flower yet.
Only the dead Carlon would have been excited enough to grasp Eirith’s hand and exclaim that they were kindred spirits. Imoth didn’t like delicate women; in his words, “Flat chest, small butt— what’s the point?” Moreover, as a former mercenary, Imoth was highly professional. Years of harsh lessons had taught him to keep pleasure and duty separate. His thoughts were now focused on those ruthless opponents.
Walking out of the room with Eirith, Imoth concluded, “I think this was a typical ambush.” He pointed at the demonized man with a bullet through his temple. “A fatal wound caused by a military crossbow, from a shooting distance of over 20 meters. Such precision shows that darkness wasn’t a hindrance to the shooter. Considering the current situation in the Erdrit domain, it’s preliminarily inferred that this was a werewolf shooter skilled with a military crossbow. The West Wind Berserkers have a unit called Hunters.”
Eirith nodded. “Mm, good. Please continue.”
Imoth pointed to two sets of footprints in the snow. “After killing one of our cultists, two enemies rushed out from the darkness and killed another of our cultists. These two aren’t very strong—around level 3 warriors—but they’re skilled at coordinating, and they must have some effective teamwork tactics to succeed in one strike. Look at these cuts, especially these finishing blows—deliberate and ruthless. Only professional warriors or those brutal gladiators would have such a mindset.”
Imoth pointed here and there, and Eirith nodded frequently.
“Besides the crossbowman and the two warriors, the enemies have at least one more supporter.”
Eirith replied, “A archer, right?”

“Right!” Imothen nodded. “But this guy is a temporary recruit; his archery skills are really poor. He managed to hit an arrow once, but only by taking advantage of his opponent’s psychology. Also, there were those dagger throwers who tried to silence the whistles—possibly one of the two enemies who rushed in, or maybe a third person. They did a quick cleanup when they left, in a hurry. But I checked, and both of the believers’ money bags were taken. As you know, knights and apprentices are usually proud and wouldn’t touch the dead’s money. And the mercenaries hired by the Edrith family have little combat experience, so it’s hard for them to handle such a case so neatly.”
“So, that once again confirms it was mercenaries or soldiers?”
“More or less,” Imothen nodded.
“I have a question,” Eirith said. “Why didn’t that crossbowman assist in the subsequent battle after his first shot?”
“Master, loading a crossbow is more laborious than drawing a bow. Moreover, given his position and night vision skills, he was likely also on guard duty. There were only 3–5 of them, so it’s normal for them to take on 1–2 roles during a battle.”
“Oh!” Eirith nodded, pursing his lips. He was quite convinced by Imothen’s analysis. As a spellcaster, his mind was always active. Based on Imothen’s reasoning, Eirith further speculated, “This must have been a shoddy rescue attempt. They abandoned the injured Carlon and even used his body as bait. These rescuers likely had ulterior motives; it’s common for them to have some dirty deals with other nobles. The Manmoris family’s assets are quite valuable.”
“Master, I’d like to point out that Carlon’s death likely occurred at least an hour before the murder,” Imothen added.
“Hmm, this only proves my guess is correct. Carlon and the Manmoris family’s children thought they had reinforcements, but they were actually wolves. Even Carlon’s fatal wound was caused by these people. They believe that changing the guardians of the Manmoris family children is a sufficient reason.”
At the mention of guardians, another bloody scene flashed through Eirith’s mind: several hairy men laughing lustfully as they pounced on a girl with a face full of terror and pleading. Even if the girl was successfully rescued, she would be too ashamed to speak of it. And by the time she could take revenge (which was unlikely), she might already start missing that thrill…
Imothen wasn’t a pervert; he was thinking about the suspicious aspects of the murder. “The ambushers let Carlon’s body be devoured until it was unrecognizable before acting.”
“That’s normal. They wanted to use zombies to destroy evidence, and it also made our two believers less vigilant. But what they didn’t expect was that this was the Manmoris family’s ancestral home. Moreover, we conducted thorough investigations in Tulip Town at the start of our operation. Anyone who wasn’t captured could still be traced, especially someone with such a prominent identity.”
The Manmoris family’s ancestral home—this was exactly the loophole Nieo had deliberately left behind.

“Master, what I mean is, it’s likely two separate operations. The first was to rescue—or rather, abduct—the children of the Manmoris family, with Caron dying at that time. The second was to use Caron’s body as a bait for an ambush.”
“In other words, the rescue was probably just a pretext; they still had their eyes on the town.”
Imorton said, “Yes, the fact that another patrol group was intercepted more than half an hour later proves that.”
Eirlys expanded on his thoughts, “Maybe there’s more than one group of enemies—rescue, ambush, another ambush—two groups, or even three.”
“That’s very possible, but one thing is certain: they have a way of hiding their presence.” Imorton glanced at the two dead zombies. He knew something about them—they were sensitive to ‘anger,’ but that ability clearly failed during the murders, which was a crucial prerequisite for the ambushes to succeed, and it happened twice.
Eirlys also realized this was indeed the key point. His features twisted slightly as he said gravely, “Detection can’t be completely prevented. It’s not some advanced spell, but usually only those scumbags from the Holy Church would learn it. Hopefully, our enemies only used alchemical potions with similar effects; otherwise, we’re in trouble! I hate those scumbags!”
Imorton curled his lips but stayed silent. He knew that by ‘scumbags,’ Eirlys meant the combat monks. It was less about hatred and more about Eirlys’ fear of those combat monks from the Holy Church.
In fact, on the entire Aemera continent, any intelligent being with even a hint of connection to darkness feared those bald monks.
Wielding a crucible warhammer in one hand and a sacred scripture in the other, the combat monks of the Holy Church dared to engage in head-on battles against even the most powerful dark warriors. In the eyes of the dark forces, they were nothing but brainwashed madmen ready to die at any moment.
Throughout Aemera’s history, there were countless examples of combat monks slaughtering hundreds or even thousands of enemies—not only those from the dark forces but also those labeled heretics by the Holy Church. Their reputation was even more widespread and feared than that of the Twelve Holy Knights. After all, it was rare to see holy knights in remote areas, but combat monks were not uncommon at all. They practiced by living in harsh conditions, slaying monsters and demons, saving lives, and spreading the glory of their deity… They were the pioneers of the Holy Church’s faith, sacred rangers who walked on two legs, and they best represented the image of the Holy Church: thunder (warhammers) and rain (sacred scriptures).
What’s worse, combat monks had a skill called the ‘Soul Sacred Arrow.’ When they died and their souls ascended to heaven, a dazzling holy light would appear in the sky. There was a saying about the ‘Soul Sacred Arrow’: ‘One arrow piercing the clouds, thousands of troops coming to confront it.’ If combat monks unleashed the Soul Sacred Arrow, it would be like stirring up a hornet’s nest in the Holy Church—all nearby church forces would rush over, including the holy knight orders stationed in various countries (usually the Holy Rose or Holy Cross orders).

Imorton was also quite annoyed by this. Although the dark forces had a well-thought-out plan for this major operation, a combat monk was likely an unexpected variable—a troublemaker for both Imorton and Eirlys, and it was best to avoid dealing with them. Just then, the sound of whistles came from the town center. Eirlys and Imorton both felt anxious upon hearing it; that was where the excavation site was located, and it was their main goal in occupying Tulip Town. “Damn!” Imorton stamped his foot in anger. “Follow me!” With a roar like a tiger, he rushed toward the town center first.