Chapter 110: When Will the Reinforcements Arrive?
Katherine suddenly stepped forward, asking, “What are you doing here?” Arcanis finished his cold beer, burped, and said, “That’s a long story, but I generously plan to tell you all. A terrifying great demon is chasing me. She’s like a ghost crawling out of a tomb, with white hair—anyone who dares to stand in her way—”
Katherine angrily pointed at the wallet in Arcanis’s hand and demanded, “I mean, how did my wallet end up with you?” “Oh, I found it on the floor a moment ago,” Arcanis replied, leaning against the bar and tossing his empty glass aside. “Another drink, please.”
He tossed the wallet back to Katherine, saying, “No thanks needed.”
Sir Henry, the Swordmaster of Skarry, asked, “Are you planning to go to Adolf?” “That’s my intention, but before I leave, I want to rest properly, take a bath, and relax. You have no idea how devout one must be to escape from an old white-haired witch. Compared to her, an entire doomsday army is nothing.”
The noise outside the tavern grew louder.
Katherine twitched her long ears and asked, “What’s that sound?” Sir Henry listened closely, only hearing the rambunctious drinking sounds from within the Red Moon Tavern. He said, “I don’t think it’s anything.”
Looking again, he saw that the witch hunter Arcanis was inexplicably lying on the floor, pressing his ear against the filthy floorboards. “Van Helsing?” “Get on the bar!” Arcanis suddenly sprang up, yelling, “Something big is happening!” Trusting his former comrade, Sir Henry grabbed Katherine’s arm, and they jumped onto the bar together.
The butcher, a short engineer, jumped with all his might, gripping the bar tightly, his short legs swinging furiously. Katherine couldn’t help but laugh. The butcher shouted, “Come lend a hand!” Sir Henry quickly pulled the butcher onto the bar.
Nothing happened. The tavern quieted down significantly. Many people looked at the three “heroes” on the bar as if they were fools.
The tavern owner, however, looked up at the ceiling, where the terrifying witch hunter himself hung precariously at the juncture of the ceiling and wall like a cat. “Hahaha,” many people struggled to hold back their laughter. Sir Henry felt himself blushing; he turned to Arcanis and asked, “What are you doing? Performing tricks?” Arcanis replied, “Meow!” Finally, everyone burst into laughter,
Laughing so hard that they doubled over, slamming their beer mugs on the table, with some even falling off their chairs laughing.
The floor was shaking.
As Sir Henry was about to get down, he asked, “Is there an earthquake?”
“Bang!”
Suddenly, the floor burst open with holes, and a massive drill pierced through, spinning rapidly. Those caught off guard were met with the drill, resulting in chilling screams.
The three, Sir Henry and co., saw the bar shattered as the drill burst through.
Before the bar was destroyed, it pushed the three of them away, and they suffered no harm.
The drill shot out from the floor, its door opened, and a horde of squeaking rats, accompanied by a foul odor, surged into the tavern. Ratmen armed with glowing green curved blades screamed as they charged out from behind the door.
“Kill! Kill!”
“Take down the commander!”
Before long, nearly all the surviving patrons were lying on the ground.
Sir Henry felt incredibly grateful for his habit of wearing armor, as they leaned against the wall and fought off the ratmen charging at them.
Another drill broke through the floor, and a dimensional sorcerer rat jumped out, wielding a staff and serving as the overall commander of this assault force.
As the commander, the greatest privilege was being the last to enter.
“The humans certainly didn’t expect us to ambush their command… center?”
The dimensional sorcerer rat caught a whiff of the strong alcoholic smell, seeing the dead patrons scattered about; a wine bottle rolled on the ground, bumping into his claw.
Furious, he struck the nearby ratman with his staff adorned with dimensional stones: “Wrong exit! This is a human tavern!”
A figure appeared behind the dimensional sorcerer rat; Arcanis seized his rat ears, swiftly slashed with the Shadow Blade across his neck, creating a deep gash.
As the storm rat guard swung at Arcanis, he shifted and traded places with his shadow to evade the attack.
The rat assault team instantly fell into chaos.
Seeing this opportunity, Sir Henry, regretting not drinking more of the cold beer, charged out of the tavern with his companions.
On the street, they saw an overwhelming sea of rats emerging from nowhere, swarming toward the four who had just burst out of the tavern.
“This is all your fault!” Arcanis shouted, appearing from the rooftop, harvesting the ratmen tossing stones with his curved sword and short blade, “You made me give up roasting rats!”
Amidst the calamity, the four had to huddle together to survive, surrounded by the continual tide of rats.
The living were disappearing at a visible speed. The rat ogre rampaged through the street, crashing into the human formation that was trying to defend against sneak attacks, shattering it to pieces.
“By Sigmar!” Arcanis shouted from the rooftop, “We need to fight our way out of the city! Oh no! Turn back, damn it, there’s a whole bunch of fire-breathing ratmen ahead.”
“To the barracks! We’re going to the barracks!”
Fortunately, the barracks had not fallen yet. The four slaughtered their way to the barracks, leaving a trail of corpses behind.
The guards, holding long spears, opened the barracks door and saw the bodies on the street, remarking, “Unbelievable, they look like butchers from the slaughter city.”
As soon as the four entered the barracks, and after resting for half an hour, the local commander summoned them.
At the map table, the commander looked up at the four and said, “You must be the famous Sir Henry the Swordmaster. I’ve heard of your name. It must be Sigmar who sent such a hero to bring us hope for victory.”
The now tired Sir Henry felt embarrassed immediately; his face flushed red, recalling that he had just finished his time as a deserter, and said, “No, I’m not a hero.”
“Just as humble as the rumors say.”
Arcanis crossed his arms, sniffed the air, and said, “The whole atmosphere is thick with hypocritical politeness. Let me guess, you have some tasks nobody wants to do for us.”
“Witch hunters,” the commander traced a line on the map, “This is no ordinary task; it concerns—”
Arcanis interrupted, “No! I didn’t come here to work. Do you have any milk? Give me a bottle, and I’ll be on my way. Goodbye.”
The commander asked, “Don’t witch hunters fear the darkness and evil?”
“I have to get to Adolf.”
“We are the ones saving Adolf,” the commander replied, “The king of our neighboring country is a noble king who upholds chivalry. He has summoned knights to support the Empire in the name of righteous war.”
Arcanis responded, “And then have everyone become serfs, farming his wretched fields, paying ninety percent of the harvest, right?”
Sir Henry felt increasingly that the witch hunter did not seem like a witch hunter; he looked at Arcanis in confusion.
The commander emphasized, “They are coming to support us from the Axe Scar Pass and will definitely pass through here. I dare to bet everything I own that the Everchosen has dispatched a legion to attack. If this place falls, it will be desecrated into a demon city.”
“But we still need to find Adolf.”
Knights need to support Adolf. They could either leave the safe and convenient Imperial highway and head straight into the forest, or capture this city, perhaps Adolf wouldn’t hold out for long.
Arcanis stopped, turned around, and said, “Although Adolf is far away, it seems like everywhere is Adolf. What are your plans?”
“Control the city walls,” the commander said, “So that the enemy cannot comfortably enter the city.”
“You want your people to join everyone on the walls and be attacked from both sides?”
“This way we can delay the longest. Being holed up in the barracks is meaningless.”
The commander then said, “If we can hold out until the Lionheart arrives, even if everyone sacrifices, it will be worth it.”
Arcanis said, “Good plan, what about you?”
Sir Henry imagined himself dying on the city walls.
He didn’t react at all, as if it were an inconsequential matter.
He thought for a moment; perhaps it was because there is no shortage of death in this world. Just a moment ago, the friendly tavern owner was still laughing, and in the blink of an eye, a drill erupted from the floor and split him in half.
“I’d be happy to, but if there’s beer…”
“There is,” the commander said with a hint of sarcasm. “By the way, witch hunter, your favorite milk is here too.”
“That’s wonderful.” Arcanis disregarded the sarcasm, “Where’s the milk? I want to gulp down some milk right now.”
Escape? Escape? The rat commander was a volatile guy; he flew into a rage and hacked a fleeing ratman to death with his long sword, shouting, “Go! Go! Kill those human things! We’re many! Reinforcements, they’re coming soon!”
Why are the reinforcements taking so long to arrive?
Jima complained as she peered through her telescope at the distant Imperial highway.
The latest news was that the Everchosen and his army had already arrived at Adolf.
Tearing apart the Everchosen and defeating his army while the old continent’s order camp still had resistance capability was one of the best strategies.
Therefore, Jima was unwilling to fall behind.
After crossing the Rick River, she led the vanguard legion, breaking through the blockade left by the Everchosen, feigning an assault aimed at the rear of the Everchosen’s army, but actually executing a forced march that took a turn to this place for an ambush.
According to the intel from George, the Lionheart was about to lead his army to support, which meant the Everchosen would likely take the Imperial towns near Axe Scar Pass—these towns were essential on the Lionheart’s route for reinforcements.
Even if the Everchosen did not know the Lionheart had initiated the chivalric war,
from the perspective of isolating Adolf, capturing this town was also very necessary.
With her keen instinct, Jima sensed the opportunity for an ambush; however,
there was no but. Jima had already seen the enemy’s decayed bodies through the telescope.
Yet she put down the telescope, sighing.
“So long.” Jima lamented, “It seems that this bait is not enticing enough; it’s about time to withdraw.”
The magic dragon Marvo stood motionless beside her, like a statue.
“By the way,” Jima said, “Thank you for your creative ways of sending out that secret letter. After all, the letter doesn’t necessarily have to be on paper. Your method of sending secret messages is truly imaginative.”
The magic dragon Marvo’s eyes flickered in response.
Jima smiled and added, “Thank you for your help in misleading the enemy; it gave me the confidence to lead everyone into this ambush.”
The magic dragon Marvo’s lips moved, asking, “Still, is it an illusion?”
Jima did not answer, just tried to maintain a mysterious smile and said, “Everything is under control.”
She mentally counted to ten and discreetly gestured behind her.
The invisible nose-toothed powder fairy military strategist flew over like a eunuch and shouted, “My king! My king! The enemy is coming!”
Jima picked up the telescope and saw the enemy for the second time, smiling, “Thank you so much, indeed, it’s the filth-ridden demon army. They’re moving so slowly; I thought the Everchosen no longer trusted you.”
The magic dragon Marvo felt pain; who knows how the contents of the secret message she wrote under the influence of hallucinations got distorted?
She once again let the Everchosen down; he believed in herself but fell into this wretched demon king’s trap once more.
She did not turn back but still felt the sweet and painful power emanating from the magic dragon Marvo’s body, merging into her heart.
Jima savored Marvo’s pain; she wouldn’t tell her that her secret message, of course, had not been sent out, nor had it gone out.
It was just to weave a lie for Marvo—You have been brainwashed, no means can withstand it, and by the time it is time, you will become my spear aimed at the Everchosen.
“Deliver my command.”
Jima said: “All are ready, prepare to execute the plan and ambush the enemy.”
“Yes, my king.”
……
Rick River, near the fallen Caron Fortress.
Recently, the one who killed the most of Adolf’s defenders, bringing the greatest enemy to Adolf, was not the Everchosen and his army, nor the beastmen army that sprang up from the east.
But the Vomiter.
He was massive, having indulged in gluttony for years, consuming both raw and cooked food, leading to his towering height of fifteen meters.
Considering that he used to be a few meters tall human male, this achievement of weight gain could be recorded in history books.
The Vomiter lay by the downstream of the Rick River, his mouth wide open, vomiting a large mound of foul-smelling, greenish-yellow viscous vomit.
It came from the things the Vomiter had eaten over the years: corpses from battlefields, decaying bodies from graveyards, sludge from underground sewers, filthy pits, and so on, all rich in “nutrients.”
That vomit, blessed by filth, could still pollute upstream Adolf, even though it was downstream.
The Vomiter stood up after vomiting the body of a giant swordsman from the fallen Caron Fortress, who had sacrificed himself on the walls; he did not wipe his mouth but patted his belly and laughed:
“Everyone, we can go to Adolf to support the Everchosen now.”
A fellow filth-believing warrior, Dagji, looked enviously at the Vomiter, opened his mouth, and spat out flies, saying, “When will I also receive the blessings from the Father of Filth to become that powerful?”
He tightened his grip on the rusted twin swords in his hands, turned to the decaying corpse on his back, and said, “Sister, brother will soon ascend to the demon.”
Although demonic warriors vary in appearance, Dagji, the filth warrior, still appeared very special.
He carried a long-dead little girl on his back, who had decayed and softened; the bony spikes that had grown from Dagji’s back connected him and his sister together.
“Young man, do your best.”
The demon beast that ‘initiated’ him said to him: “Believe in filth; life and decay are cycles. As long as you ascend quickly, your sister will eventually break free from the cycle of decay to return to life.”
Dagji, the filth warrior, remembered that more than a year ago, he was still a child. Ever since he walked the path of demonkind, his body had changed, and reviving his sister now seemed like a possibility, filling him with gratitude.
He raised his hand, touching the decaying spot on his sister’s small face, imagining in the future, when he ascends to the demon, his sister will also return to life, moving and calling him brother.
He smiled even wider.
