Chapter 47: Covenant

"It has been over ten years since I last saw Sir Lancelote. The impression left by the Holy Knight's presence was profound, and seeing him again today fills me with emotion." After glancing over the seven temple knights, Shaman Timmah's gaze settled on Lancelote. His voice, carrying the deep resonance typical of minotaurs, also held a subtle sharpness, as if multiple voices were speaking at once. "Bishop Inham's promise to me was indeed well-founded. You all possess the strength necessary to fulfill our covenant."

"Why waste so many words on these fools? Are you lamenting that he didn't kill enough back then?" A fiery voice, as if ready to explode like a fireball, came from the side. Standing on a stone chair was Lorelei. Harpies had no habit of sitting.

"Indeed, it wasn't enough. You're still here, aren't you?" Welleskay said coldly, looking at the harpy. Even seated on the stone chair, his right hand tightly gripped a massive golden war bow. A faint aura of bloodlust emanated from him. He was one of the two temple knights who had left this place with Lancelote years ago. Like Lancelote, he had been in a constant state of readiness for battle since arriving in the underground world.

"Yes, you're still here!" The harpy chieftain shrieked at Welleskay. Her upper body was half-naked, her face and figure both alluring and seductive, though now she looked more like a hysterical shrew. But perhaps her rage was justified—ten years ago, thousands of her kin had fallen to the golden war bow of the temple knight before her. "Do you know? For the past ten years, I've fantasized every moment about tearing you apart piece by piece. When I killed those Alrasian soldiers and prisoners, I imagined they were you. Let me tell you, hearing their groans is my favorite pastime, far more enjoyable than making love."

The temple knight glared back at her, his eyes equally bloodshot. "The most satisfying moment of my life was ten years ago, slaughtering harpies in Nigen. By the heavens, those flying targets were so easy to shoot. I didn't even need arrows; just picking up bones or corpses from the ground was enough to turn them into a rain of feathers and fragments."

Lorelei let out a shriek that was either laughter or a roar. "Do you remember that old man from ten years ago? The mage among you? His skull is in my nest now, used as a container for my excrement. And that female knight by your side? Her head is still preserved, dried and kept. I forgot to bring it to show you..."

Welleskay let out a booming laugh, like the roar of a lion, shaking the entire underground palace. The red in his eyes seemed ready to spill blood, and his aura of combat energy surged. He raised his golden war bow toward the harpy chieftain on the stone chair. He drew the bowstring but didn't nock an arrow—at this close range, the explosive surge of combat energy and killing intent was enough to serve as the arrow.

The temple knight's draw and release took less than a blink of an eye. The light from the golden war bow flashed and vanished.

With a thunderous crash, the massive stone chair, large enough for a minotaur, shattered into pieces. But no blood or feathers scattered. Lorelei, like a ghost, had already dodged the attack the moment Welleskay released the bowstring. She was now in mid-air, her three-meter-wide wings spread, and with a furious cry, she lunged at Welleskay.

The harpy's massive eagle talons were fully extended, their strength no less than that of any raptor. In her hands were two long blades, shimmering with a cursed green-blue light.

Welleskay wasn't surprised. Ten years ago, he had already become familiar with the agility and combat style of these flying creatures. As he released the bowstring, his left hand had already retrieved a small crystal arrow from his chest armor. As Lorelei descended, he flicked his wrist, and the crystal arrow shot forward.

An arrow doesn't always need a bow to be launched. Though small, the combat energy attached to the arrow created a thunderous roar. Even a minotaur might not withstand such a strike, let alone a harpy.

But as Welleskay threw the arrow, the minotaur shaman at the head of the table frowned and lightly tapped the table with his massive fist. The solid stone table, carved from a single block of rock, suddenly cracked.

The section of the table in front of Welleskay broke off in two perfectly square slabs, which flew up and positioned themselves in front of the crystal arrow.

The first slab shattered upon impact, dissipating the combat energy on the arrow. The arrow and the fragments of the first slab then collided with the second slab, both disintegrating into pieces.

Welleskay' expression darkened. The size and weight of the two slabs had perfectly absorbed the force of the arrow. The slabs had been launched by the minotaur's single tap on the table. Welleskay sensed the fluctuation of earth magic, but he knew it wasn't just magic—it also required combat skills and precision on par with a temple knight.

The harpy in mid-air was no longer there. She had landed on a stone chair nearby, though not by her own volition. Someone had pressed her down.

Lancelote released his hand from Lorelei's shoulder and silently returned to his seat.

The harpy chieftain's expression was even darker than Welleskay'. She had been confident in dodging the crystal arrow, but she couldn't understand how Lancelote had managed to press her down from mid-air without any resistance.

Harpies were unmatched in agility and speed in the air, and Lorelei's reflexes and combat prowess far surpassed any bird. Yet, before this man, who had neither wings nor used magic, she had been utterly powerless, pressed down from the sky. This was a hundred times more difficult—and humiliating—than being struck down by a sword.

Even as Lancelote walked away, Lorelei's gaze at his back was as sharp as a blade, though she dared not move. She turned to the minotaur shaman and shrieked, "What kind of people have you invited? I told you, humans are the least trustworthy. You should have sought help from the necromancers of Dehya Valley, but they didn't respond. Instead, you listened to that cardinal and reached out to Celeste. Have you forgotten they've been our mortal enemies for centuries?"

"There are no eternal enemies, just as there are no eternal friends. Remember that, Chief Lorelei. Though it's a human saying, I believe it applies to all intelligent races." The minotaur shaman's words were surprisingly elegant and refined, more like a gentleman than a minotaur. If not heard firsthand, no one would believe a minotaur could speak so calmly instead of roaring. He didn't even glance at Welleskay, as if nothing had happened.

"Hmm." Lancelote nodded. He knew the words were directed at everyone. This minotaur was unlike any other—he seemed almost human.

"Let's get straight to the point," Lancelote said, his gaze fixed on the shaman's fiery eyes. He had no patience for pleasantries with these creatures who had once been mortal enemies. Besides, he knew there was no need for formalities. The Pope and the newly appointed Bishop Inham had already made everything clear.

"Good. I prefer it this way. We're all busy, and there's no need to waste time." The shaman's expression might have been a smile. "I was surprised when His Holiness the Pope reached out to me, but it demonstrates his sincerity. So, I trust you."

"Moreover, your strength truly conveys both sincerity and confidence." Shaman Timmah's gaze swept over the seven temple knights present. Including Lancelote, there were four warriors, one archer, and two mages. This was undoubtedly the Church's most elite force. He wasn't even sure he could keep this group confined underground by force.

"Then shouldn't you also show some sincerity to earn our trust?" Lancelote said calmly.

"Very well." The shaman turned and pointed to a massive shrine behind him, his voice booming like multiple minotaurs shouting in unison. "I swear before the Shrine of the Horned Demon that I will honor my promise."

In the center of the hall stood a towering shrine. Even under the dim glow of the surrounding gemstones, the shrine was blindingly white. It was a bizarre structure made of countless bones, seemingly chaotic yet somehow supporting its ten-meter height. Four protruding spikes held several desiccated corpses. Every bone in the shrine had been consecrated by generations of minotaur shamans, and at regular intervals, fresh sacrifices were offered, their screams and moans infusing the shrine with renewed vitality.

The shaman knelt before the shrine and loudly chanted the minotaur's sacred ritual language. Then he declared, "Great and evil lord of the abyss, our ancestor, our god, your servant swears in your name, your honor, and your evil that I will uphold the covenant with these humans. As long as they help us achieve our great cause, bringing the underground world under the shadow of the Horned Demon, I will not allow a single soldier of Nigen to set foot on the lands of the Holy Church. The barbarian lands of Tatalia will be our new battlefield. We shall cross the swamp lands together and crush Orford on that wild highland."