An Even Meaner One Came from That Way

The night of July 8. A black sedan pulled up outside the Wayne Detective Agency. A servant knocked on the door according to a code—two short taps, one long. After repeating the sequence three times, he set down a birdcage covered with a black cloth. Beside it lay a large bag of mouse strips. Wayne vaulted over the wall and brought the cage inside, utterly speechless. Where had this secret code come from? Had Veronica instructed it, or was the servant just being melodramatic on his own initiative? Quite the character—always adding extra drama. He placed the cage on his desk and pulled off the black cloth to reveal the real eccentric. It still wore that aloof, ethereal expression that made one's fists itch with an urge to punch it. Wayne opened the cage door, and the snowy owl hopped out on its own. Disliking the cramped quarters, it swiveled its head 270 degrees, searching for a suitable perch. After looking around, it decided Wayne's head was the most appropriate spot. It flapped its wings and took off... ...only to be pushed right back down by Wayne pressing on its head. Where do you think you're flying, brat! Wayne glared down at the snowy owl with utter contempt, then pulled out a mouse strip and held it forward. "Starting today, your name is Axue. Got it?" As carrier birds bred by the Triple Goddess Alliance for nocturnal use, owls possessed considerable intelligence. They could understand the language of mages, and once enough rapport was built, they could communicate directly with their masters. The snowy owl was a seasoned veteran among carrier birds. Sporting a face begging for a beating, it had survived all these years without being pummeled to death, so it ought to be even smarter. Wayne waited with the mouse strip. As long as it spoke, it would be accepting the name by default. The snowy owl didn't speak. It just cast a sidelong glance at Wayne. Its otherworldly aloofness made his fists itch all over again. He sneered, "There are two ways you can accept this: either you keep your dignity on your own, or I help you keep it. Be good, or don't blame me for sicking the dog on you." The snowy owl still refused to speak, squinting its eyes as if preparing for a nap. "Abin, get in here." Wayne chuckled. For another mage, sharing a personality with their carrier bird might be a fine thing. But with him, either he or the snowy owl was going to undergo a thorough reformation today. Hearing its master's call, Abin wagged its tail and trotted happily into the office through the back door. Sniffing the smell of mouse strips in the air, the dog instantly wore a face of deep disgust. The snowy owl's golden eyes widened. It stared blankly at Abin, its little round face displaying a comical, anthropomorphic look of shock. "Teach it a lesson—" Wayne broke off mid-sentence. For no other reason than the snowy owl had snapped up the mouse strip in its beak, pressed it down with a talon, and begun to nibble on it at a leisurely pace. That was fast! You gave in way too quickly! Wayne felt he had chosen the wrong carrier bird. If it were his personality, he would have remained unyielding to the death under severe torture, without batting an eye. "Master, are we still going for a walk tonight?" Abin asked eagerly. "Nothing better to do anyway. Let's do a round—the cemetery during the first half of the night, then the subway station for the second half." Wayne planned to navigate the sewers tonight. Londan's sewer system stretched nearly two thousand kilometers, separating stormwater from sewage, with exceptionally spacious flood diversion and drainage tunnels. Due to the labyrinthine layout, even the Sewerage Commission overseeing its construction and maintenance had no clear grasp of what lay beneath their feet. Often, one would walk along a sewer only to stumble into an air-raid shelter, and after taking a turn—hey presto—arrive at a subway station. Wayne was full of anticipation for this untamed frontier, daydreaming of galloping on horseback through the sewers. A journey of a thousand li begins with a single step. He intended to chart a few routes tonight and gradually expand upon them later, so that if a powerful foe ever chased him down the road, he could shake them off in the sewers. Wayne: *Nobody knows sewers better than me!* "Axue, stay and watch the house tonight. The mouse strips are on the desk; don't eat too many." In the backyard, Wayne gave his instructions and raised a hand in the air. A sleek, powerful undead warhorse leapt out from the fissures of the thick mist. Mounting the warhorse, he shook his head. Without even drawing Shadow Nightmare, a gray vortex enveloped his entire body, transforming him into a skull-headed Death Knight. Abin leaped over the courtyard wall, and Wayne spurred his steed right behind, leaving Axue perched at the backyard doorway. Its large eyes were wide as saucers. "Death... Knight..." "He is the Death Knight?!" "Impossible. His magic is so pure, completely untainted by death. How could he be Death's proudest knight? He should be the finest of the God-favored." Axue murmured, speculating to itself, "Perhaps that's just how a deity's knight is, able to perfectly disguise their own faith. The Death Knight appears in Londan, secretly infiltrating the Church of Nature... Should I give them a heads-up?" "Forget it. It's not the Church of the Sun anyway; what does it have to do with me?" As it pondered, a sharp sense of crisis surged within Axue. Being chosen by the Death Knight as his carrier bird was definitely no coincidence. The Death Knight had sought out the stronghold of the Goddess of the Sun's followers, seen through its identity, and prepared to use it to scheme against the Church of the Sun. "No, that's not right either. If that were the case, there'd be no need for him to expose his identity..." "Besides, I chose to come with him on my own." An anthropomorphic look of bafflement appeared on Axue's round little face. Both explanations seemed plausible, yet neither quite fit. This puzzle was too hard; it simply couldn't figure it out. *** At the cemetery. Wayne spurred his mount into a gallop. Exceptional learning ability combined with a lean, nimble physique had enabled him to master superb horsemanship in no time, practically becoming an expert equestrian without any formal training. His sparring partners were the elderly folks who never slept late at night. Seeing how vigorous and emotionally stable they all were, one had to assume they harbored no complaints. Wayne's rapid progress was partly due to Yulia's inherent nature—rivers, lakes, and sheer cliffs were all traversed as if on flat ground, and the undead warhorse ensured its master would never fall from the saddle. But it also proved Wayne's own talent. Talent in the realm of death! There was good reason why followers of the Goddess of Death had come knocking, and why Observer Griew, one of the Goddess's three Vicars, had personally stepped in to recruit him. If the previous Death Knight perished, Wayne stood a very strong chance of becoming the new Death Knight. To keep the story moving, Wayne honed his horsemanship in the cemetery while experimenting with Shadow Nightmare. Guided by Yulia, he essentially copied the former wielder's playbook. The death energy inside Wayne was not singular; broken down, it comprised two kinds of eternity. One came from Shadow Nightmare, emphasizing curses and mind control, plunging an enemy's thoughts into an eternal nightmare. The other originated from the Town of Kafuno, focusing on tranquility—a stillness akin to frozen time, locking the enemy's mind in the exact moment the blade struck. Compared to these two formidable aspects of death that struck directly at the mind, other attributes—such as raising the dead, corrupting flesh, and immortality—seemed more like incidental bonuses. When all was said and done, the mind was the key. Inflicting heavy damage on an enemy's mind brought victory, and guided by one's own mind, the paths of death were multifarious. "Too bad my magic isn't strong enough yet, nor is my mind. Even with the enhancements, I can't fully unleash the might of these two deaths," Wayne remarked with regret. Buoyed by the encouragement of his sycophantic dog and horse, he quickly cheered up. Enough talk. Time to grind; only by hustling could he carve out a brave new world. ... Meanwhile, outside the cemetery, over a dozen figures lurked within the mist. They used the fog as cover, blending seamlessly into nature, their auras concealed so flawlessly that unless observed face-to-face with the naked eye, their presence was impossible to detect. The priestess leading them was Simone Emily. Having shed her priestly robes for brisk, practical attire, she led the Scalpel elites of Londan to investigate the cemetery. Simone had already yielded to Xifei. To show her loyalty, she had cut her long hair into the same short style as Xifei's. A haircut alone was not enough to earn Xifei's trust. Xifei had assigned Simone a mission: this cemetery was haunted in the middle of the night, coffins showed signs of being moved, and the soil had been freshly turned, suggesting the Death Knight was exercising his horse nearby. Simone was tasked with verifying the intelligence. And so, Simone, who rarely left her office, came to the front lines, handpicking the ten finest Scalpels she could find. The Londan branch was established later than the Paris branch, and the inherited Scalpel agency was noticeably weaker. Moreover, with the Dark Knight having wreaked havoc recently, Londan's Scalpel organization had suffered heavy casualties. Simone had few choices and had to pick the best of a mediocre bunch. Taking on the Death Knight in a duel was out of the question—unless in a dream. Only in a dream might someone return triumphant with the Death Knight's severed head. In reality, the Death Knight would lop off everyone's heads and mount them in a neat row atop the fence. Xifei knew it, and Simone knew it. Tonight's operation was nothing more than a pledge of allegiance; lip service wouldn't cut it, she had to demonstrate genuine sincerity. If she ran into the Death Knight's steed, Simone could retreat at any time without punishment. Not only would there be no penalty, but there would also be a reward for bringing back vital intelligence. Watching the cemetery buffeted by chilling winds not far away, Simone signaled silently. The ten Scalpel members fanned out, concealing their presence to carry out reconnaissance and sentry duties. Low risk did not mean zero risk. Simone kept this in mind at all times: only timid mages lived long lives. One Scalpel elite pressed both hands to the earth, linking his mind to the vegetation to expand his field of vision through the root network, scanning the cemetery thoroughly from every angle. In his perception, lush greenery surrounded the cemetery, but the center was pitch-black. His vision was obstructed, unable to pierce the shroud of darkness. It was understandable. Graveyards always had traces of death aura drifting about. Life naturally repelled such aura and shrank away from it, so failing to see clearly was only to be expected. At Simone's nod, the Scalpel elite produced a glass vial, poured pollen into his palm, and gently blew it into the air. The imperceptible pollen drifted outward, successfully guiding the elite's field of vision into the cemetery. Throughout the process, none of them used magic. When it came to infiltration, they were unquestionable experts. *Roooaaar—* An eerie wind howled across the ground, rustling the grass and churning the foliage. Shadows of trees swayed violently, warning the group that danger was closing in. The Scalpel elite murmured in a low voice, "There is an undead hound. It largely matches the reports of the vicious beast accompanying the Death Knight. Three months ago, an urban legend about this hound surfaced in Londan, first sighted at a pet shelter, though that report has yet to be verified." The elite relayed the information impassively, awaiting Simone's next command. "Can you see anything more?" Simone suppressed the astonishment in her chest, wanting to confirm the whereabouts of the undead warhorse yet dreading that her subordinate might actually spot the Death Knight. "Only the undead hound. It seems to have sensed my gaze and is searching around. Now is the optimal time to withdraw," the elite said. "Fall back!" Simone didn't hesitate for a second. Tonight's mission was complete. Confirming the undead hound's existence counted as bringing back significant intelligence. Many magical creatures roamed Londan's thick fog. Whenever night fell, the mist provided sanctuary for them. The various churches had joined forces to eradicate wave after wave of magical creatures and erected barriers to protect the citizens' lives after dark, yet some creatures always managed to slip through the cracks into Londan. The undead hound might well be one of them. It had claimed the cemetery as its territory. As for why an undead hound had become associated with the Death Knight, perhaps bones were simply drawn to each other. Sensing danger and unwilling to linger, Simone led the Scalpel elites into an immediate retreat, taking the middle position to be protected. *Roooaaar—* Accompanied by a low roar, the omnipresent fog surged violently, converging from afar around the cemetery's perimeter. It morphed into slithering vipers, twisting and writhing as they searched for prey. The group halted, concealing their presence as best they could. But the fog wasn't just a medium for sensory detection; it could also conduct physical observation to a certain degree. Several quick-witted elites instantly realized they had been exposed; the undead hound's roar was a summons for something else. "Retreat at once!" Two elites hoisted Simone—whose combat instincts were touchingly poor—by her arms, while the rest joined forces to sustain a protective barrier, pushing through the fog as if hacking through brambles to quicken their escape. Rich in combat experience and decisive in action, barring any unforeseen mishap, they surely would have escaped safely tonight. *Craaash!* The mist vipers coiled into sharp talons, gnawing at the protective barrier like interlocking fangs. Every strike left visible gouges across the barrier. In a mere ten seconds, over a hundred scratches appeared. The elites' mana plummeted rapidly. They were horrified by the undead hound's might, especially this ability to manipulate mist—it was impossibly strong. In terms of raw power, this undead hound was definitely not just a magical creature born from the mist; it had also received the Death Knight's blessing. *Crack!* One gaping maw after another tore and bit at the barrier with escalating ferocity. Realizing that someone had to stay behind to cover their retreat, the elites ignored the pale-faced Simone: five remained to hold the rear, while the other five made a full sprint to break out. Of course, they still dragged their nominal leader, Simone, along with them. *Boom!* The instant the barrier shattered, tangled vines erupted from the soil, growing into a giant over ten meters tall that held back the mist and blocked the savage biting dogs attacking from all directions. Blurred figures darted across the ground, racing toward the edge of the dense fog. The elites reasoned that the mist controlled by the undead hound had a limited range. Once they broke through, they would exit the domain dominated by the hound, putting them in a much better position to mount a counterattack. The elites staying behind were in no rush either; they had survived far deadlier situations. Back then, the High Priest had managed to escape the Dark Knight's pursuit precisely because of the Scalpel organization. All of a sudden, the mist abruptly dissipated, and hazy moonlight poured down. With the pressure abruptly relieved and the terrifying atmosphere cut short, the five rear-guard elites stared in astonishment at the hound before them, wondering why it had halted its assault. What astonished them even more was that the colleagues who had just managed to escape were now rushing back at an even faster retreat speed, carrying Priestess Simone right back with them. *Are you kidding me?! We risked our necks to make a breakout opening for you—could you at least appreciate it a little?!* Facing their colleagues' furious glares, the five who had doubled back were utterly helpless. "Wrong way. Someone even meaner came from over there—we can't break through." Under the moonlight, crisp hoofbeats echoed. The Death Knight sat astride his warhorse, facing them at a profile. Black mist swirled around his skeletal head, and a pair of flickering white flames looked them over. A heavy voice rang out: "Don't leave. Stay and be an extra dish on the menu!"