Endless Debt Chapter 1632 - 121: The Moment of Decision

That is a mountain of rage, a bloodthirsty slaughter after a century of silence. In times of peace, they are members of the Undying Club, the undead who sleep away the apocalypse in their rooms. They are harmless, friendly, even a bit comical, lingering by the bar all day, letting alcohol numb their nerves, indulging in the past, allowing their bodies to rot away bit by bit over time.

Perhaps this is the ending all the undead once fantasized about. They’re tired of the world’s chaos, only wanting to slowly drown in absolute tranquility within their dark little nests.

Everything was so beautiful until someone tried to destroy it all, awakening these furious beings.

"For the Undying Club!"

An undead climbed to the vantage point, waving a crimson flag while shouting at the top of his lungs.

The whistling arrows pierced through the air, accurately penetrating the flag bearer’s skull. The intense impact caused his body to arch backward, but before he completely fell, his body suddenly stood firm on the vantage point like cast iron.

His deformed head lifted, and he pulled out the arrow piercing his skull with one hand, bringing out thick, drizzling blood.

Such a fatal injury was trivial for the flag bearer. The intense pain and bleeding only excited him more. He grabbed the flagpole with both hands, waving it more vigorously, like a crimson ghost spiraling above everyone’s heads.

"For... whatever!"

The flag bearer continued to shout, his words and frenetic manner aligning well with the Undying Club’s style, only the scene of madness moved from the crowded bar to this vast battlefield.

Bologue and Aimou were in a safe spot, and despite the grim environment, hearing the flag bearer’s shout, Bologue felt an urge to laugh. After all, that line truly embodied the carefree and brainless style of the Undying Club.

The blaring bugle sounded again, sharp like a dagger thrust into everyone’s eardrums.

It was that dwarf; he squeezed his way out of the terrifying parade, climbing to the vantage point with the flag bearer, accompanying his waving with music. Perhaps finding the bugle sound too monotonous, more undead climbed up, each grotesque being carrying a different ancient instrument, forming a makeshift orchestra.

Bologue couldn’t tell if it was a grand carnival or a war ending grudges.

The vantage point was a slanted High Tower, now filled with undead, playing and striking their instruments, the sounds intertwining into a wild and harmonious symphony.

Bologue couldn’t help but recall the bar’s self-service jukebox. Music seemed important to these undead; no matter the time, they had to play a tune or two, like background music in a movie scene.

The drumbeats roared like a thousand horses galloping, unveiling the prelude to this carnival.

Due to the undead hailing from different regions and eras, their instruments were also vastly different. Some drums were ancient goatskin, others were exotic python-hide, their rhythms and tones contrasting. Yet as the music flowed, drumsticks big and small beat rapidly on drum faces, producing deep and resonant, or high-pitched and vibrant sounds.

Next, the gongs exploded like thunder, the undead tirelessly striking them. It wasn’t a performance but a release of noise, some sounds thick as bells, others crisp as chimes, igniting the cacophony’s march like a flamethrower.

Bologue suddenly felt his heart race, his blood surging hotly. He couldn’t tell if it was the effect of the Vengeful Saw Axe or this wild symphony affecting him.

As he was about to join the carnival parade, more melodies joined in. Bologue marveled at the undead’s talent, but considering their undead nature, they must have refined their skills through endless learning over the long years, becoming masters of their craft.

The ancient harps effortlessly wove their melodious tunes into the symphony, followed by violins, their notes high-pitched and passionate, sparkling like stars in the night sky. These exquisite instruments.

Bologue saw the musician—a tall, muscular undead, scarred and bristling with spikes, wearing a pale beast’s skull on his head. Despite his rugged demeanor, the violin seemed like a mere toy in his hands.

Suddenly, the pipe organ’s sound rolled in like a mighty wave, its airflow nearly toppling Bologue. Turning back, he saw a giant, standing over ten meters tall, emerge from the narrow door.

His body was covered in rock-like, solid skin, carrying a massive pipe organ on his back. Golden-coated copper pipes glistened, countless ropes cascading from his shoulders like unfurled tresses.

Under the deep, powerful rumble, many undead grasped the dangling ropes, hanging themselves on the giant. Subsequently, saxophones and trombones, among other modern instruments, joined the ensemble.

Bologue couldn’t quite assess these performers’ level; they didn’t seem to care about any performance quality, merely fixated on their long-lost revelry, using random objects to produce increasingly louder noises, dragging the whole world into a hallucinatory vortex.