By the time the Speechless Man woke up from his coma, the monster was gone. He took a sharp hammer from the cell where the temple guards once lived and went outside to inspect the temple. The cold wind blew the snow across the rows of graves, and the tombstones disappeared under a white cloak. The wailing of dogs was heard in the distance, breaking the terrible silence of the night. The moon was almost full, and the silver light of the larger moon obscured its sickly glow.

By the light of the moonlight and rush grass, the Wordless Man circled the temple, the hammer in his hand ready to go. As he searched the ground for traces of the undead he had seen, the snow creaked beneath his feet. Even if there were any traces left on that thing, it should have been wiped out by the fresh snow.

The Silent let out a nervous laugh. If that thing really existed there, and not just in his own head.

The stumbling footsteps brought him to the side of the temple, to the ornate window that overlooked the sanctuary. He stared at the ground under the window, goosebumps on his skin. Sheltered by eaves, the ground here has not been affected by the recent snowfall. There were obvious barefoot footprints in the snow, which he had never seen before.

The footprints of the toes can be seen in the snow, and the toes are like messy claws. The flesh on the toes was peeled off. The last proof of the creature's real existence was when the Silent One found a piece of rotting skin stuck to the window frame, left by the horrible undead peeking into the sanctuary clinging to the glass.

Thinking of this, the speechless man clenched the spike tighter, and turned away from the window. His eyes scanned the rows of silent graves, and he wondered where the monster had gone. He felt it was his duty to find this abominable thing. Despite the heretical spells he was cast, he still considered himself a priest of the Holy Religion, and the priest's duty was to bring peace to the restless dead.

The open doors of the old vaults shook in the wind and crashed against the carved granite walls. The Silent Man felt a chill cascade down his spine. No one will open that door. Even the most desperate looters avoid the graveyards of the dead, if not for fear of the plague, but because of the terrible memories of Oort and the terrible atrocities he committed against the cemetery.

It took more courage to force himself to walk to the mausoleum than he could have imagined. With every step, he felt the urge to run away, to retreat to the temple, to hide behind the altar. His flesh was throbbing nervously, his breathing was like a cold gasp, and every hair on his body stood on end. Every part of his body could feel the anomaly that had happened before him, the door swaying in the wind.

He managed to reach the mausoleum. The Silent Man hesitated on the threshold, staring silently at the centuries-old dusty marks of the tomb. As they descended into the moldy darkness, clumps of swampy grass and dirt littered the steps. A sneaky voice tentatively probed the edge of his hearing, and the Wordless was convinced that it wasn't a mouse's voice.

Driven by fear, the Wordless began to pray to his gods, but he rarely hesitated. After he had done those things and desecrated the temple of the Holy Spirit, he was no longer entitled to count on God's mercy. He failed his gods. Maybe it's a test, a test to atone for oneself. If so, he is determined to face the challenge alone.

When he descended to the ancient tomb, darkness surrounded him. The light of the corduroy lamp diminished with each step, as if the grave hated its flames breaking in. When the light began to dim, the primal panic made the speechless feel very depressed.

The sneaky footsteps slipped past his ears again. It's just that they're closer now, close enough to hit people's souls. He had thought that his prey should be in the depths of the catacombs now, not so close to the entrance. He glanced apprehensively at the suspicious glow of the rush grass, and strode over to the noise.

He hadn't gone far before he smelled a sweet, rotting stench. From the darkness, a figure appeared in the flickering light. The Silent One stepped back in astonishment, and he found himself staring at the rotting face of a peasant, whose face had almost turned into a skeleton from the greedy attention of the swamp vermin. Bugs wrirm in the peeling flesh, the scaly carcass of a scavenging fish protrudes from its cheeks, and the ugly water beetle crawls through its slime-stained hair.

The Silent One slammed his heavy spiked hammer into the monster's hideous face. The rotting skulls were shattered by the terrible blows, and the walls of the tomb were splattered with filth and bone fragments. The guy shook a little, as if not realizing that its head had shattered. Then the thing fell on the dusty floor.

The Walking Dead! The speechless person couldn't help but think of this strange word. Walking returnees have no purpose or motive, and stealth horror is the opposite of life and death. They are the lowest repulsive undead, brainless corpses without a will or soul.

However, when the Wordless Man's mind returns to the dark legend of Aort, a disturbing thought comes to mind. The walking corpse is something that exists because of necromancy, and it can only thrive under the guidance of some external force, and some kind of stronger will can sustain its empty shell. He suddenly understood why these things were happening. Some terrible Hades power has descended on the graveyard and may be lurking in the graveyard now. It is calling the unholy dead, pulling them out of the grave.

The hearts of the speechless pound. Somewhere in the black catacombs, an evil force is gathering its power. It must be stopped, before it threatens the town.

As the Wordless Man finished chanting the incantation, a dazzling white light appeared on him, and he continued down the sunken passage with the sharp hammer in his hand in his hand. But even in the light of the light, the darkness in the passage could not be dispelled, and his eyes struggled to penetrate the darkness, trying to compensate for the dimming illumination of the corduroy lamp.

The sound of shuffling footsteps echoed in front of him. He could hear that there was more than one source of these voices, but he couldn't tell whether they were a dozen or a hundred. If fate is in his favor, he may never need to know. He only needs to face one enemy - the mysterious power of summoning the walking corpse from the swamp.

The Silent Ones cautiously advance in the darkness. Sometimes, he can see the rotting remains of zombies looming in the shadows. Each frantic blow of the Silent One shattered rotting limbs and bones. When the Speechless noticed the walking corpse's unnatural reaction to his attack, goosebumps developed on his skin. These things were neither defensive nor offensive, they just died under his blows, staggering away as he squeezed past them.

Perhaps their masters were not yet aware of the existence of the Silent One. Perhaps that mysterious being had exhausted its strength when resurrecting the dead and was now resting, trying to replenish its energy. The Wordless hoped that this would be the case, because that would mean he could quietly grab the vicious creature and destroy it before it was strong enough to fight him.

Just then, a noise in front of him stopped him. He didn't know what the thing in front of him was, it was moving in a form of energy that the faltering walking corpse he had encountered didn't have. The image of the ghoul manifested in the mind of the speechless. Once again, he felt the urge to run away. But once again he forced himself to be brave. Whatever was in front of him, it probably hadn't realized him yet. He might be able to surprise him.

The Silent let out a muffled wail and rushed into the darkness, hammer frantically pounding at everything in between. When the spiker was stopped by some irresistible force, the Wordless cried out in pain, his arm trembling. He threw the rickety rush straw lamp at his opponent.

The Speechless looked ahead, a smile of disbelief passing across his face. There were no demons in the darkness, just the smooth black of an obsidian pillar, a monument to some long-dead Templar knight. There was a scratch on the pillar, the most perfect scratch his sharp hammer could make on the motionless stone. Over the years, the column has maintained its luster, reflecting the radiance of the rush lamp of the speechless and the person holding the rush lamp.

In order to attack the demons that haunt the catacombs, he attacks his own reflection. The absurdity of this incident sent a wry smile into the mouths of the speechless.

But soon his laughter died down, and the aisle behind him was suddenly filled with the sound of uniform footsteps. The attack on the pillar by the Silent Ones, perhaps, was ridiculous, but it yielded terrible results. The walking corpses are now aware of him, and they are guided by the evil forces of their masters. He could see them groping their way to the light, their faces turning purple and their swollen tongues sticking out of their dying mouths.

The Silent One moved the mace to his uninjured arm, summoning up the courage to face the lowest undead. "Stand back," he warned the dead creatures, pretending to be brave.

To his shock, the walking corpses had literally stopped moving. These things stood there motionless like terrible statues, staring blankly at the speechless with lifeless eyes.

The Silent One raised his hammer and took a step closer to the walking corpses frozen in place. Those undead monsters can't even move their muscles. A terrible chill enveloped his heart, and a terrible suspicion made him refuse to accept it.

"Let ......" he licked his trembling lips and tried again. Let me pass. ”

His mouth opened wide in horror as the walking corpse moved, and the decomposing corpse pressed against the walls of the catacombs, clearing a way for him. This wordless, unquestionable obedience to absolute obedience terrifies the souls of the speechless.

Without even a glance, the Silent One ran past the walking corpse and hurried out of the tomb and the terrible things he had found.

He can run away from these walking corpses, but he can't escape the truth. The undead are summoned by a terrifying force that is powerful enough to bind them to his will. He's the demon that haunts the cemetery. He is the evil force that summons the dead from their graves.

He had surpassed the limits of what Ault could have done before his death.

The Speechless...... No. It should be a necromancer.......