The dark clouds in the sky grew increasingly black, as if a dense ink had been splattered all over the grayish-yellow parchment and was spreading along its grain.
Between the gaps in the clouds, lightning carried thunder as it raced by, casting a roaring sound to the ground.
Horn's head was also racing.
At first, his speed was still slow, but the closer it got to his headless body, the faster it became.
In the end, the head simply took off, flying to more than a person's height, heading straight towards the headless corpse.
Is resurrection imminent?
Is the world's will instinctively fixing this glitch?
But revival can wait, just for a while, why the rush, it won't take long, even if it's done stealthily.
How is he supposed to explain such a resurrection now?
A scar the size of a bowl on his neck, this isn't some invisible internal injury.
In the real world, it would be terrifying enough, and this is a world of true monsters and demons.
In such a world, what happens when an ordinary person encounters someone who suddenly revives?
A demon returning from the Fire Prison!
Pitchforks! Gallows! Stake!
Having managed to survive for a second life, Horn didn't want to be impaled by a pitchfork just like that.
Glancing at the villagers, fortunately, he was quite far away from them.
Most people's attention was focused either on the ground or on Jeanne and Barnett.
So far, no one had noticed the abnormality here.
Thank goodness.
With his gaze returning from the unresponsive villagers in the distance, Horn breathed a sigh of relief and looked ahead.
Then, the smile on his face froze.
In the grass, a tall, dark silhouette was slowly rising.
Don't come closer!
Indeed, just as his head was rushing towards his body, his headless body was rushing back.
Out of nowhere, the headless corpse abruptly stood up without any external force.
Its legs pressed together and arms outstretched, as if a large cross wanting to embrace Horn's head.
Horn's vision darkened.
Unless it's the Han Sect, anyone with eyes can see it now.
No, no, there must still be a chance.
Reaching that place before being spotted, as long as he can quickly hide in the grass after revival, he might still...
"Saint Master Miseria, look at the Gallar Family."
"Holy Father, what's going on!"
Doomed.
Horn despairingly closed his eyes.
With screams, everyone's gaze shifted yet again, moving from Master Knight and the farm girl to the half-floated headless corpse and flying head.
No one dared to believe their eyes.
How could such an unbelievable force and miracle allow a dead to revive!
Time seemed to reverse; from the black muck, crimson blood separated, gathered, floated, and rose.
Horn's blood emitted a crystal-like luster, swirling and dancing around his upright body.
His head hovered above the neck stump, face settling into peaceful calm after despair, Horn's head fell onto the neck stump with a "poof".
A successful tingling numbness occupied Horn's nerves, and the mercury-like thick floating blood eagerly squeezed into the gaps between his neck and torso.
From the neck stump, dense tendril buds stretched out.
They intertwined and knitted, wriggling in the gaps of the neck stump, hot white steam spewed between the buds, wrapping Horn's neck like a white scarf.
When the white steam dispersed, a circular, thorn-like dark red scar appeared on Horn's neck.
Inside the neck, countless finer buds continued their task, repairing Horn's bones, blood vessels, flesh... until—
"Thump thump!"
Horn heard his first heartbeat.
No matter how unwilling, he felt a surge of newborn joy, as life sent soaring calls.
This sensation was akin to waking up from a New Year's Day party where one drank too much, was unable to move, had a diarrhea mess in one's pants, and then cleaning up, putting on a fresh pair of pants just as the New Year's gong rang out.
The rough sensation of linen from his shirt on his skin, the patter of rain falling on his ears, emitting the fresh scent of rainwater.
Horn understood that he had been resurrected.
Horn forcibly suppressed the joy of being resurrected, as he still had to face more severe tests in reality.
How should he explain his resurrection?
This was an ignorant and superstitious medieval world.
Even though there was the sacred orthodox MiseriaChurch, there still existed the Cult Group and Demon Masters!
Should he say that he is actually a Magician, and was just joking earlier?
That sounded exactly like the kind of excuse a Wizard or heretic would make unintentionally after performing magic.
Then turn around and run away?
What a joke, his stomach was growling with hunger, and no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't outrun Master Knight – their knight breathing technique was all about endurance.
What should he do?
Countless thoughts flashed through Horn's mind, and he rejected them one by one.
Thinking blindly like this was not a solution.
Sneakily squinting his eyes open a bit, Horn decided to first assess the situation at the scene.
At this moment, the villagers who had been cowering together before were all gathering around.
They tiptoed, desperately widened their eyes, and leaned their shriveled heads forward.
These villagers had disheveled hair and beards, pale faces, sunken cheeks, but had a discordant flush on their faces. Their muscles twitched occasionally, with their eye corners slightly trembling.
Some were even shedding tears.
In the front row, the rain made Old Kosse, the stout priest's Mediterranean forehead shine brightly, as he stammered and repeated the same incomprehensible phrase.
Rather than reciting it for everyone, it seemed more like he was chanting it for himself.
As for Knight Barnett and Jeanne, they had long since stopped their previous quarrel.
Knight Barnett's foot left Jeanne's chest.
His face turned pale, and he stared at Horn with suspicion and uncertainty, standing frozen like ice, not even bothering with Jeanne beside him.
As for Jeanne, she had climbed up from the mud, but she was too weak to stand, so she just sat there in a daze.
The little hill was silent, with no one speaking.
All the fervent gazes were fixed on Horn, to the extent that he felt as though he was being scorched.
This reaction seemed a bit off.
Not to mention that most of the gazes appeared more fervent and hesitant rather than fearful or angry.
Five years ago, when the villagers burned that drunken passing beggar as a Wizard, they didn't have this kind of eyes or expressions.
What happened? Why did they keep looking at his neck? Was there light on it or something?
Horn didn't dare to reach up and touch it.
But the rough sensation of the coarse cloth rubbing against his neck reminded him that there was a raised scar on his neck.
Wait, the scar on the neck?
Horn almost couldn't resist slapping his forehead. How could he forget about that?
In this world, there was also a papal state, named MiseriaChurch.
But unlike Earth, they simultaneously revered three Gods:
Creator Saint Father Baine, World-Tree Ash, Savior Saint Master Miseria.
Among them, the highest status belonged to Saint Father Baine, but the most venerated was Miseria, as she was the only one who had descended and left deeds behind.
Although he had not read MiseriaChurch's classic "Gospel", Horn knew a bit about some of Miseria's legendary deeds.
One very famous deed was Miseria's resurrection.
In this tale, Prophet Saint Master Miseria was captured by the nobles of the El Empire, and the brutal governor ordered her limbs to be chained with red-hot irons and her head to be cut off.
But just after Miseria's head was cut off, her headless body suddenly stood up, picked up her head from the ground, and placed it back on her neck.
Then the female prophet wielded two red-hot chains, killing her way from the execution ground to the South City gate, and then from the South City gate to the North City gate, creating rivers of blood, and slaughtering 9 million sinners before escaping.
Therefore, in Miseria's portraits, the Saint Master's wrists and ankles always have dark chain-like marks, representing the red-hot chains, and her neck always has a light red thorn pattern, symbolizing resurrection after beheading.
Isn't this a coincidence? Isn't this a coincidence? I was also resurrected after beheading, I too have a dark red ring mark on my neck.
No wonder they have that kind of fervent yet hesitant look.
From the villagers and Master Knight's perspective, such a resurrection carried too much symbolism, so much so that they dared not distinguish whether it was a devil's trick or a divine miracle.
Hmm... a divine miracle? A divine miracle!
A bolt of lightning flashed across, illuminating Horn's face, and despite Horn's best effort to suppress it, his breathing grew rapid and heavy.
He seemed to have thought of a way to save himself.