As the boy drew closer, a mory of a cherished past, a sudden, terrible premonition flooded Wilkawang's mind. He reacted on instinct, raising his right hand just as a bullet shimring with golden light slamd into the bone armor that erupted from his flesh. It didn't penetrate.
"Who's there?"
He demanded, backing away quickly as he tossed a dark, round ball from his pocket. The mont it touched the ground, it fused with the earth, and within a couple of breaths, a six-foot-tall, flesh-colored golem had risen from the soil.
"An undead flesh golem?"
The boy bent down to pick up the bullet and its casing, then raised an arm to catch a white cat that leaped down from a nearby earthen wall. His pitch-black eyes were exceptionally sharp—this was definitely not the gaze a slum child could possess.
"Who are you?"
Wilkawang asked again, though he already understood the mont he saw the cat. He was only speaking to buy ti; he wasn't skilled in close-quarters combat.
"Who I am isn't important," Jenkins, disguised as the boy, replied. "I'm actually more curious about who you are."
He tucked the pistol into his waistband. His left hand still held the branch, but flas now ignited in the palm of his right, and two bands of silver light, like surging rivers of stars, coiled around his arm.
Crouching slightly, he used the imnse leaping power from [Cat's Grace] to shoot forward, a blur of motion. Jenkins's strength, speed, and reflexes completely surpassed Wilkawang's, but his punch once again slamd into the bone armor that had materialized over the man's body.
Jenkins wasn't sure if it was an ability or an item, but the thing was incredibly durable, and it could automatically shed any parts ignited by his inexhaustible flas.
"Did you mix spirit-blocking tal into this?"
Even the shards of silver light he flung out were deflected by the bone armor.
"Yes, you're absolutely right."
Wilkawang was still retreating. He needed ti to summon his undead. Even with the bone armor, engaging a high-level Enchanter in close combat was the height of foolishness.
The bone armor now appeared on his right forearm, spreading rapidly across his entire body. It was a distinctive suit, possessing a macabre elegance even in its single, stark white color, all while ensuring the wearer's safety and allowing for easy movent.
Jenkins, his opponent, had been knocked back a step by the rebound of his own punch, his right hand throbbing with pain. Unwilling to yield, he pressed forward again, this ti whipping out the branch in his left hand like a lash.
This wasn't a weapon imbued with extraordinary power; it was truly an ordinary branch, one Jenkins had revived from a dead twig he'd found near the wall. But now, it pulsed with vibrant life. Upon contact with the ghastly white bone armor, it didn't break. Instead, it began to grow, clinging to the armor like a vine.
At that mont, horrifying living corpses finally burst out from the shops on either side. But even as Jenkins let go of the branch with his left hand to deal with the undead, the armor remained held fast by the plant. Wilkawang, clad in his bone armor, was likewise immobilized. The armor that was ant to protect him had now beco his cage.
The branch snaked down the armor and finally touched the ground, where it imdiately sprouted roots and a crown, anchoring itself firmly. By the ti Jenkins had incinerated the two corpses, Wilkawang was completely ensnared, unable to move, tangled in a sh of wood and bone.
"You see? When it cos to dealing with death, life is always more effective."
The boy—Jenkins in disguise—smiled. And from within the tree, Wilkawang smiled back at him.
A sinister wind blew from the mouth of the alley, and the mist grew thicker. The alley filled with the stench of rot and decay, while ominous clouds, appearing from nowhere, blotted out the sun.
Crack!
A deafening peal of late-winter thunder rolled through the sky. With the first clap, thick snowflakes began to fall without any warning. But the snow was gray, silently blanketing the world.
A sinister chill seeped up from the ground, spreading up Jenkins's legs and through his entire body. It was a cold more terrifying than the ice of the Level 8 Enchanter he had once faced; Jenkins found he couldn't control his own legs.
At the sa ti, a faint whispering grew louder, accompanied by music like a funeral dirge descending from the sky. Two bony claws erged from the void and gripped Jenkins's shoulders.
Horrifying phantoms darted through the alley, and purplish-black flowers of the dead, which only grow in places of death, blood throughout the alley, defying the gray snow.
After all these strange phenona had manifested, a blade shimring with a cold light appeared in the air directly in front of Jenkins.
The core of the blade was bone-white, encased in pure silver tal. The edge was notched and uneven, but its cold glint testified to its power. The hilt was adorned with two nacing skulls, their eyes dotted with eerie blue flas that caused the sword to emit an alluring light in the growing darkness.
It sliced through the air, aid straight for Jenkins's head. A curved, round shield, hastily ford by [Psychography], appeared from thin air in front of the boy, slightly deflecting the sword's path.
It all happened in a split second. Jenkins had reacted almost purely on instinct. The shield was split by the sword, but it had served its purpose. Still, the blade wounded Jenkins's left arm before plunging deep into the earth beside him.
The heavy gray snow covered the entire alley within minutes. Jenkins, his body rigid, could almost hear the sword beside him laughing maniacally.
The world before his eyes began to distort. The cetery filled with blade-shaped gravestones he had seen before appeared before him once more. This ti Jenkins could confirm it: the sword plunged into the center of the graveyard was the very one beside him now. From the black earth, all sorts of undead creatures were gradually reawakening, their eyes fixed on the flesh of the living...
"ow~"
The clear cry of the cat was like the first ray of dawn piercing the night. Jenkins, whose consciousness had been muddled, instantly snapped back to his senses.
The graveyard illusion crumbled in an instant, and the snow-swept alley reappeared before his eyes. Compared to the gash on his arm from the sword, the stinging pain on one of his cheeks felt far more real. Chocolate had scratched him to wake him up.
"Damn cat!"
Seeing Jenkins awaken before being lost to the illusion, Wilkawang cried out, frustrated and enraged. The mont the sword had appeared, the sapling anchoring him to the ground had completely withered away. Now, the young man was backing away from the disguised boy, while from the shops and inn beside them, the undead were already stepping out into the snow.
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