The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

"You've come to the wrong place, Monk Victor. I've sworn a solemn oath to Saint Sis never to leave this monastery. As clergy, you should know how blasphemous your words are."

On the Aus Continent, there are no oaths made under duress. Knights unwilling to swear should die with dignity, rather than later claiming coercion.

No priest would persuade someone who has sworn an oath to renounce it; this fellow is definitely not a devoted believer, at least not in the Holy Light.

The old monk paused in silence, sighed regretfully, and shook his head lightly.

"I admit you are a knight who keeps his oath. Didn't expect to find such a naive fool in the already fallen 'Land of Knights.'"

"You can leave now."

Jelock rose from the bench, his calm voice full of indifference.

"Clergy shouldn't be involved in worldly affairs, I'll pretend you never came here today."

Given his age, Jelock didn't want to trouble him. If Edward knew he was meeting someone from the King, it wouldn't be good for either the old man or himself.

Besides...

He didn't want his brother to worry about his affairs any longer.

Jelock turned to leave the defiled Prayer Hall.

However, as soon as he took a step, the gentle voice behind him rang out again, this time with a hint of eeriness.

"That's not possible."

A barely perceptible killing intent flashed, and Jelock's pupils suddenly contracted!

He turned abruptly, only to see the old monk lifting his drooping head. The eyes hidden by the hood's shadow were now filled with web-like blood vessels.

Not just the eyes!

The dried-up skin was swelling visibly, blackening, bloating... like a corpse soaked in seawater!

Jelock didn't even have time to think. His instincts as a knight made him suddenly lunge to the side, rolling behind the bench.

"Boom—!" Almost at the moment his shoulder hit the ground, the old monk's body exploded!

A terrifying shockwave swept through the entire Prayer Hall, shattering the heavy wooden bench into splinters!

Foul blood and rotten flesh mixed with fragments of viscera scattered like shrapnel from a blossoming grenade, staining the high Saint Sis Statue and exquisite stained glass windows with a nauseating crimson!

This is—

Corpse Explosion?!

Jelock steadied himself as he rolled, intense dizziness and nausea rushing to his brain, followed by a hint of astonishment.

This old man... turned out to be a puppet controlled by an Undead Mage!?

And at the instant he steadied himself, a figure unknown stood at the Prayer Hall's crooked doorway.

The hunched figure wore a tattered black cloak.

Carrying a menacing chain whip, its end tied to an enormous, heavy metal cross, its rust looked like dried blood.

He raised his head, revealing a face furrowed with wrinkles under the hood, a sinister smile splitting his yellowing teeth.

"You actually dodged it... tsk tsk."

That wasn't just any corpse explosion.

To complete this 'work', he first skinned the old monk, engraved evil runes into the flesh, then stitched it back up while he was still breathing his last.

"Who are you!"

Jelock's heart was gripped with terror, he quickly grabbed a broken piece of bench, using it as a short club, and shouted.

He felt a massive and evil presence, not just simple Undead Magic, but something even filthier and more wicked!

"Harlow, some call me the Burier, others the Gravedigger... but I prefer the name I'm about to gain."

The man who called himself Harlow sneered, grabbing the chain whip with a "clang."

He casually swung it, the heavy metal cross slicing through the air with a whooshing sound, accompanied by the clatter of chains, like a thousand demons wailing.

"... You've enjoyed wealth and glory enough, since you don't appreciate it, lend me your head!"

As he cackled, twisted figures began to emerge at the doorway of the Prayer Hall.

They were the castle's guards, monks of the monastery, and the "prison guards" and "companions" Jelock had lived with on this island.

Now, those familiar faces had turned into hollow-eyed, puppet-like corpses!

Rage burned in Jelock's eyes, the wooden club in his hand creaked.

This guy...

He killed them all!

"You demon..."

"Thanks for the compliment!"

No time to mourn the dead monks!

Harlow swung the heavy metal cross like a chain whip, tearing through the air with a piercing shriek!

"Clang—!"

Jelock raised the broken bench rail to block, not daring to take the roaring blow head-on, only to evade to the side.

Yet even in that brief contact, the overwhelming force shocked his trembling arm, and his entire arm shuddered.

The knight without a weapon was knocked back three steps, and before he could react, Harlow's second strike came rapidly!

"Die!" Harlow roared, swinging the chain whip, his manic face flushed with excitement, like a shark smelling blood in the water.

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