A tavern in Wickidor.

It was clearly not nighttime but it was pitch-black in one of the rooms. A thick black cloth had been placed over the window, keeping the rare bright winter sun from reaching inside the room.

If one looked carefully, there were a few vague figures sitting around silently, wearing thin black cloaks and staying motionless, exuding an indescribable weirdness.

Indeed, anyone who entered would probably have the daylights scared out of them by those corpselike figures.

And it would have been true too—each figure there were Rotten Bones cultists who were higher ranked than Carlo and were corrupted heavily by their evil god's power.

Although they still retained their human minds, their bodies were shriveled and stiff like hard wood despite having greater strength. They also would not count as being alive in the original sense, but was closer to a semi-zombie existence.

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