Chapter 75: Palm Bone

"Crack bang."

Thick leather boots stained with soil fiercely fell.

The fragile skeleton head instantly shattered, like a lint ball soaked with dust, splashing countless tiny gray dots into the surrounding air.

I casually flourished my sword and returned the no-longer-hot wooden sword to its scabbard.

Compared to their hair-raising entrance, these dozens of skeletons' combat power was actually quite ordinary.

Some didn't even need us to act—when climbing out of the soil, they were already missing half an arm or an entire leg.

After stumbling two steps and falling, they could never get up again.

I even felt I didn't need other teammates.

With the wooden sword in hand, plus my strong Constitution's endurance capability, I alone could easily handle it.

The only pity was that the gravedigger whose arm I'd severed had taken advantage of the opportunity to run after blowing the bone whistle.

I'd originally wanted to chase, but Ingram held me back, seemingly confident and with arrangements already made.

So I just stayed in place to wait.

The halfling had already re-shouldered his lute and was currently standing on tiptoe before a clump of sparse shrubs beside the wooden house, superstitiously making strange gestures.

Probably praying and thanking some deity in their pantheon again.

Withdrawing my gaze.

I looked at the ground of bone fragments before me, my temples faintly aching.

The strength or weakness of enemies' danger level, to a certain extent, also determined how much I'd gain.

Like those goblins with nothing but a rag wrapped around their entire bodies.

Even worse than that.

Nearly thirty skeletons, the only items that could be called "spoils of war."

Were just the few pieces of equipment on that suspected "elite" adventurer skeleton's body.

Extremely poor condition.

Not knowing how many years they'd been buried in the soil, the leather armor on its body had almost completely rotted away even the inner lining.

The small round shield's surface had openings like windows where you could see the scenery on the other side; the rusted sword's blade had more cracks than the wrinkles on the old man's face at the village entrance.

Even the most honest general store in adventurers' mouths probably wouldn't accept them.

Suddenly as if remembering something.

I suddenly crouched down, using a dagger to pry open the tightly clenched five fingers of the elite skeleton's left hand.

My brow furrowed lightly.

I saw that the bone whistle the gravedigger had thrown to the ground had completely fused with the skeleton's palm.

It looked like an entire piece of bone protruding outward, deformed and twisted.

Very poor appearance.

Just pondering how to handle it.

A light, quick footstep suddenly came to my ears.

Having just finished a battle, the halfling's mood seemed quite good.

Humming a tune as he approached.

Glancing at the bones beneath me, he spoke:

"Keep it. This thing is quite rare."

"Just keep that piece of palm bone. Maybe you can even make a little money."

My eyes immediately brightened.

"How so?"

"I don't really know how to explain the specifics." Alton arranged the somewhat messy hair under his soft cap. "Probably some kind of... uh, crystallization? Tumor? Cyst? of negative energy in the undead creature's body."

"Something like that. When you return to River Valley Town, whether herb shops or general stores will accept it."

The halfling took down the lute from his back, pulling out a clean piece of gauze from his chest to carefully wipe the stains on the instrument's body.

"Based on this bone's size, the market price should be pretty good. If you encounter a buyer in urgent need, the price doubling several times is very normal."

"But..."

Halfway through speaking, Alton suddenly raised his head, his expression serious as he looked at me.

"I don't suggest you hold onto it long-term waiting for a good price."

"Why?"

"Think about it yourself—what kind of people would have urgent need for this kind of thing?"

Hearing this, I couldn't help glancing at the pale, glaring bone frame before me, my heart immediately tightening.

"I suggest you sell it early."

"Those people deal with gloomy undeath power year-round. Even their personalities aren't quite normal. Better to have less contact."

I nodded in quite agreement.

On the other side, the sheriff also walked over.

His gaze swept over the wooden sword on my back, his handsome face blooming with a smile:

"Pretty good skills, my friend."

"Not far from obtaining professional level, right?"

My eyebrow lifted lightly. I didn't respond directly.

Only looking at the single-handed mace at his waist, lightly swaying with his body's movement, pretending confusion.

"Aren't you a professional? I thought only after taking office could you use holy light."

"Hahaha." Ingram laughed heartily, his expression carefree. "Still a bit short."

And just at this moment, the halfling wiping his lute to the side suddenly coldly came out with a line.

"Not a paladin, right."

Ingram's expression instantly stiffened, then quickly recovered.

Waving his hand, he smiled and replied:

"Can't tell you that. Involves the church."

And Alton seemed to have truly just been asking casually. Seeing the other party answer this way, he lowered his head again and adjusted the strings.

"Ah! Don't! I'll tell! I'll tell everything!"

The atmosphere on the scene seemed to freeze due to the halfling's one sentence, but in the air vaguely came quite miserable wailing sounds.

I looked toward the sound.

I saw two guards, one left and one right, supporting the gravedigger who'd just escaped, walking toward everyone.

My gaze couldn't help looking at the sheriff beside me.

"The cemetery only has two exits. To get out you can only pass through there." Noticing my gaze, Ingram smiled and said. "I already arranged for guards to stake out before coming. He can't escape."

Compared to his previous gloomy and depressed appearance, the current gravedigger seemed like a different person.

His right arm severed by me was roughly bandaged with cloth, blood still occasionally seeping from the bandage and dripping to the ground.

His withered white hair was matted with sweat, pathetically and messily stuck to his cheeks.

Almost at the instant the guards released him, his knees hit the ground.

Wailing and begging for mercy:

"Sir, Sir Ingram, please... please spare me!"

"I truly haven't harmed a single person. That book, that book—I used all corpses from the cemetery."

Overly panicked emotions made the gravedigger's voice tremble and his word order confused, making it hard to hear clearly what he was saying.

Only hearing a few intermittent words, the sheriff frowned:

"Book? What book?"

"Right, right! Not a book, it's a gift the merciful lord bestowed upon his most devout servant!"

The gravedigger raised his head, his turbid, lusterless eyes staring straight at Ingram before him, his pale face showing a trace of eerie flush.

Then as if it were the world's most precious treasure, carefully, with his only remaining hand, he pulled out from his chest a thin book made of strange leather.

Holding it with both hands, he presented it before everyone's eyes.

I stood to the side, only vaguely seeing in the book cover's corner—

The pattern of a white human skull.

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