Not a Moment to Grieve the Extinction of the Dead Apostles

The struggling stopped instantly.

The Dead Apostle's final, wide-open eyes were filled with the disbelief of, "That actually works?" Then they went completely dim, and his body rapidly turned to ash and scattered.

"Hey! Archer!" Doggy pulled his spear back, looked at the pile of ash on the ground, then turned to glare at Red A, his face full of disbelief. "How'd you do that? I stabbed him in the heart and it didn't do a thing!"

Red A flicked his wrist, and the dusty gray dagger spun once between his fingers. His tone was flat. "A little trinket made specifically to deal with the 'undead' attribute. Conceptual special attack."

He said it casually, but a faint, almost imperceptible numbness flashed through his eyes—the numbness of someone who had done far too much dirty, exhausting work.

"Now that's good stuff!" Doggy's eyes lit up with a swish, and he leaned in two steps. "You're pretty slick with it, huh? Speaking of which, why are you so practiced at dealing with these guys?"

Red A's face instantly fell. It was a bone-deep exhaustion and a gloomy look that said "don't bring it up." He sighed. "...Don't ask. If you ask, the answer is I worked too many jobs and got good at it."

Doggy slapped his forehead in sudden realization. "Oh, right! Forgot you're a veteran workhorse for 'those two,' specializing in curing all kinds of disobedient undead! Heh heh,"

Then he rubbed his hands together and put on a flattering smile. "This thing's handy. Get me one of the same model too? This spear gets kind of tedious sometimes."

Red A looked Doggy up and down with disdain, but still clicked his tongue and raised his hand.

Mana flashed, and a somewhat oddly shaped long spear appeared in his hand,