Chapter 252 Chapter249 Intermission
As the morning sun dispels the darkness, the sleep-deprived sentinels prop themselves up and see that outside the crumbled city walls, only a deserted camp remains. The retreating beastmen warbeasts vanish into the twisted forest like a receding mudslide, leaving behind a city still ablaze.
Though the surroundings are filled with collapsed houses, smoking ruins, and streets cluttered with fallen corpses, the blood-soaked bricks and severed limbs hanging from streetlamps tell a harrowing tale.
But outside the city, there are no towering cyclopes, nor the imposing armies of beastmen.
First, the sentinels on the walls of Quinas Fortress erupt in loud cheers; many rush to the ramparts, and upon seeing the retreating beastmen, their cheers quickly spread throughout the castle.
They wave their spears and lift their bows, rejoicing:
“They’re gone! The man-eating beasts are gone!”
“We have won!”
“Thank the goddess! Thank George!”
Some laugh and cry at the same time, bending over to cover their faces, kneeling on the ground and weeping, “Woe, I’m still alive, not eaten.”
Almost everyone is bursting with emotion.
Cardinal Gregory is one of the few exceptions; he instructs several brave mounted attendants to scout ahead and then to count the numbers of the clergy.
The holy knights and priests from the chapel, along with local clerical staff, assemble before the occasionally coughing elder, lining up to report their numbers.
“Brook present!”
“Turis present!”
“Bobby present!”
With each report, the scribe marks a red check next to the names on the roster.
The last member of the line reports in.
Only just over half the names on the roster are marked with a red check, while nearly half are left empty.
George glances at the roster, feeling hollow inside; the circle in the chapel is closed off, everyone lives closely together, seeing each other often, and he recognizes many of the unmarked names.
Gregory puts down his hand and says:
“This victory was hard-won. Many servants of the gods fell in this just war without seeing the arrival of victory. But their sacrifice will inspire us to walk more firmly on the path of righteousness…”
George has long since grown numb to such lofty speeches he has heard since childhood.
“…There is no need for excessive sorrow,” Gregory raises his voice, glancing at George, “Under the withered leaves, new shoots will always emerge.”
After dispersing, George leaves his fourth attendant in the castle and heads out on his own.
Inside Quinas City, people are walking on the collapsed houses, carrying water buckets to extinguish the fires.
Due to a shortage of livestock, they have no choice but to use humans to pull the carts, while others continuously collect the bodies lying on the ground and load them onto the vehicles. Carts filled with corpses are being transported out of the city, as all the gates have already been sealed. In a short time, only one of the city gates has been cleared for use, causing the corpse transporters to queue up at this lone entrance.
George stands against the charred wall of a tavern, to his right is a pile of spoils, undoubtedly the work of the beastmen. He lifts his visor, his azure eyes reflecting the vast expanse of burned buildings and the long line of corpse transporters.
The lump in George’s chest grows heavier.
How much manpower and time will it take to rebuild these houses? Timber must be cut and brought in by lumberjacks. Blacksmiths need to forge nails, which carpenters then have to hammer into the wood… to construct a shelter that will shield against the wind and rain.
The departed, were none of them raised on their mother’s milk? After painstakingly nurturing them for ten or twenty years, so many have now died.
At that moment, Eve Frostleaf rode by, and George called out to her. Luckily, she had nothing to do, lightly leaping off her horse as if dappled leaves floated on the wind, landing beside George. She asked:
“George, what are you looking at?”
“The ruins of civilization,” George replied. “I wish I could achieve merit like Sigma, driving the beastmen back into the forest for a hundred years, a thousand years, ten thousand years. I want to eradicate this group of creatures born to kill and harm. But I understand, unless one day the Four Gods of Darkness are no more, the beastmen will always exist.”
“Mm.”
George rambled on like a long-bearded dwarf.
Eve Frostleaf, in a positive light, could be described as calm and unflappable; negatively, one might say she showed no expression, gently nodding along after listening.
George, somewhat envious, said, “Sometimes I envy people like you and Gregory, who’ve lived long and seen much, possessing a calmness that comes from the sediment of years.”
Eve Frostleaf replied, “Actually, I am still quite young.”
“That’s by elven standards.”
Eve Frostleaf said, “I’ve thrown up a few times.”
“Thrown up?”
“Yes, I secretly went to a place with no one around to vomit,” Eve Frostleaf stated. “I had never experienced such a brutal war before; I only read about it in books and heard it from a champion knight. George, though I’ve lived longer than you, I’ve experienced as much as you. I’m simply accustomed to not showing my true thoughts on my face.”
As Eve Frostleaf spoke, she maintained her cold expression while looking at George.
George wondered if there was something wrong with his eyes, as he clearly saw a glimmer of hope in her emerald eyes.
What was she hoping for?
Just as the two were locking eyes.
A hand suddenly climbed onto the edge of the wall between them.
They both looked down to see a silver-scaled elven maid who had climbed up without them noticing.
Hanging from the wall, she raised her face to look at the two and said, “Lady Frostleaf, I have urgent business to discuss.”
She didn’t bother to hide her hostility towards George.
No sooner had the elven maid spoken than the dirt wall she was gripping collapsed, sending her tumbling to the ground. Luckily, it was only over three meters high, and the elven maid plopped down on the street, cursing in the elven tongue: “The inferior construction artistry of the monkey race!”
George remarked, “Looks like your maid has something to discuss with you.”
Eve Frostleaf nodded at him, lightly leaping, like a fallen leaf landing on the ground.
Though the war has reached a pause.
Both sides know that this is merely an intermission, as they prepare for an even more brutal and bloody battle to come. The Blood God himself is watching both sides, anticipating the next, even more horrific war.
Having feasted on human flesh, the beastmen are receiving blessings. They lie on the ground, muscles rippling, emitting roars. Some beastmen manage to endure it.
While others have grotesquely transformed, growing extra legs and tentacles, their necks drawn into their chests, bellies sprouting a large mouth filled with sharp teeth, losing their original personalities and turning into “abominations,” but they become more ferocious and powerful.
The Mother of All Beasts stands among the writhing mass of flesh, presiding over a birthing ceremony, with new life constantly coming into being to serve her army.
Once she is satisfied after nursing all, enjoying some grape wine to rest, one of her subordinates informs her of a mysterious visitor cloaked in mist, claiming to be from the demon realm and wishing to see her.
The Mother of All Beasts agreed.
Meanwhile, the humans weren’t idle either.
Brave and passionate knights from across the country rushed in to join under the king’s banner.
However, the appearance of a group of knights caused a commotion throughout Leanne Port.
Twelve Cup Knights appeared. They seemed to be beyond human, their exposed skin and eyes radiating a soft moonlight, and the lances in their hands glimmering with white light.
Leanne Port was crowded, with everyone spilling out of their homes, filling the streets on both sides, completely paralyzing the port. Out of respect for the Cup Knights, the crowd did not block their way.
People pointed at the Cup Knights in white robes and silver armor, shouting, “Cup Knights! Living Cup Knights!”
“That one is Bayal.”
“He’s Knight William!”
The men shouted with excitement.
It is said that each Cup Knight has seen the lake goddess firsthand. The lake goddess personally presents the golden chalice, bestowing the holy water within. Those knights gain longevity, inexhaustible strength, and unimaginable power.
Every year, quite a number of knights abandon worldly riches, taking only a horse and a servant, embarking on the adventure to seek the Holy Grail, becoming adventure knights.
The Holy Grail is not located in a specific place; it can only be found after undergoing countless valorous battles, showcasing their might and strength to the lake goddess.
On a certain night, they will encounter the legendary first king of Bartu—The Green Knight, and only by clashing with the Green Knight and earning his recognition will they see the lake goddess and receive the holy water.
Before each Cup Knight becomes one, they already possess resounding reputations. This one single-handedly slayed a cyclops, that one reversed the tide of battle hundreds of years ago by defeating a detestable green-skinned champion, and another safeguarded pilgrims a hundred years ago, slaying countless undead.
Their mere presence fills everyone with confidence in victory.
The lake goddess must favor the Lionheart King; otherwise, so many reclusive Cup Knights would not have appeared together.
As the Cup Knights rode through the streets.
A team of “deceased” Cup Knights approached. Several zealous followers carried a long wooden beam, at the front a horse’s head nailed to it to resemble a horse, while the two carriers naturally posed as the horse’s forelegs and hind legs.
Sitting on this fake horse was the corpse of a deceased Cup Knight—the remains of a Cup Knight. The knight’s remains wore the armor of their former self, adorned with colorful relics—golden necklaces, daggers, knives, silver forks—everything a Cup Knight had left behind, donated by the fervent followers who stealthily took them.
In the eyes of the Bartu people, each Cup Knight is a saint, and since they are saints, their remains are relics. Such relics, when displayed, can inspire all those from Bartu, causing even the most humble farmer to feel no fear beside the relics of the Cup Knights, regardless of the looming threat of dragons.
Beneath the open helm of the Cup Knight’s remains, there lies a skull, bones as jade, with empty eye sockets.
Yet people continually shouted, “The holy remains are looking at me! They are looking at me!”
Then, they would faint from excitement.
The surrounding Bartu citizens knelt or shouted to express their reverence.
The followers carrying the Cup Knight’s remains held their chests out proudly. Even the pilgrims in the back carrying tower shields showed expressions of pride.
“Like a bunch of idiots,” Jimma, awakened from her slumber by the noise, pushed the window open, rolled her eyes and said, “No wonder people say that the Holy Grail is as foolish as a flamboyant clown; it symbolizes this country.”
However, Jimma felt a bit more at ease because the Cup Knights were indeed powerful.
