Chapter 227: Dream·Madness (Part 4)

  With one sword slash, he shattered the last skeleton of this group to reach the mountaintop. Rodhart pulled the ice magic sword from his own lower abdomen. The sword carried a lump of frozen flesh and blood, and he could almost hear the sound of his own intestines tearing.

  This ice magic sword, carrying his own flesh and a small piece of an internal organ, flew from his hand and shattered the nearest wraith. Then he immediately seized the opportunity, pulled out the last healing scroll, and dropped it on himself. This was already the last scroll he had found on that priest's zombie.

  Fortunately, this was surprisingly a Divine Grace scroll, which at least could ensure his injuries would not be fatal. He reached up and held the piece of flesh on his face that was about to fall off, using his own healing spell on it. It wasn't because he cared much about his appearance, but because he knew if this piece of flesh really fell off, it would likely pull his eyeball out along with it.

  He could no longer feel pain. Or rather, he could no longer feel anything at all. Having not slept for two consecutive days, he felt his brain marrow was about the same as a block of wood. Not just his senses, but even his thoughts were barely residual.

  He didn't know if it was in the air or in the mountains, but a strange aura permeated the place, a deathly, lifeless feeling. This was probably the fundamental reason why no living creature in this mountain range was willing to enter. The deeper he went into the mountains, the stronger this aura became, eroding his body and mind, pervasive and inescapable. He could feel his body weakening under the influence of this aura, and even his spirit was beginning to languish.

  This was not some kind of mental illusion, but an actual fact. Every breath of air he took, everything he saw, every sound he heard, the feeling of his skin exposed to the air, and the taste that constantly grew in his bones and soul—all of it intensely perceived that aura, that feeling of eroding vitality, rotting life force, making any living thing silently wither and die. His last rest was two days ago. If a piece of weathered rock hadn't fallen from a high place and crushed a section of his finger, the sharp pain stimulating him to full wakefulness, he might never have woken up.

  Especially now, having ventured deep into the mountains, he had to constantly gather all his Battle Qi and willpower to keep himself from weakening and going mad under that strange sensation. Under extreme fatigue and mental exhaustion, he could hardly think anymore. The only thing supporting him in walking to this place was the conviction in his heart.

  The reason he had not yet gone mad in such an environment was perhaps because he had been mad for a long time, mad for that conviction.

  About fifty paces behind him and to his flanks, about twenty skeletons and zombies. A hundred paces down the slope in front, about forty. Four wraiths mid-air. It would take about three seconds for them to pounce. Deal with the ones to the rear and flanks first. There was no Wight commanding them here; these skeletons and zombies were only fighting on their basic instincts. There was still a chance.

  These thoughts moved through his mind like clockwork. He bent down to pick up a spiked mace and a long sword, then charged quickly toward the rear and flanks. At the same time, he almost instinctively let out a roar like a barbarian's war cry: "Rodhart. Requests an audience with Lord Inham·Erney Marquis..."

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  This had almost become a howl from subconscious instinct. But he didn't have time to finish before he viciously headbutted a zombie in the chest and bit off a large chunk of its withered, rotten-wood-like flesh. At the same time, he could feel a piece of his scalp go missing by the zombie's mouth.

  All remaining consciousness was focused on everything related to that conviction. He had become an animal struggling for its conviction.

  He didn't know how much time had passed, perhaps it hadn't been long at all. Rodhart strained to support himself as he stood on the mountaintop, looking at the boundless, gray mountain ranges, and roared once more: "Rodhart, squad leader of the Ainfast Paladin Order. Requests an audience with Lord Inham·Erney Marquis and the mages of Diya Valley..."

  The voice, already not very human-like, slowly echoed and dissipated among the mountains, still failing to provoke the slightest reaction.

  Although he was leaning on a long sword for support, his body had truly reached its limit. Rodhart slowly collapsed to the ground.

  Although his will was still so tenacious, his conviction still so strong, he was still human. The injuries and fatigue on his body now were enough to put down twenty men.

  As his back touched the cold, rocky ground, the strength and energy he had gathered for who knows how long suddenly began to vent like water from a burst dam. He felt as if every single cell in his body was beginning to rapidly collapse and rot. The aura emanating from the air, from the rocks behind him, or from the depths of his own soul began to erode his body. Erode his spirit... He could clearly feel that he was dying.

  But even so, the conviction and consciousness in his heart did not collapse. Instead, they remained clear and firm, just like the incomparably hard Shadowspire Peaks at his back.

  Am I going to die... I still have to go to Diya Valley, I still have a chance. My life shouldn't just be like this, I can still continue to climb higher... I have a chance...

  "So it's a madman." A voice spoke.

  So I really have gone mad. This was Rodhart's first reaction. Hearing an auditory hallucination on the verge of death, what else could that be but madness? Whether it was skeletons, zombies, or wraiths, none of them could speak.

  But his blurred vision then saw not the shadows of those undead creatures, but a real person, a person in a white robe.

  "To dare to force your way into The Shadowspire Peaks all alone, I've not only never seen it, I've never even heard of it. Who would have thought that when I came over to look, the person was a madman." This person looked at Rodhart on the ground and said with a faint sigh. "Do you know that among the zombies, skeletons, and wraiths you shattered, there were many who were more formidable than you in life, and they all came in groups. For you to think you could break into Diya Valley alone, I think you're mad."

  All remaining spirit and strength gathered again because of this person's appearance. Although he could no longer see this person's face, Rodhart still mustered all his energy to speak the words of his conviction: "Rodhart, requests an audience with Lord Inham·Erney Marquis and the mages of Diya Valley..."

  This person smiled faintly and said, "Looking for Inham? Unfortunately, he's no longer here... And since he never mentioned you, nor did he arrange a way for you to meet, it's clear he doesn't care about you at all. In other words, it seems you're of no use to him."

  "I... will be... of use..." Rodhart wanted to say too much, but he truly didn't have the ability to say any more.

  "Of use? So the reason you're mad is just to come and tell others you're useful? It's a pity, Diya Valley has no use for useful people anymore..."

  Rodhart used all his strength to try to speak, but only coughed up a mouthful of blood. His eyes could no longer see.

  This person did not speak either. Looking at Rodhart on the ground, he seemed to consider it for a moment, then bent down, reached out, and pressed his hand on him. Under the glow of white magic, the wounds on his body quickly stopped bleeding and even began to close.

  "To be able to advance this far into The Black Star's barrier with such strength, it shows how madly driven you are. A person who madly tries to prove his own usefulness will probably be truly useful."

  As the endless white magic poured in, the vitality in his body that had been about to be severed was slowly reconnected. Rodhart could slowly see again. The first thing he saw was this person's spotless white bishop's robes and a very beautiful, gentle face.

  "I don't know if it's your good luck or if you're truly mad enough, to be able to meet me here..." this person said slowly. "Diya Valley doesn't need useful people, but there are other places that do. I need."