Chapter 277 The Church, a Backstab, and a Push

Marcus hadn't spent many years in school. Having spent most of his life fighting through perilous, monster-infested lands, he naturally possessed no eye for aesthetics.

He merely felt, on a purely instinctual level, that the magnificent Church before him exuded an indescribable, unique beauty.

It was completely different from any Church he had seen before. A heavy, decaying atmosphere that had no place in a sanctuary dedicated to a deity saturated every inch of his vision.

The thick fog lingered. The towering spire—once a symbol of holiness and a bridge to the divine kingdom—had snapped off. Only its jagged, uneven stump pointed abruptly toward the heavens, devoid of any sense of salvation.

Cracks webbed the thick, grayish-black stone walls. Withered, twisted black vines slithered up the masonry like snakes, following the grooves deep into the crevices. They looked like tentacles reaching up from below, intent on dragging the Church down into a subterranean abyss.

Of the few surviving stained glass windows, only dim, shattered fragments remained, whining in the whistling wind like the hollow eye sockets of a skull.

The moment he stepped closer and saw the Church clearly through the shrouding fog, Marcus inexplicably shuddered.

"Captain, are we..." came the tentative voice of the dwarf, Stonebelly, right beside his ear.

He obviously wasn't asking if they should retreat, but whether they were going inside the Church.

The naturally greedy, money-grubbing dwarf had already been forced by the squad's orders to give up searching the many roadside buildings they had passed.

If he wasn't allowed to satisfy his avarice on this magnificent structure at the end of the road, he would likely mutiny on the spot.

Naturally, Marcus couldn't ignore that.

The whole reason they had ventured this deep into Ash Valley was to seize greater profits.

Now, there were no other buildings behind the Church, only bare cliffs. The trio had undoubtedly reached the deepest part of the valley.

If any treasures truly remained, they would be here.

He abruptly took a deep breath, letting the freezing air flood his lungs.

Staring intently at the ruined, half-open doors of the Church ahead, he waved to his teammates. "Take it slow. We're going in."

...

"Creak."

Accompanied by a rustling shower of stone dust, the stiff grating of the wooden doors echoed faintly through the dead, cavernous hall.

Crossing the shattered threshold, the first thing that greeted their eyes wasn't awe-inspiring architecture, but drifting motes of dust mingling with the fog. That, and a heavy, almost tangible aura of indescribable ruin—one that even a person with the worst Perception could feel.

The pews had rotted away, leaving only grayish-black chunks of wood that betrayed no hint of their original shape. A thick layer of dust coated the floor, with gravel and unidentifiable bone fragments scattered everywhere.

Against the backdrop of creeping cracks and howling wind, the towering vaulted ceiling looked as if it might collapse at any moment, completely stripped of the safety it once provided.

The massive stone pillars supporting the Church might still be struggling to do their job, but the holy crests and reliefs carved into their surfaces had been washed away by the river of time, leaving only twisted, hideous outlines.

Had the visitors possessed the relevant knowledge and keen observation skills, they might have deduced what had happened here from the various details in the Church.

But right now, all Marcus and the others cared about was the colossal, divine figure looming toward the back of the main hall.

They had encountered a broken, halved version of this statue once before near the valley entrance. Now, it finally revealed its complete form.

One hand reached upward with a delicate curve between the forearm and bicep, fingers naturally splayed, as if offering up some object or begging for mercy from a higher existence.

Further down, even though time had left fine cracks and mottled scars across its surface, the statue's unique beauty could still be captured in the exquisite, albeit blurred, patterns of its robes and its overall form.

Unfortunately, its facial features had been completely smoothed over by the stone dust in the fog, making it impossible to discern the deity's true face.

And kneeling right beneath this statue was the only other living thing in the entire Church besides Marcus's squad.

"Hhk..."

It was the same dry, grating croak squeezed from the depths of a throat that they had heard countless times on the way here.

The shriveled, emaciated figure knelt silently on the floor, hands clasped before its chest and head bowed low, as if in devout prayer.

With its back to them, its specific appearance was unclear.

But compared to the very first desiccated corpse they had found, the only difference seemed to be its clothing. It wasn't wearing the coarse linen garments common to commoners, but a tattered Cleric's robe.

At the Church doors, the three members of the Bloodedge Squad maintained an unprecedented level of vigilance, guarding against any potential danger.

Suddenly, Marcus felt a tug on his clothes.

Frowning deeply, he turned his head slightly.

He found Stonebelly staring straight ahead with wide, round eyes. The dwarf's jaw had dropped, and he spoke in a trembling voice that couldn't hide his excitement: "B-boss, look..."

Marcus followed the dwarf's gaze.

A crystalline, fiery orange-red glow immediately reflected in his pupils.

Beneath the statue's toes, right in front of the praying corpse, half-hidden by the gray fog and dust—

A dark gray magic staff embedded with an orange-red gemstone at its tip lay quietly on the altar.

Marcus's pupils shrank!

Visible greed and desire swam in his scar-crossed eyes.

His appraisal skills were average, and what little experience he had was geared only toward common melee weapons.

He was utterly clueless when it came to enchanted gear or weapons meant for a Spellcaster.

But honestly, given the current scene:

An ancient ruin in a remote valley, a magnificent Church permeated with a mystical aura, a towering, broken deity statue, and a devoutly praying zealot.

The atmosphere was so absurdly dramatic that even if a random piece of gravel had been placed on the altar, he would have suspected it was a holy stone stained with divine blood.

Let alone the fact that the object before him was no common item. Its classic design made its purpose obvious at a single glance—it was a genuine magic staff!

'We're really going to strike it rich this time!' Even with his steady mind, tempered by years of adventuring, Marcus couldn't stop himself from cheering inwardly.

On the Aifala Continent, anything remotely related to an Adventurer cost several times more for a commoner.

And for Adventurers, anything tied to a Spellcaster seemed to belong to an entirely different currency system, casually adding a few zeroes to the price tag.

Gold coins meant nothing. Those generous "master mages" could buy an entire street in a remote district with a single piece of gear, and they never haggled.

He subconsciously took a step back, putting distance between himself and his two teammates. The curved blade in his hand gleamed coldly in the dim light.

Then, as if remembering something, logic reclaimed the high ground in his mind.

Marcus gave a deliberate, dry cough and ordered the ranger Ciri beside him, "Take out the corpse in front of the statue. Don't hold back."

A hint of hesitation flashed across Ciri's face. Her left hand, which had quietly reached for the Short Dagger at her waist the moment she saw the staff, subtly withdrew.

She gave a light nod, uncharacteristically keeping her venomous tongue in check.

At the same time, she naturally retreated a few large steps, moving further back than Marcus, to a position where she had a clear view of her two so-called "teammates."

Nocking an arrow, her solemn eyes swept from the fletching to her fingertips, and from the bowstring down to the arrowhead.

She aimed and let go.

Thwip—

The slender arrow, adorned with black fletching, vanished from the wooden bow in an instant, leaving only a shrill tearing sound in the air.

Having fought these types of desiccated corpses before, she knew their physical defenses well. Aiming for a one-hit kill, Ciri held nothing back and directly used her combat technique, [Flowing Wind Spiral Arrow].

The arrow whipped up a spiral of air as it spun at high speeds, breaking past its usual flight velocity.

The others in the hall could barely see a blur before the arrow instantly punched through the corpse's skull.

The cold, gleaming arrowhead pierced out of the corpse's forehead, coated in bits of flesh and coagulated purplish-red blood.

The immense kinetic force carried by the shaft jerked the shriveled body forward, brutally pinning it to the ground.

The tattered Cleric's robe fluttered violently, and the hacking sounds from its mouth ground to a halt.

It was truly a fatal blow.

Even with the only threat in the room handled, the atmosphere among the Bloodedge Squad fell into an eerily deathly silence.

Not a single person dared to move.

Or rather, no one dared to make the first move.

Because the moment the first bird flapped its wings, it would be besieged by two teammates harboring equally treacherous intentions.

Marcus stood slightly turned, maintaining a stance that let him watch the movements of both teammates simultaneously, his eyes flickering.

His mind wasn't racing to figure out how to divide the staff once they had it. He was calculating whether he should first deal with Ciri, who excelled in ranged combat, or immediately send the dwarf to join his good half-orc buddy in the afterlife once the fighting broke out.

Under extreme tension, even the air seemed to stagnate.

One second, two seconds, three seconds...

Stonebelly breathed heavily, his tension visible to the naked eye. Sweat slicked his palms where he tightly gripped the handle of his axe.

Of course he wanted to hog the staff for himself. In their current formation, he was even the closest to it.

If it came down to a pure contest of short-burst speed, he was absolutely confident he could snatch the staff first.

But Stonebelly knew very well that he couldn't do that.

Marcus was standing diagonally behind him, and the dwarf was squarely in his attack range.

The moment he made even the slightest move, those two curved blades would mercilessly cleave his body into three pieces.

And that damned woman, whose mouth was fouler than a rural tavern's latrine, had sneakily retreated to the very back, trapping both him and Marcus under the sights of her longbow.

He had no confidence in tanking an arrow packing the same power as the last one.

And so, the greediest member of the Bloodedge Squad—the mountain dwarf who wouldn't willingly part with a single copper coin—made the wisest decision in his heart.

He planned to temporarily give up on the staff...

His thoughts abruptly halted.

A baffling force of unknown origin suddenly erupted from the void, giving Stonebelly a gentle push on the back.

The force wasn't strong. Against the dwarf's stocky frame, it barely counted as a tickle, causing absolutely no pain.

But in this exact moment, when his attention was entirely fixated on the two people behind him and his muscles were taut and ready for battle...

...it was enough to tip the scales. It was the final straw.

"Thud."

His body swayed, and Stonebelly stumbled forward a step.

As the heavy leather boots specially modified for a dwarf struck the ground, an abrupt, crisp footstep rang through the dead-silent Church, mirrored by Stonebelly's shock-widened eyes and the sweat dripping from his brow.

The sound drifted through the air, but before it could even echo between the stone walls, it was drowned out by two louder, sharper noises.

They were—

The shriek of a blade tearing through the air, and the stiff hum of a bowstring pulling taut.

His body's inexplicable, sudden movement left Stonebelly reeling. Before he could even wonder where the strange force had come from, his survival instincts took over. He whipped around and threw his double-edged greataxe horizontally in front of him to block.

"Clang!"

A curved blade, glinting with sharp, cold light, crashed into the flat of the axe with swift, merciless power.

Sparks showered out, illuminating the dim surroundings for a split second.

Nothing was held back; it was a lethal strike.

Gritting his teeth, Stonebelly knew that against Marcus's close-quarters combat strength, he would likely fall within a few exchanges.

The thick, knotted muscles of the dwarf's arms abruptly surged with power.

"Argh!!!"

Amidst his roar, his stout, stump-like body visibly swelled, channeling explosive force through his arms and into the axe.

He shoved the locked curved blade upward.

At the same time, his legs drove him into an instant retreat. As he broke out of the attack range, he spun in midair and charged madly toward the staff.

Naturally, they wouldn't let him succeed.

Before he could even take a few steps, a fierce tearing sound surged at his back.

His focus sharpened to an unprecedented degree as he predicted the arrow's trajectory by sound alone.

Stonebelly didn't look back, nor did he dare slow down to turn and block.

He merely shifted his body sideways, trying to dodge the arrow fired from behind.

But to his shock, the black-fletched arrow seemed to have eyes of its own. It abruptly twisted in midair, shifting its target from his back to his calf.

Unable to dodge in time.

The sharp arrowhead instantly tore into the flesh of his leg. The severed muscles and the excruciating pain radiating from the limb caused Stonebelly's forward charge to drastically slow.

"Ah!"

He cried out in pain. The greataxe in his thick arms cleaved an arc through the air, as if he meant to counterattack on the spot.

But a second later, his screams came to an abrupt halt.

Because the tip of the curved blade had already pierced through the back of the dwarf's head and jutted out his throat.

With a smooth, tearing pull.

Half of the dwarf's face, accompanied by a fountain of blood, tumbled to the ground alongside his twitching, stiffening, stout body.

Behind him, before Marcus could even retract his force, he forced himself to twist around. The other curved blade in his hand slashed through the air, knocking aside the second arrow that had been fired right at him.