Chapter 280: A Glimmer in the Dark

  As Valthor continued his explanation, the expressions on Talise's and Ethan's faces grew increasingly grim.

  "Rodhart..." Talise said with difficulty. Although the face was covered in signs of suturing, she still recognized him. This was Ethan's friend, the one they had discussed late into the night just two days ago, the Paladin Order squad leader who had betrayed them in the royal capital.

  A man who, not long ago, had been full of laughter and conversation, whose youthful elegance had captivated a nation's queen, was now such a monster, a monster who had been transformed into this state while still alive. That tumultuous life and its emotional twists and turns—she had experienced them from a bystander's perspective just two nights ago.

  And for Ethan, this was a companion, a friend who had walked with him through that extraordinary part of his life. He had personally witnessed his rise and fall, seen his innocence and kindness, watched him stand gloriously on the tournament stage, and recalled his charming, approachable smile... All of that vibrant, brilliant life had now been transformed into the professional terminology a Necromancer would use to describe internal organs and viscera.

  "What? You two know these people?" Valthor only now noticed the reactions of Talise and Ethan. "Oh, I suppose they can hardly be considered people anymore. According to the name given by Lord Archibald, these two should be called Dread Knights, or rather, Death Knights."

  Ethan did not answer, did not speak. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would vomit. Aimee, who had started vomiting while listening to Valthor's explanation, froze for a moment upon hearing Talise speak the monster's identity, then started vomiting violently again.

  After a period of extreme shock, buffering, and explanation, Ethan also took control of the two undead beings from Valthor. The control method was not difficult to learn; it was even simpler than controlling zombies and skeletons. These two Death Knights retained excellent instincts. As long as a thought moved in his mind, they would go and execute it.

  He had no choice. The road ahead would not be easy. According to Valthor, although these two Death Knights were not completely finished, their combat power was already much greater than it had been in life, and they would be quite helpful for this underground journey. So, no matter how much he detested it, he had no choice but to accept these two "gifts."

  That kind of transformation was irreversible. Ethan knew that this method was a hundred times more ingenious and difficult than the modification he had done for the queen in the royal capital. And Valthor had not only remodeled their bodies but had also used Necromancy to alter and control their consciousness. Now, the two of them no longer had the capacity for thought; only the necessary combat skills and instincts remained, which was not much different from being dead.

  Perhaps this wasn't a bad thing. Anyway, even if he had lived, he probably wouldn't have had a good end, either for himself or for others. A person who could never be satisfied is the most dangerous person to everyone.

  The crocodile-sized lizard had already been gnawed about halfway. The two Death Knights consciously stopped their feeding and then stood there motionless, like two sculptures. They were digesting the food, converting it into Necromantic power in their bodies. Any meat was their food, but Valthor had said that rotten human flesh was what was most suitable for that modified stomach to absorb and convert.

  The humid air near the river was surrounded by lush, luminous plants. Ethan closed his eyes, preparing to get some sleep. The destination was not far away; it was good to rest for a bit. But as soon as he closed his eyes, Rodhart's face, repeatedly cut open and stitched back together, appeared before him, along with those lifeless eyes.

  After this was done, should he let him continue to survive like this, or should he simply let him truly and thoroughly die? Ethan hesitated. Death was sometimes a release, especially for a situation like Rodhart's.

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  If he were dead, he would know nothing. No more ambition, no more desire. Of course, no more troubles, no more pointless twists and turns. Yes, it would be better if he were dead...

  It seemed to be an aftermath of gripping the hilt of The Black Star. As he gradually fell asleep, thinking about this question, Ethan in a daze once again returned to that boundless, deathly consciousness.

  All around was darkness, all was death. That feeling spread out from the deepest part of his body again, slowly flooding over all other sensations. He only felt himself sinking down into a vast, pitch-black abyss... He was going to die, going to rot, and never wake up again. Rodhart's smile, his once dashing and heroic figure, his glory, his easy conversation, the hint of self-reproach he showed after betraying him... all of it flashed before his eyes, and then finally there was that stitched, wooden face, the muscles refined with Necromancy, the bones carved with magic arrays, the liver and stomach worthy of dissection and study... All of it twisted together like giant battering rams, violently smashing against his chest.

  He woke with a start, sitting up abruptly. A spasm convulsed his stomach, and he vomited, expelling everything he had just forced down. It wasn't enough; he kept vomiting, even bringing up bile.

  When awake, he could barely suppress it with reason and willpower, but once he fell into a dream, the lingering sensation from The Black Star, entangled with the matter of Rodhart, would burrow deep into his heart. That dark consciousness of death, that aura of death, intertwined with sorrow, fear, loss, and despair, amplifying each other until it was unbearable.

  After a bout of dry heaving, he slowly calmed down. Although his stomach felt a bit lighter, the heavy, black feeling in his heart had not lessened in the slightest. It was all fear, sorrow, and the consciousness of death.

  The sound of footsteps approached, and Talise's figure emerged from a passage. She looked at Ethan, startled: "What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?"

  Ethan did not answer, walking toward the underground river. Talise followed.

  The river water was bone-chillingly cold; using it to wash his face could indeed make one much more clear-headed. Ethan knelt by the river and washed. The bone-chilling cold seemed to dispel some of the discomfort. He suddenly plunged his head into the water. After a long while, he lifted his upper body from the river, gasping for breath.

  "All this time, you've seemed like nothing bothers you, like you're never in a hurry. I thought you didn't feel anything," Talise said from the side.

  Ethan didn't speak, just gave her a cold, sidelong glance. He was in a very bad mood. Although the cold river had washed away the filth and stuffiness from the body's surface, his chest felt even more stifled and heavy.

  He felt so awful he wanted to die, but at the same time, he didn't want to die. He wanted to live, to be alive.

  "Aimee is already asleep," Talise said. Because of the angle, she couldn't see the look in Ethan's eyes.

  "Then why don't you go to sleep?" Ethan said coldly, his voice stuffy and gloomy.

  Talise suddenly said, "I know you're hurting inside. The other night, you talked about his story for half the night. And ever since you took charge of these two, you've barely said a word. Your expression has been terrible... I just wanted to say, what has happened, no one can undo. This guy... he brought it on himself."

  Ethan still didn't speak, just panting heavily. The feeling in his heart seemed to grow more and more oppressive.

  Talise looked at him and suddenly said, "I'm sorry. I don't know how to comfort people."

  The surrounding luminous plants made her silhouette both clear and hazy. The female knight's face seemed a little awkward, like a child who didn't know how to do things, but she was also very frank. Her leather armor outlined her slender figure, and her tied-up hair left her equally long neck exposed. At first glance, she looked like an exceptionally handsome boy. Whether in her posture, her voice, or her aura, she was like a boy full of life.

  But Ethan knew she was definitely not a boy; he knew it very clearly. And what he knew now became vividly clear, suddenly jumping out from his memories, cheering and leaping. This was the only spark of vitality in the vast, gloomy darkness of his mind, and he instinctively wanted to grasp that vitality, that life force.

  He also remembered that when he was immersed in the boundless darkness of The Black Star, it was her voice that had torn open a crack, allowing him to struggle out. He now wanted that crack again, the one through which he could see light and life, but not just a voice—something more tangible, warmer, something he could feel and understand more clearly.

  "So, you came to comfort me?" Ethan asked, looking at her with a strange smile. The extreme suppression and gloom were pressing down on him, and as he looked at her, a strange idea suddenly formed. Strictly speaking, it wasn't even an idea, but an instinctual impulse.

  Talise nodded: "Although you're a very annoying person, we're all companions to some extent, and occasionally you're not so annoying... What are you doing?" She watched as Ethan walked right up to her. She was first puzzled, then suddenly a little scared.

  As a knight, she would never feel fear even when facing the most terrifying monsters like zombies, skeletons, or vampires. She truly couldn't think of any reason why she should be afraid of this guy who was supposed to be her companion. But for some reason, looking at him now, she truly felt fear, dread.

  This wasn't the fear a knight would feel; it was the fear of a woman. Although she didn't seem to see or hear anything unusual, she could feel it.

  "Weren't you going to comfort me?" Ethan's voice was already trembling. He discovered for the first time that he was actually losing control in this regard. He suddenly reached out, pulled Talise into an embrace, threw one arm around her waist, the other hand moved to the back of her neck, and he kissed her mouth fiercely, as thirsty as a man who hadn't had a single drop of water in centuries craving a clear spring.