Chapter 13 – Boil (Two-in-One)
Everyone didn’t chat for long before the priest of the goddess Shalayah came to hurry them along.
“Hurry up and get your dirty bodies out of Shalayah’s tears.”
The clear fountain, now stained with blood and mud, had become murky. The goddess Shalayah shouted in a poorly constructed sentence, “This is not a bathhouse! You! Don’t rub his back with your hands!”
The soldiers next to each other, who were rubbing each other’s backs, stopped and nonchalantly said, “Oh.”
People were reluctant to leave the grayish water of the spring.
Henry couldn’t wait any longer; he got up from the nearly crowded fountain and dried himself with a gray towel.
The gray towel was a precious heirloom. It belonged to a fallen imperial soldier who had been trampled into a meat pie, leaving behind a personal towel that was invaluable to the resource-scarce Vanguards City, so people washed and dried it to continue using it.
Henry was its fifth-generation “heir.”
The merciful priest of Shalayah continued to ramble on nearby:
“Forgive me, Shalayah, your miracles have nearly turned into a bathhouse, and there’s a whole bunch of people wanting to come in to wash. They wish for a copper coin but want a gold coin!”
Originally, very few people could bathe directly in the “Tears of Shalayah” to avoid dirtying the fountain, and most people could only rinse themselves with spring water. However, with the tense situation, using the spring water for rinsing was not as effective as bathing.
So the priests of Shalayah had to compromise.
Now….
Henry glanced at the fountain, which was filthy; although the clear spring water was replacing the murky water as people left, the bottom and edges of the pool were dirty, caked with grime.
That priestess of Shalayah was muttering, praying for Shalayah’s forgiveness while vigorously scrubbing the dirt with a black towel, revealing the porcelain-like pool wall underneath.
Henry comforted her, “Merciful priestess, we’ve won battles recently; there won’t be so many injured people for a few days.”
“You’re lying.” The priestess glared at Henry, “There are still a bunch of people outside, standing in long lines! Even those with knee injuries want to soak; it’s truly outrageous!”
“Ah?”
“Ah what?” the priestess said, “You, as a regular, are a bit better; you’re always carried in on a stretcher. They twisted their ankles and all want to come for a soak!”
Henry looked outside the temple and saw over fifty people there. Their injuries weren’t too severe.
Upon seeing Henry, they showed him respect.
“I saw the Sword Saint Skali with my own eyes!”
“He’s soaking in the springs again? Truly worthy of being an imperial hero.”
“The last time I saw him, he knocked away a bloodthirsty minotaur.”
Henry felt quite flustered inside but maintained a habitual heroic demeanor on his face. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he asked:
“What happened today? Why are so many people here for treatment?”
“The captain ordered us lightly wounded to come soak.” A centurion said, “We need to gather strength to counterattack.”
“Counterattack?” Henry was taken aback, “The emperor’s troops are coming?”
“No, but the captain said this is our best opportunity to drive back the Tarabek’s doomsday demon army.”
Henry began to doubt his ears; Vanguard City was neither too big nor too small. Defending a territory seemed feasible, but driving back a doomsday demon army…
He recalled that day when volcanoes erupted, the ground split open, and the relentless demon race surged out of the cracks as a tidal wave.
“Is there no problem?”
“Hah, Sword Saint Skali, you’ve been unconscious too long.” One person said optimistically, “The depraved demon army is just a bunch of psychopaths; the current situation favors us greatly.”
“Yeah, besides, the captain is a top graduate of the Adolf Military Academy. The last battle you won was commanded by him.”
“You were out cold; you probably don’t know. We turned thousands of those twisted demons into dust.”
“It’s truly Sigma’s blessing.”
They chatted on as if the depraved demon army outside consisted only of a troop of goblins.
Sword Saint Skali Henry blinked, pinched his face, suspicious if he was in a lucid dream. Just days ago, they were privately discussing how to die most painlessly when the apocalypse arrived, ideally without losing their souls to the demons.
He roughly understood now; it seemed the captain had acquired a divine weapon, which was very powerful, and discovered the weaknesses of the depraved demon army.
The situation had reversed; at least they no longer needed a fake hero to encourage them. Thinking of this, Henry’s guilt lightened considerably.
Henry asked, “So are you all going to go out on a campaign?”
“Yes!”
“Let’s go!”
“Kill those damned perverts!” One soldier exclaimed excitedly, “I dreamt yesterday that we won a great victory; it must have been a dream sent by Sigma.”
Henry asked, “Was my name mentioned?”
“No, why, Sword Saint, you don’t need to rest and want to join the fight?”
“No, I’m still very weak; I can’t even kill a goblin.” Henry said, “I need to rest well.”
Having said that, Henry bid farewell to the excited soldiers. To prove how weak he was, he walked halfway, holding his lower back with his hand and walking unsteadily, but unfortunately, almost no one noticed his performance.
He was indeed weak, but not to the point of being unable to kill a goblin.
He first went to the mess hall.
The cook, seeing it was Sword Saint Skali, smiled and generously added an extra slice of ham to his bread.
Having eaten and drunk to his fill, Henry asked to prepare two horses and fifteen days’ worth of provisions, stating it was for a special mission.
He felt nervous while lying, but the other party didn’t suspect him at all.
He returned to the barracks and fell asleep at once. In his dreams, he saw the wheat fields of Skali Village, where villagers pushing carts filled with silver ore greeted him respectfully.
Neighbor Aunt Suma, beaming, pulled her grandchildren and proudly pointed at Henry, saying:
“Look, our great hero has returned.”
As the familiar door opened, his father, wearing a light green hat, stepped out with his mother, both smiling with surprise. As a blacksmith, his father even dropped his hammer on the ground.
“My son has returned!”
His mother, with tears in her eyes, said, “I’m so proud of you, my son.”
Cheers arose from all directions: “Hero, hero, hero of the empire.”
“Skali Sword Saint, the hero of Skali.”
No, I’m not a hero; I’m just a deserter.
Henry lowered his head, only to see himself riding a beautiful, silver-glowing horse, clad in full plate armor adorned with bright engravings and multiple rows of medals on his breastplate. Beside him was a red-haired maid smiling warmly at him:
“My lord, the emperor has granted you land.”
“Kaily?”
Henry was astonished.
She smiled, “I have nowhere to go; Henry, can you let me stay at your home?”
Henry struggled; this was impossible. He was just a deserter, a fake hero.
A strong sense of shame jolted him awake from the dream.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, he was drenched in cold sweat, and it was already morning outside. His comrades in the same barracks were still snoring, with almost half of them giggling foolishly.
Had he actually slept that long?
After relieving himself.
Henry quickly donned his armor, picked up his great sword, and headed to the stable.
Fortunately, the horse and provisions prepared for him were still there. Leading two horses, Henry made his way directly to the city gate.
The sky was still early, very early, the entire Vanguard City was on the verge of sleeping and waking. A cold thin fog shrouded Vanguard City; Henry instinctively glanced at the inner city gate, not seeing the Sigma battle flag. It was said to prevent demons from opening cracks nearby to raid the city.
It should have been taken out during yesterday’s campaign.
There were few people on the road; occasionally, a few yawning sentinels spotted Henry, chatted a few words, and even used the wrong battle cry, letting him leave.
Just as Henry relaxed.
“Good morning, Henry.”
Kaily’s voice came from behind.
Startled, Henry tightened his grip, turned around, and saw Kaily, draped in a green cloak with a hood, walking towards him with two swords at her waist, emerging from the fog.
“I seem to have startled you.” Kaily looked up, a few strands of red hair swaying by her exotic, striking face. “What are you doing out so early?”
Henry lied, “Of course I was startled; I thought a group of wood sprites aiming for your life suddenly jumped out from behind the bushes.”
Kaily frowned, “That’s our custom, human.”
Not wanting to miss a beat, Henry asked, “Do you need something?”
“You look like you’re going far?” Kaily said, scrutinizing him curiously up and down. “Is there a mission, captain?”
“No.”
Kaily raised her hand, which was wrapped in a leather glove, and pointed to the food on the horse’s back.
Henry’s heart raced; Kaily, being a wood elf, had extremely sharp instincts and keen senses, which was truly troublesome.
“I…” Henry looked around, lowered his voice and said, “I’m going on a secret mission.”
“Secret mission?” Kaily asked, “Why didn’t I receive any orders?”
As a scout of the squad, Kaily was very competent but also a huge troublemaker. Under her watchful eyes, one could hardly slip away.
“No.” Henry frowned, “It’s very secretive; with your identity….”
Kaily coldly replied, “Got it. Goodbye.”
With that, she turned and left without looking back.
Henry sighed in relief.
He walked to the city gate, and faint sounds of mournful singing and the clashing of swords drifted from a distance.
The street was eerily quiet.
He looked up at the city gate, shrouded in fog, feeling that something was off, as if… there was an extra hand.
Henry suddenly pulled on the horse.
This action seemed to trigger a switch, and suddenly there was a chorus of cheers from above the city walls and gate.
“We have won! We have won!”
“We are victorious!”
Someone shouted from the battlements: “Open the gates quickly; the troops are returning triumphantly.”
A dozen soldiers approached the gate, cranking the winch, and the gates swung open. What streamed in was not the victorious army, but a horde of demons with claws and serpent-like tongues, waving their blades and decapitating soldiers who wore victorious smiles.
Behind them stood erected crosses, bearing the imperial soldiers ambushed during the campaign, surrounded by pink mist. They bled, some missing limbs, battered and bruised, teetering on the edge of death.
Yet they still raised their heads with the last bit of strength, shouting joyously, unwilling to wake from a dream they did not want to end.
One centurion tilted his head back, his eye sockets filled with blood, his eyeballs gone, and shouted, “We have won!”
The four groups of depraved demons surged like spears into the open city gate, rushing in to start a massacre.
The Vanguard City garrison was caught completely off guard.
Henry reacted quickly; he slapped the horse’s rear and turned to run, yelling “Enemy attack!” as he did.
Chaos ensued.
The freshly awakened imperial soldiers grabbed their swords and staggered out. The demons ran like the wind, swiftly severing the heads of imperial soldiers, and the depraved rage demons shrieked as they dove down from the sky.
Without so much as an organized resistance, soldiers clustered together in groups, defending each other, only to die off in small groups.
Henry was utterly terrified; he understood that a disorganized army meant no discipline and was merely meat on the chopping board.
Flee, run quickly; he had no courage to fight, almost feeling like a cornered dog. Anything that looked inhuman in his path got struck down by his sword, one after another.
He even hacked down a strange demon resembling an anteater, moving very fast but surprisingly fragile. Without thinking much, Henry escaped in front of the Sigma temple.
As one of the heroes of Vanguard City, Henry knew some of its secrets. For instance, there was a secret passage in the Sigma temple leading outside.
He was quick, and there were no bodies in front of the Sigma temple yet.
He immediately banged on the temple doors, shouting, “I am the Sword Saint Skali; open the door, it’s an emergency.”
The temple door swung open immediately.
Henry was covered in blood, startling the priest who opened the door.
“Wha… what happened?”
“Urgent matters.”
Henry rushed in past the Sigma statue holding a hammer. As he ran by, he shamefully covered his face, heading into the inner chambers of the temple, where he pulled open a candelabrum.
A door in the wall opened.
Henry quickly stepped through it.
Outside, the screams of his comrades rang out.
His pace slowed, and he muttered to himself, “I’m sorry; unless Sigma herself comes back, no one can save us.”
Thinking of the depraved demons’ methods of torturing captives, Henry couldn’t help but shudder; he didn’t want to be a living instrument, constantly being hammered and struck.
As his feet crossed the threshold into the secret passage.
Henry thought of Kaily and that short engineer who loved to go around shirtless.
“No, I can’t do this.” Henry clenched his fist, “What will I do after I escape?”
All alone, he realized he had nothing to eat….
At this moment, Henry finally noticed he had been carrying a backpack on his back, which explained why it was so tiring to run.
He set down the bag filled with water and food, tossing it into the secret passage.
It felt like he was trying to convince himself; he muttered:
“One person can’t escape. The more people, the easier it will be to escape.”
With this thought, Henry shut the secret door.
Inside the temple, the priests were in a panic. Henry grabbed one priest by the collar and ordered him to bless his weapon.
Afterward, he rushed toward the barracks, slashing as he went.
Eight hours later.
Henry regretted his previous choices.
The once-great Vanguard City had become a plaything of the depraved demon army. Distantly, the sounds of laughter mingled with the screams of humans could be heard.
He limped on one leg, his great sword strapped to his back, tied to his arms, dragging himself along.
On the roadside, several followers of the depraved army pulled out imperial soldiers pretending to be dead from the cesspool.
“Quick! Great hero.”
He felt a kick on his rear, lowering his head, and along with a few unfortunate survivors, he was pushed along.
There were still a few crosses standing by the road.
On them hung the imperial soldiers who had gone out with the captain; they were still alive, a rare feat among those who clung to life. Some had bled to death, some had died from drugs, and some had suddenly awakened from their dreams of victory, unable to accept reality, and screamed madly.
Their lives flickered like a candle in the wind, yet they still strained to shout amidst hoarse cries, “We won! We won!”
One even sang victory songs while beating a drum made of human skin, the skin coming from his back.
Henry couldn’t help the tears streaming down his face, crying endlessly.
If he had known, he would have immediately dove into the secret passage. He had thought luck would favor him each time and insisted on going back to look for his teammates to escape together.
As a result, the goddess of fortune no longer shielded him, this fake hero. Unfortunately, he was speared in the calf and couldn’t run, shedding tears as he begged his teammates to leave first.
He hated his lack of skill in combat and also hated himself for not having the courage to end his own life.
In his desperation, the imperial soldiers next to him hastily plunged swords into their own necks, swearing to die rather than become playthings.
Yet Henry couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Kneel!”
Henry was forced to kneel on the ground.
A blood-covered knight next to him quietly asked, “Sword Saint Skali?”
Henry choked up, asking, “Are… you?”
“Why are you crying?”
“I… I…” Henry wanted to say he was scared but couldn’t bring himself to say it: “I cry for the empire losing a stronghold.”
The imperial knight sighed, “I thought tough guys like you never shed tears.”
If pain could lead one from this cruel fate, Henry would dare to cry out “Tears of Shalayah.”
There were many captives; Henry lowered his head, unable to see ahead and unwilling to look at it.
Someone shouted, “Who is the Sword Saint Skali?”
The captives looked at each other, none betrayed Henry.
“If you don’t speak up, you’ll all regret it.”
The knight beside him raised his head and shouted, “I am the Sword Saint Skali Henry.”
“I am.”
“So am I.”
The captives exclaimed in unison.
Henry’s eyes grew misty again.
Until a depraved beast rider, neither male nor female, with a long tongue pointed at Sword Saint Skali Henry and said, “He, he must be the Sword Saint Skali.”
“Why?”
“He killed that depraved beast with one sword. Who else but Sword Saint Skali could do that?”
Thus, Henry “joyfully” found himself in the front row.
Looking left and right, he discovered they were in the courtyard of “Shalayah’s Tears,” where a wall had been knocked down to provide space for the group of captives.
Fireworks burst in the sky, and beneath them, an eyeless succubus walked slowly. She had neither eyes nor eye sockets, which was quite strange, but she emitted an undeniable allure, her pointed ears adorned with golden earrings, sparkling just like her.
Looking at her, an uncontrollable feeling of affection surged within him.
“Little darling.”
The eyeless succubus took the hand of the commander, a true hard man, unyielding and tough. Everyone suspected that the birthmark on his backside looked exactly like the Sigma symbol.
His mouth was blocked to prevent him from incessantly drooling.
“You just spit in her face again.” The eyeless succubus beamed with an innocent smile. “Your fortress is very strong, but your hearts are weak. Just a tiny bit of vanity has caused you to expose your own city.”
The square-faced commander glared fiercely at the eyeless succubus.
From him, Henry felt a sense of courage; he straightened his back. He heard that the commander had escaped from the dark underground church of the Four Divine Beasts, and no amount of torture had made him flinch.
But minutes later, Henry sensed something was wrong.
“Clean it up.”
Under the demon’s command, the priestess of Shalayah tremblingly wiped the “Tears of Shalayah” clean, as though it were porcelain imported from the East, with the spring water appearing clear to the bottom.
The eyeless succubus ordered, “Set fire underneath.”
To the sound of human musical instruments, a great fire ignited. “Shalayah’s Tears” began to bubble, like a pot boiling in the kitchen.
Henry’s complexion changed, a chill rose within him.
The priestess of Shalayah knelt on the ground, banging her head and praying for Shalayah to descend and prevent her spring from boiling.
But it was all in vain.
Ultimately, “Shalayah’s Tears” was still spring water, bubbling and boiling.
The eyeless succubus stripped the commander, rendered him helpless, and threw him into the boiling spring.
At first, the commander remained silent in the thrashing water. His skin turned red, with blisters forming all over.
A full ten minutes passed.
Only then did a scream emerge from the spring.
Shalayah’s merciful blessing had turned into a brutal punishment, hanging his life by a thread.
His skin was covered in blisters; after being boiled tender, it peeled away from his flesh, revealing bright red meat, which under the scorching spring water “healed,” growing new skin.
Tears flowed endlessly from Henry’s eyes; not only him, many captives could not hold back their sobs. Some bowed their heads, praying for a swift end to the commander’s suffering, while others erupted in attempts to put an end to this torture.
When their tears ran dry, those who erupted were subdued, their foreheads cracked open and bleeding.
But the torture continued.
He was boiled alive for a whole night, and by the first hour of the next noon.
The commander finally fell silent.
Henry and the other imperial captives stood before “Shalayah’s Tears,” watching as the cold wind lashed against their faces, blood oozing from their wounds as if trying to flee this cruel place.
They had no food to eat and no water to drink.
Henry felt his throat dry and cracked, his stomach curled into a knot, hunger gnawing at him.
But the punishment was not over; though the eyeless succubus had lost interest and left, under the evil magical restraints, all imperial captives could only watch their beloved commander until the end of his life.
By the third day or maybe the fourth.
Henry could no longer keep track; he felt unable to feel his legs or sense time passing.
But he felt hunger.
The commander had been boiled alive for three or four days without dying, his flesh turned ash-white, smelling delectable.
The demons even picked up fans, wafting the aroma of cooked meat toward the captives, causing their bellies to grumble uncontrollably, saliva rushing down their dry throats, evaporating instantly.
Henry, driven by the rising appetite, wished he could die and was filled with shame. But his arms were bound to the great sword, just like the commander in the boiling spring, having no choice over his destiny.
With emotionless, tearless eyes, he watched the boiling fountain ahead, seeing the perverse demon followers mockingly laughing at the hypocrisy of humanity, taunting them by offering to cut off pieces of the commander’s meat for them to eat.
The depraved followers smiled widely, “Come, quickly say please, beg me, and I’ll cut you off a piece—”
A sharp blade split open his throat, and a hand ruthlessly pressed him into the boiling spring.
“Swish.”
A wooden arrow pierced the commander’s head in the boiling spring, mercifully ending this punishment.
“In the name of Sigma!”
After that, numb Henry remembered nothing clearly.
He vaguely recalled his teammates bursting in and miraculously rescuing him into the secret passage.
Drinking diluted wine, his eyes blank, he had lost all spirit.
Kaily slapped his face several times, her eyes red, and only then did Henry barely come to his senses, asking, “Are you… real or fake?”
