Chapter 104: Hometown (Part 2)
Fleeing.
The Sword Saint of Scarlis, Henry, was on the run.
He no longer wanted to fight.
Countless demon troops surged in from all directions—north from the Milros area, south from the Nuxi region, and recently he had heard that from the east, from Talabe, a great army of demons rode on the backs of tens of thousands of beasts.
Everyone said that aside from the entire territory of the Count Rick Empire being burned to the ground, the once human homeland had become scorched earth under the feet of the great army of the Fire World.
He now only felt regret for his teammates.
But who told him he was just a false hero? He had merely relied on luck to survive one battle after another while those around him fell one after another.
Thinking of this, Henry, the Sword Saint of Scarlis, smiled wryly:
“Now that I’m a coward, I’m still thinking about face.”
During a patrol, after encountering an ambush and finding the battle in chaos, he suddenly remembered that a fallen comrade bore a resemblance to him, so he stuffed the identification token in his bosom and put away his weapon.
Anyway, the fallen comrade’s face had been burned to a charred lump, and when the demon troops pursued, they liked to take trophies of weapons, perhaps not wanting the teammates to know that the so-called battle hero was just a lie.
Henry couldn’t help but think of Osmani. He told himself that he, like Henry, was a hero with an empty reputation. It was then Henry realized that the one wielding the Hammer of Sigma was also a mortal.
But the emperor of the empire was the true hero; he was not. At least he hadn’t abandoned his responsibilities and his comrades, running back to his hometown like a scared dog.
Henry felt bitter in his heart, pulling at the reins of his gasping horse, continuing down the stony road. The scenery before him became increasingly familiar.
He kept walking, the scene becoming more and more familiar, the bitterness in his heart growing stronger. He continued along the stony road, dragging his gasping horse, and the scenery in front of him became even more familiar.
Suddenly, a demon warrior raised his head, pointing at him, saying, “Looks like he suits me.”
The Northern folk of the True Sect laughed out loud.
Henry looked around, finding no escape route behind him. He asked, “Did you attack this place?”
“You’ll soon die together,” the warrior of the Blood God shouted. “Blood sacrifice to the Blood God!”
He charged forward, joined by many Northern raiders.
“Get out of my home, or die!” Henry, the Sword Saint, roared without any fear, charging forward.
The giant sword clashed with the giant axe, but Henry’s axe struck hard against the armor. His body bled, and pain coursed through him.
Am I exhausted?
He thought, surprisingly feeling no fear at all.
With the thought of death lingering, he only wished to take a few along with him before he died.
He attempted to strike down the demon warrior with his magical giant sword, but it required too much of his strength. The demon warrior’s helmet fell, revealing a handsome face.
A nearby raider took the opportunity to sneak in with an axe attack, causing Henry to be pinned down. The demon warrior seized the chance to attack, sweeping in for the kill.
Henry managed to block just in time, his helmet spinning on the ground, and his back against the door of a home, the giant sword falling beside him. A Northern raider stepped up, pressing down hard on his sword.
Such a capable mortal. The demon warrior slowly flicked his bangs, “You’ve killed so many of my subordinates.”
On the ground lay more than ten Northern corpses.
“Let me bid you farewell,” the first demon said, stepping forward, twirling like a dancer before raising his axe.
“Crack!”
An arrow shot straight into his face, piercing through him.
The demon warrior widened his eyes, refusing to fall, but a second arrow followed, taking him down.
The Northern raider who had stepped on Henry’s giant sword turned around, only to have an arrow strike his face.
Henry lunged forward, grabbing three swords, letting out a beastly roar, and swung at the Northerners. Though they were numerous, their leader had just fallen, and lacking will to fight, they shielded themselves under arrows and giant swords, leading to their own collapse.
Watching the fleeing figures of the Northerners, Henry felt powerless and knelt on the ground.
A swift figure charged forward, with a red ponytail and green eyes looking right at the wood elf, Kaelen.
Before Kaelen could speak, Henry managed a bitter smile and said, “I’m sorry, I’m a coward.”
Kaelen didn’t say anything; she glanced at the dead village and said, “This is your hometown, right?”
Henry took a few breaths, struggling to stand, “Yes, I ran home. I deceived you all earlier; I’m no battle hero, I’m just a coward.”
He felt a strange pleasure akin to a criminal confessing.
The expected contempt and condemnation didn’t arrive.
Kaelen simply nodded and said, “Oh. I can understand.”
Hang me!
“I won’t,” she said. “They all said you were dead; I didn’t believe it! The short one didn’t believe it either.”
“And him?”
The little short-legged one was still on the way.
Henry looked at the profile of the wood elf, the evening sunlight falling on her face, making her quite pretty.
“I… Henry said: “But I’m really a coward. My title came from lucky kills during my escape from a fire spider.”
Kaelen suddenly slapped him on the shoulder with enough force that he felt a slight pain.
Luck is the best companion for a soldier.
“Alright then.” Henry hoisted his giant sword.
“What do you plan to do next?”
“I’ll go kill more of the Apocalypse army.” Henry said: “I’ve heard they’re all heading towards Adolf. I think the imperial capital needs people who can swing swords against demons. Can you?”
Kaelen said, “I no longer have a hometown.”
“Shall we go together?”
The two stepped over the mutated corpses of the Northerners and walked out.
Henry turned back as they reached the entrance, unable to resist one last glance. He raised his head and waved goodbye to his childhood hometown, then turned to leave.
One week later.
The Vanguard regiment’s camp.
The camp was bustling with life. To satisfy the demons’ bloodlust and also to fill everyone’s stomachs, a bloody gladiatorial contest was taking place.
Captured prisoners were forced to slaughter each other or fight monsters in the arena. There were also soldiers from the Vanguard regiment who went down to join.
Constant killing, constant death; the atmosphere of slaughter infected the demon warriors present.
Outside, shouts and the sounds of battle echoed.
In the command post, Jima slammed a pen down on the map.
Around the command post, there was a commotion; they didn’t want this base. We demons have historically been semi-nomadic; what do we need a rear base for?
On the combat map, Jima placed the information revealed by scouts regarding the Apocalypse army, marking them with many blue arrows. The sheer number resembled a flood rushing into a sea of people, while the Vanguard regiment was like a small fish beside it.
And this small fish wished to swim into that river and replace the chosen ones for eternity.
Thinking of this made Jima’s head ache.
She spread many rumors unfavorable to the chosen ones, hoping to add some difficulty to the defeated hound in reclaiming control over the Apocalypse army, but she felt it had little effect.
“Lord, another letter from the chosen one has arrived.”
“Oh? Let me see. Sneezing Mei Mei has transformed into a three-headed dragon; he really loves his mount.” A radiant smile appeared on Jima’s face. “This way of tormenting his demon pet makes me even happier.”
