Chapter 97: A Tiny Figure
In the Kingdom of Westwind, on the Wind-stilled Wilderness, warhorses neighed and banners fluttered.
On the vast expanse of land, nearly fifty thousand rebels carried rolling banners and long spears, winding forward like a giant serpent amidst the cold wind.
The sky was layered with thick clouds, hiding any trace of sunlight. The heavy black clouds seemed ready to collapse at any moment, suffocating everyone below.
Crack—
A flash of intense light momentarily blinded everyone, followed by the ear-splitting rumble of thunder.
Unbeknownst to them, a group of knights appeared on the horizon. Their bodies shimmered with electric light. They had no banners, no slogans, no declarations, and made no attempt to conceal themselves. Silently and invisibly, they charged down from the hills, their hooves ringing out clearly, leaving behind scorched trails of passage, with occasional bursts of lightning.
These knights clad in well-fitted armor, primarily silver, with edges of dark blue steel, bore shields and right arms adorned with crossed lightning and sword emblems.
The charging cavalry split ranks on the ground, eventually forming a straight line. This horizontal line of seven hundred men moved as one, their lances held upright and sharp, though seemingly frail, they surged forward like a tidal wave, unstoppable.
Under the blue flag with golden stars, the rebels were caught off guard and could not form a defensive line. The ranks of the army were swept away like dirt, with blood flying everywhere. There were no survivors.
Pulman and his companions watched this horrifying scene unfold, their eyes wide with shock. They had considered the possibility of the Lightning Knights joining the fight, but nothing could have prepared them for such terror. These knights with lightning insignias seemed to encounter no resistance as they maneuvered across the wilderness, changing direction and formation swiftly. In just a short while, they had slaughtered nearly six thousand people, as if just warming up.
Following the great covenant of wind and thunder, these warriors who guarded the vortex of chaos appeared on an unexpected battlefield, their swords and lances aimed at their own kin.
They were true soldiers, questioning no orders, even when killing their own kind. Their cold resolve was colder than steel.
Hasty bugles sounded across the wilderness. Officers roared, urging the soldiers to form defensive lines to resist the relentless assault. Square formations began to take shape on the ground.
The soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, constantly closing ranks, forming thick square hedgehogs.
Amidst the tension, soldiers could even hear the heartbeats of their comrades. Shorter soldiers couldn’t see beyond the chaos, only gripping their spears tightly, following officers’ commands to steady their stance.
But the officers’ anxious voices kept changing, as if the enemy’s position was unpredictable, sometimes east, sometimes west, mocking them. But the shorter soldiers knew this wasn’t a joke. The constant explosions of thunder, the neighing of horses, and the clash of steel never ceased, like a relentless drumbeat.
Finally, the officers stopped changing directions. Their hearts sank.
It’s our turn now?
The vision was filled with eerie blue lightning, blindingly white. Then he felt a lightness, as if he was floating.
Below him was a scene of steel and blood, the body holding a spear resembling his own…
“Ahh!” Pulman rode his warhorse down the hill, followed closely by a group of personal guards in black cloaks.
However, the Lightning Knights on the plain were indifferent, methodically harvesting lives. The silver lines swept through the dense rebel formations like windshield wipers.
By the time Pulman led his troops down, over two hundred thousand soldiers had been massacred. Crimson blood dripped from the polished silver armor, which remained pristine, undamaged. As legend had it, they were powerful and noble hero knights, untainted by infamy.
Finally, Pulman approached the knights surrounded by lightning. They turned their horses, reformed after slaughtering a square formation, and faced him again.
The visors of the Lightning Knights were already pulled down, only revealing their eyes through the gaps, glowing with lightning. The warhorses neighed, and another charge began.
Thud-thud-thud—
Over five hundred meters in an instant, Pulman saw the lightning spread with the horse’s hooves. When the cavalry neared, his body was numb. He barely perceived his own existence by channeling his extraordinary core within.
Crack—
A ghastly sword flash sliced through, spraying a large amount of blood from his left arm. His arm flew high, then rolled onto the grass. The thick arm seemed to reach out, but found nothing.
His warhorse staggered forward a few steps before collapsing, unable to rise again.
Pulman leaned on his greatsword, struggling to stand. Now, he was alone.
He gritted his teeth against the pain in his left arm, reaching into his chest to retrieve the last two vials of [Vitality Elixir]. He swallowed one, applying the other to his wound.
The elixir mixed with blood in his mouth, the iron taste mingling with a faint maple sweetness, reminiscent of the warmth of his first taste.
Blood splattered across his face, dripping into his eyes, causing a sharp sting. He wanted to close his eyes, but dared not. His wide-open eyes stared at the silver knights across from him, his vision red.
Leaning slightly on the greatsword, his trembling right hand reached into his chest again, retrieving a small orange fruit. Once crystal clear, it was now stained with dust and blood.
“I’m sorry, teacher.”
Looking at the tiny fruit in his hand, he suddenly recalled that summer afternoon in the forest, the gentle singing echoing around.
“This is a long night,
When you search,
But cannot see hope,
I know it seems meaningless,
I know it’s extremely false,
I know you can hardly bear,
To continue for another day,
To move forward for another day,
Even if you’re covered in wounds,
Even if your wings are broken,
Nothing can stop your flight,
One day,
You will see,
The miraculous starlight.”
“Forgive me, everyone, teacher. In this brief life, I may never see that starlight.” Pulman’s tone seemed to sigh, as if bidding farewell.
He threw the orange fruit into his mouth and swallowed it whole, then picked up the greatsword beside him, stepping forward, charging once more at the cavalry, as if gods descended.
His sturdy back, the heavy greatsword, appeared so tiny under the dim sky.
A gentle breeze blew, broken flags and spears tilted in the earth, telling a story of an unfulfilled dream.
(The chapter ends)
