交换邻居波多野结衣中文字幕

Chapter 123 - 107 Someone Picked Up My Bones 1

The palace resembled a skull, except many times larger. Flying into the eyeholes revealed a vast space, resembling a brain cavity in proportionality. A purple gold skeleton, missing its right hand, sat on the throne.

Apart from Steadfast Locke, who else could it be? There was only one Purple Gold Mourning, the strongest undead beneath the king himself. If the king were not present, Steadfast Locke would undoubtedly be the Undead King.

Unfortunately, there could only be one king.

“Why is Locke’s skeleton here? I thought he was said to have died along with the Six-winged Archangel? Piero lied.” Privately, Negris still preferred to use Anthony’s name during his reign as the Dark Knight Emperor.

Upon closer inspection, although Locke’s skeleton was well preserved, it was in poor condition. The surface was pitted with tiny holes, like severe osteoporosis.

If it were a regular skeleton, such a state would be normal after a thousand years. However, this was a Body of Mourning. Even if it were submerged in swampy land and soaked daily, it could not possibly deteriorate like this. It seemed Steadfast Locke had continued to endure some form of damage even after death.

Ange pointed his finger at the skeleton, and a spark of Holy Light flickered like a glimmer.

The power of the Holy Light indeed remained.

Negris was amazed: “Really impressive, Steadfast Locke! Even after suffering from the Holy Light for over a thousand years, his skeleton is still intact. His enemy was powerful too; the Power of Holy Light has remained for over a thousand years. I wonder if it was left by the Six-winged Archangel.”

Ange invoked the Holy Light and gently rubbed it over Locke’s skeleton.

“Um, Lord, didn’t you say that the Holy Light is harmful? Why are you using it on Locke?” Luther was confused about the difference between the two Holy Lights.

“Angel s Holy Light is different from what is left on Locke. Although they have different intentions, their power properties are the same and can dilute and neutralize each other. For instance, if someone pees on you, washing it off with water will make you feel better,” Negris explained.

Luther wrinkled his face: “Your metaphor is disgusting.”

After Ange had applied his Holy Light, almost no residual Holy Light remained on Locke, and there was no sizzling sound when touched.

As Ange touched it, a message suddenly flowed into his soul: “Kill it! Kill it! Kill

Ange seemed to hear Locke’s voice echoing like thunder in his soul, accompanied by a large, unfamiliar face and a strange aura.

The message left by Locke asked to kill the owner of this face and aura. It was probably intended for his followers. He probably never imagined that a thousand years later, the one who would reach his palace would be a farming skeleton.

So Ange simply ignored this message and instead used his Hand of Locke to grasp Locke’s arm, pouring Soul Energy into it.

No reaction. It couldn’t be activated.

Well, even if it could be activated, Ange would not consider swapping his bones with Locke’s, because the state of this Body of Mourning was really poor. It would be a disaster if a bone fracture happened while walking.

He moved Locke’s skeleton outside and found a large barrel, curling it up and putting it inside.

Luther was shocked: “Uh, Lord, please tell me you’re not planning to use it to brew wine?”

Legend had it in the Prime Material Plane, some natives would soak various plants and animals in wine for health benefits. Could Lord Ange be planning to do the same?

“Wine, what is that?” Ange asked doubtingly.

There was a lot of Liquid of Rest stored in large sealed barrels. However, once the odor of death reached saturation, even if left open, the Liquid of Rest would not dissipate quickly.

As there was no soul left in Locke’s skeleton, it didn’t need to be left open. Once the Liquid of Rest was poured in and the lid was closed, Ange hoped the liquid in the barrel would rehabilitate Locke’s skeleton.

An idle Luther asked Ange: “Lord, when will we leave this place? We’ve been hiding here for half a month now, the pursuers should have left.”

“Half a month, huh? Let’s hide a bit longer…” Ange wanted to suggest hiding for a few more decades. After all, he already stayed there for more than a thousand years, and with land to grow crops, he wouldn’t be bored. But before he could finish his sentence, he felt something and suddenly disappeared after saying, “Someone’s touching my bones.”

No intense search operation could last half a month, especially without clues and with the assassin likely to have fled a long distance. All the search parties had dispersed and only had checkpoints at key intersections, checking the passing travelers.

But since the establishment of the checkpoint, not only the assassin was checked.

Ordinary people quickly resumed their lives. The death of a Cardinal was a significant event that shocked the world, but what does it have to do with common people?

Poverty-stricken people had to continue living. If they didn’t go to work, they might starve to death the next day. Oops, sorry for lying, they don’t have beds at home.

Old John, limping and carrying a bamboo basket, walked down the forest path cleared by the swordsmen a dozen days prior, venturing into the woods. He picked various wild fruits, vegetables, and mushrooms, while also setting a few small animal traps. If he was lucky, he might have some meat to eat tomorrow.

It’s been a long time since he had eaten meat. In recent years, food had been scarce, famines struck frequently and unexpectedly. There was no surplus grain to feed livestock, and the numbers of animals caught by hunting were scant; none of this rare game ever ended up being available to impoverished farmers like old John.

Luckily, in his youth, he had wandered around with a mercenary group for some time and learned a few hunting tricks. Occasionally, he could catch a bird or a small animal; his life was a bit freer than others’.

Alas, if he was 10 years younger, if he had no injury on his legs, old John would burn all his petty belongings, join a mercenary group, and die out there instead of coming back.

Life for the poor was getting tougher. Even a knowledgeable person like him ended up bankrupt. The few acres of land he had bought with the money he had saved in his youth now all belonged to the lord of the nobles.

Now, all he could do was pick some wild fruits and vegetables, spending each day as it came. After all, even the most desperate mercenary group would not accept an old cripple.

As he was reaching out here and there, old John spotted an insignificant and dusty skeleton resting in the underbrush.

“Ah, another one down on his luck in a strange land.” Old John was neither surprised nor scared upon seeing it. Instead, he sighed, “I’ll find you a resting place. May your soul rest in peace.”

During his travels in his youth, old John had heard about a religion called the Undead Temple. Their god represented eternal life, and promised followers eternal life and a peaceful soul, which was their most common prayer.

Old John was unaware that, as he spoke, a filament of soul flame erupted from within him, penetrating the pile of bones lying before him.

A typical believer’s soul flame would appear as multiple strands, but old John had only one, indicating that his faith was rather weak.

However, due to this single thread of soul flame, the fire that was about to ignite within the skeleton’s skull abruptly ceased. Otherwise, the pile of bones might have sprung into action in the next moment, wielding a scythe to attack people.

Mumbling about merciful souls, old John put down his basket, filled it with the pile of bones, shouldered it again, and limped towards the edge of the forest.

From the forest to the village, there was a road junction. At this moment, a newly set up checkpoint blocked the way, with the village sheriff and his subordinates checking each passing traveler.

Rather than inspecting, if it was a lavishly dressed noble lord, they would let them pass without even a glance. If it was common folk, they would be given a hard time, and if it was a young woman, there was often inappropriate touching involved.

If you were savvy, you would quickly hand over a few coins, and you would sail through the inspection smoothly. If you were inexperienced or spoke too harshly, regardless of what you were carrying, your goods would be ruthlessly unpacked, everything scattered all over the ground.

Even if nothing was found, the goods would likely be ruined.

As old John limped up to the checkpoint, the sheriff, who was clearly familiar with old John, took a glance at his basket and spoke with disgust, “Picking this sort of stuff again, isn’t it nauseating?”

“The things that can fertilize the fields aren’t as nauseating as you.” Old John sneered.

“Scram, scram, scram.” The sheriff waved him away, opened the checkpoint, and told him to scram quickly.

The sheriff had a new subordinate from the town who didn’t know old John, so he couldn’t resist asking, “Sir, should we just let him pass?”

“What else can we do? You can’t squeeze anything out of an old cripple like him, it’s a waste of time.” The sheriff replied petulantly.

“Uh, what does he pick up those things for?” The man quizzed, indicating the open, lattice-work basket, where anyone could see the gray bones inside.

“He claims that he uses them to fertilize his lands, but where does he even have any lands, oh, he does have a tiny plot of land near his home where he grows some medicinal herbs. Allegedly, it’s Bone-connecting Wood which he says can help fix his crippled leg. Hah, even pharmacists can’t grow Bone-connecting Wood anymore, and he, an old cripple, thinks he can?” The sheriff laughed heartily.

The new subordinate also laughed along, then proposed with an eagerness to impress his new superior, “But sir, he was so impolite to you. Shouldn’t we teach him a lesson?”

The sheriff laughed, “That’s easy, he’s always picking up these disgusting things. We can just accuse him of worshipping the undead and sacrificing skeletons. Who wants to report this to the priest in town? Go.”

His subordinates grew excited. One of them volunteered, “I’ll go.” He ran off in an instant.

A group of men laughed and taunted an old cripple, without any pity or guilt.

Old John had no idea that he had caused trouble. After getting back to his house, he started to dig a pit, burying the collected skeleton while mumbling, “Traveler who died far from home, I found you a place to rest. May your soul rest in peace. May you reach the land of the Undead, where you can enjoy eternal life, and be free of hunger and pain…”

After the burial, he didn’t erect any tombstone-like thing. He just inserted a piece of Bone-connecting Wood. He claimed to grow Bone-connecting Wood, but a medicinal herb, which even pharmacists couldn’t grow, wasn’t something an old cripple like him could manage. It was just an excuse. Every single piece of land had a corpse buried beneath it.

That was his obsession, a consequence of a tragic incident in his youth. The calamity was so brutal that he didn’t even dare to recall it. Since then, he tried to bury any roadside corpse he stumbled upon as best as he could.

Sighing, he was about to stand up when a gray skeletal hand suddenly burst from the grave. Old John toppled over in fright..