Chapter 559

Chapter 81 – Shades Part Six

Scattered sword lights flickered amidst the crowd, the head of the knight captain had yet to fall when the limbs behind him flew high into the air. The startled unicorn neighed and screamed, then was split apart by the ethereal blade, warm blood and entrails gushing out. The hunched old man walked leisurely through the rows of golden-armored knights, one hand holding a dagger, the other a short sword. Wherever he passed, cold flashes of light startled and splashed blood everywhere!

“The Gate of Truth!”

The knights who reacted saw the old man’s blood-red eyes in the dark night, drew their swords, and roared, “He is a heretic—”

“Surround him! Quickly surround him! Get off the beasts and form a shield wall! He is just one person!!”

“Faith Circle, release the sin!”

Amidst the surging waves of blood, cries rang out, heads flew, and several cultists at the rear clutched their chests, softly chanting. A faint golden light began to shine, but the ghost-like figure had already rushed past, its steps uncertain. It darted between the priests, stirring up dust. The newly lit golden glow dimmed in the spurting blood.

Soon, the clamor gradually weakened.

In the thin moonlight, the old man stood shakily in the pool of blood, shook his right hand stained with blood from the short knife, turned around, and looked at the scattered corpses. The stench of blood filled the air. His golden armor was stained dark red, the flowing blood and entrails drenched the earth. Scattered torches set hair on fire. The old man stared at the scene for a long time, sheathed his weapons, placed his right fist over his chest, bent down, and bowed.

“I apologize to you, young warriors.”

He then smoothed his slightly disheveled hair, raised his head, and gazed up at the two crescent moons hanging in the sky. The moonlight was dim, the firelight diffused, revealing his unblemished, aged face.

“You…”

At his feet, the severed deputy was still not quite dead. He reached out and grabbed the old man’s trouser leg, lifting his grimacing, trembling face, “The Gate of Truth…议员…”

“议员…”

The old man seemed to recall something, lost himself in thought for a moment, then shook his head, “No, I am merely a diligent old servant.”

Clang—

The sharp sound of metal, a flash of cold light, the draw and sheath of the sword occurred in an instant. The old man’s hand seemed as if it hadn’t moved, yet the expression on his deputy’s face suddenly froze. In the next moment, his face split along the bridge of his nose, slowly dividing into two halves.

The old man turned and left.

His back was somewhat hunched, walking unsteadily under the faint light. When he stepped over the bodies, his body would sway, as if he might fall at any moment. Occasionally, he coughed lightly. From afar, that frail silhouette truly resembled an elderly person who had endured much hardship.

The aged servant trudged through the blood, passing through the towering woods on both sides. Soon, he arrived at the riverside. The red glow in his eyes did not dissipate, emitting a mysterious light in the darkness. He followed the stream slowly, as if searching for something. Soon, he picked up a fist-sized blood-red gem from the bushes.

He held the blood pearl tightly in his hand, then turned his head and fixed his gaze on the lake beneath the waterfall, where the black mist swirled and boiled. After a long while, he muttered, “My lady, I hope everything we have done is urgent and truly worth it…”

After saying this, the old servant seemed to sense something and glanced at the distant hillside.

There, green trees stood tall. A breeze rustled through the treetops, branches whispering in the dark night. There appeared to be nothing else, no sign of animals. Yet, after that glance, the old man nodded slightly, as if greeting someone.

Then, with a “whoosh,” the hunched figure vanished in place, as if it had never been there.

But that glance caused Anaxelis, sitting cross-legged atop an old tree on the hilltop, tearing dry bread, to stiffen. Shortly afterward, a drop of cold sweat slowly trickled down her forehead.

She knew she had exposed her position, but the old man made no further move and quietly disappeared.

After a long time, realizing the old man had truly gone far, Anaxelis’ tense body gradually relaxed. She tore off another piece of dry bread, put it in her mouth, and chewed slowly, feeling a little relieved.

The battle that had just taken place on the other side of the hill, she had watched the entire time. The old man was incredibly powerful, almost unimaginable. If she were to face him head-on, Anaxelis had no confidence in winning. Adding her injuries, she might really die here.

But her mission was not yet complete; she had not yet obtained the money to treat her mother’s illness. She could not die here.

While thinking this, Anaxelis tore off several more pieces of bread, quickly ate them, wrapped the remaining half in cloth, and tucked it into her waist pouch. She patted her hands, leaned against the tree trunk to stand up, and the leaves above rustled. The nearby dark lake continued to churn endlessly.

And sinking into the dark water was the young knight maiden named Sylvieja, whom the Pope had specifically instructed to keep a close eye on.

At this moment, Anaxelis vaguely understood what the Pope meant by “you’ll go mad if you’re hungry” when she was in the underground prison’s stone chamber. Upon receiving the order, she rushed here, hiding in the shadows of the town, watching helplessly as the weak girl transformed into a terrifying demon, using extremely evil power to devour another blood-red monster whole, falling into the lake, leaving nothing behind.

She didn’t fully understand what such power meant, but she knew that the black mist was a unique ability of the Abyss.

That was the power of Chaos…

Anaxelis did not understand why a Pope’s knight, a human girl, would possess such abilities.

The ability to wield the power of monsters was far beyond her understanding, but in truth, ever since she emerged from that barren wasteland and entered this world, countless things had already surpassed her comprehension. For instance, she had never imagined that a small piece of cake could sell for an astronomical price of eight silver coins, and there would be so many people eager to buy it.

She also didn’t understand why the girls in the city liked wearing extravagant dresses, making themselves so conspicuous. She deemed it the most foolish behavior, because in her world, doing so only meant flaunting to others, “I am a plump lamb.” If she were to return to where she previously lived, she wouldn’t survive.

There were too many incomprehensible things in this world. Anathesylis knew she wasn’t particularly smart, but she wasn’t dull either. She understood that one cause of death was “meddling.” So, she preferred to say nothing and think nothing, which would allow her to live longer and save enough money to treat her mother’s illness.

After treating her mother’s illness, she planned to settle down in a remote place that wasn’t savage—not that she seemed suited to survive in this bustling world. The dazzling and colorful towns and cities, the complex relationships between people, their conversations, trust, and deceit—all of these were beyond her adaptability.

This time, it should be the final task…

Anathesylis thought to herself.

She stared at the lake for a moment, took a deep breath, then turned her head backward.

There, in the direction of the town of Buckhorn burning with the fires of sin.

In the night, a flicker of hesitation flashed in her eyes.

But that hesitation vanished instantly, leaving only a cold and resolute gaze. Anathesylis tightened her grip on the sword in her arms and leaped off the tall tree. Lightning flashed, and her figure darted like a swift bolt over the hill, disappearing into the boundless darkness.

Soon, she arrived at the town gradually swallowed by the flames.

Charred houses collapsed under the licking of the fierce fire. Melted lava flowed from the broken roads on both sides, the air was so hot it suffocated, thick smoke rose, and everywhere there were sounds of “crackling” as things burned.

Occasionally, there were muffled cries.

Anathesylis held her longsword in one hand, following the sound of crying. Soon, she saw a woman kneeling on the ground in front of a collapsed house, facing the nearby spitting flames, desperately trying to dig out the man trapped under the wooden beams. Her disheveled hair had turned yellow from the heat, and blisters and scabs covered her face and hands.

The man trapped under the wooden beams had half his body burnt black, already dead. But the woman refused to believe it, digging and pulling frantically, trying to get him out, though she had no strength left. She cried in despair, then heard footsteps approaching and turned back, her face filled with sorrow.

When she saw Anathesylis, the woman froze for a moment, then seemed to have found a lifeline, her hope rekindled. Her lips trembled as she said, “Quickly, my husband… help me, save him… save him…”

Anathesylis walked over.

“Please help me, lift this beam…”

The woman pleaded, and Anathesylis looked down expressionlessly, exhaling, “He’s dead.”

“No, no, he’s not dead, he’s still alive, he’s still alive…”

“Do you want to see him again?” Anathesylis closed her eyes.

She heard the trembling voice of the woman, “Yes… I really want to…”

“Mm, then go see him.”

Clang—

The sharp blade was drawn from her chest.

“Y-You…”

In the woman’s eyes, reflecting the sword’s light, there was a hint of confusion, then as if she suddenly understood something.

In the next moment, the sword flashed, blood splattered, and the woman fell down. Drops of blood splashed onto her face, seemingly hotter than the blazing flames.

Anathesylis kept her eyes closed.

…………

In the thicket south of Buckhorn Town, scarlet flames similarly raged.

The raging flames spread through the forest, tongues of fire reaching four or five meters high. Amidst the rising smoke, a faint golden glow dimmed, followed by a loud explosion. The cage trapping the dancer shattered, and her graceful figure stepped out of the flames, a red dress fluttering in the wind, her beautiful face as cold as ice.

Not far ahead of the woman, Olivia, whose chest was soaked with dark red blood, stumbled and fell to the ground, her face pale and bloody from her nose and mouth.

“You…”

The cold dancer approached her, softly saying, “Still quite good.”

“This kind of thing… doesn’t need you to tell me… damned heretic…”

On the other side, Carl, leaning against a green rock, also covered in blood, smiled bitterly upon hearing this.

He glanced at the motionless Olivia on the ground, tears welling up in his bloodshot eyes, but his expression softened. However, that softness lasted only for a moment; then Carl stood up with blood-stained teeth, palm glowing with light, a golden blade materializing. Looking at the dancer, he said, “Come, receive another strike from me…”

He could hardly stand, staggering forward, but his steps became faster, shouting hoarsely until he finally started running.