窃情谋欲

All of them ran towards the plank like a horde of mindless creatures, drawn by the sound, except for the elite squads of undead manning the cemetery gates. These specialized undead seemed to have a degree of intelligence, staying in their positions despite the distraction.

Now, a small area lay in front of him, momentarily free of the undead's relentless presence. Half of them were fixated on the plank, stumbling over each other, while the other half remained near the cemetery. And in the other directions, the sound didn't carry, leaving him with a limited window of opportunity.

He wasted no time and darted across the opening, making a beeline for the safety of the walls. He focused all his efforts on staying silent and keeping his movements swift and steady.

As he reached the wall, he came to an abrupt stop. The wall stood about two meters tall, a formidable obstacle. He glanced up and could see the eyes of the people inside the church fixed on him.

However, what reflected in their eyes wasn't hope or relief but rather fear and apprehension. Their expressions conveyed a mix of emotions—fear of the undead, fear of the unknown, and the uncertainty of the situation they all found themselves in.

The prospect of acquiring a potion from these survivors seemed almost impossible. He recognized that convincing them wouldn't be easy, and if need be, he was prepared to resort to force to secure what he required.

Suddenly, his whole body jerked to the side as an undead creature crashed against the wall just in front of him. The impact was bone-crunching, yet the creature appeared oblivious to the damage as it swiftly turned and fixed its lifeless gaze upon Damien.

Reacting with instinctive speed, Damien lunged forward, delivering a powerful punch to the undead's stomach. The force of the blow caused the creature to double over, not from pain, but from the sheer kinetic energy of the impact. The noise and movement had already alerted the nearby horde, and their presence was drawing closer, inch by terrifying inch.

Time was now a precious commodity, and Damien understood that he couldn't linger here for long. Grasping the moment, he propelled himself forward, using the undead as a makeshift foothold to propel himself to the top of the wall. As he leapt from the creature's back, he saw its decaying head snap upward, its bony fingers just missing him by a hair's breadth.

The undead's failed attempt at capture only fueled Damien's determination to breach the wall and secure his much-needed provisions.

Having successfully landed atop the wall, Damien cast a quick glance toward the inhabitants of the church. His arrival had drawn a gathering of more undead below, making his position increasingly perilous. He knew he couldn't afford to exacerbate the situation, so he swiftly vaulted over the wall's other side. Rolling upon landing, he quickly regained his footing and proceeded toward the church with cautious steps.

Peering up at the windows, Damien noticed the watchful gazes of the spectators. All the doors to the church were tightly shut, and whenever his eyes met theirs, they averted their gaze as if fearful of making direct eye contact.

'What could they have seen that has them this terrified?' Damien pondered.

Advancing steadily, he finally approached the imposing double doors of the church. Pausing to gather himself, he rapped his knuckles gently against the door's surface. From within, muffled voices could be heard—a heated debate regarding whether they should open the door or keep it securely shut. After a tense few moments, the door creaked open just a crack, revealing the face of a middle-aged woman who appeared to be trembling.

"What do you want?" she inquired, her voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and anxiety. Her eyes darted over Damien, as if trying to decipher his intentions.

"What are you doing? Close the doors! We don't want any more of those...monsters in here," another voice, that of an older man, piped up from behind the woman. The man's face was etched with lines of worry, his eyes darting between Damien and the safety of the church interior.

'The priest, perhaps?' Damien thought.

The woman wasn't about to be silenced. "Enough! Did any of us have the courage to do what he did, facing that...devilish creature with his bare hands?" she retorted, her voice firm against the older man's concern.

The stern words of the woman silenced the old man, and her attention turned squarely to the white-haired man before her. "What do you want?" she demanded, her tone unwavering. It seemed her recent outburst at the older man had bolstered her resolve.

"Potions," Damien replied, his voice a calm and unwavering presence. "I need mana potions."

The woman regarded him with an odd expression, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "And you're not planning to stay?"

"Let him be!" the old man chimed in once more, driven by concern for the safety of the children in their midst. "We don't need to invite any more danger—"

"Shut up before I shove that candle up your ass!"

"Such coarse language!" The old man's retort carried both a cringe and an air of offense, yet an undercurrent of fear lingered in his words, as if he knew the woman had the tenacity to follow through on her threat.

Amidst this spirited exchange, Damien found a trace of amusement. 'Seems like they share a history,' he mused to himself.

Before he could address her question, the woman pressed him again. "You still haven't answered me."

With a faint chuckle, Damien responded, "As you said, I just punched my way through a horde of undead and scaled the church walls. I have the power to do that and if I stay here, in the warmth and the comfort of the church, who gonna save this city from the clutches of the evil?"