The night was deep, and silence reigned.
In the Outer City of Cyan Yang Ancient City, only a deathly silence remained.
"JINGLE, JINGLE!"
A crisp yet eerie jingle echoed down the empty street, piercing the silence of the night.
The street, which had held a few pedestrians moments before, was empty in the blink of an eye.
At the end of the long street, a man in white led a group of people, approaching step by step.
The white-robed man's face was as pale as paper. He clutched a bronze bell in his right hand, shaking it to a heavy rhythm. In his left, he held a circular plate, and more than ten figures followed behind him.
Each of those figures had a vacant gaze and staggered forward, their movements as stiff as puppets. Without a shred of spirit in their eyes, they were the very picture of the walking dead.
With every shake of the bronze bell in the white-robed man's hand, it let out a "JINGLE, JINGLE!".
