Chapter 12: The Vanguard City
On the road, a swaying caravan was driving against traffic.
On either side were unnaturally dense trees, seemingly affected by magic.
Singing emerged from the caravan, drifting through the woods.
“La la la, la la la, I’m the little fire starter, the boss told me to burn people, burn one, burn two, burn them dead, I’m happy, haha…♪”
The notorious witch hunter, Akanis, with a face resembling Van Helsing, was whipping the poor horses as he headed east towards the fallen Empire.
By the roadside, two overturned carts lay, tracks from east to west marking the path of those fleeing the fallen area. Several passengers were propped up on the carts, their ribs visibly splayed, symmetrically laid out, with bone clubs beneath for striking their ribs.
“Tsk tsk tsk.” Witch hunter Akanis stopped singing, glanced over and said, “It must be the work of the Color Sin.”
He did not stop, continuing to whip the wretched horses.
A light breeze blew through, causing the trees to sway slightly; the gentle wind brushed his face, cool and fragrant. The aroma was complex; at first, Akanis thought it was the scent of flowers, but upon closer “tasting,” he realized it bore the smell of baked bread, a whiff of cooking smoke.
The scent of smoke immediately transported him back to the streets of Sand Forest City at sunset, where sewage ran rampant, reflecting the fading sunlight. His dilapidated home sent up cooking smoke, sunlight filtering through, creating faint Tyndall effects.
Sweet home, waiting for the mischievous child to return.
He sniffed again, pinpointing the direction of the smoke.
It came from the caravan behind him.
Akanis felt a shiver; could the caravan be on fire?
But at that moment, two cold and white arms wrapped around him from behind, resting beside his neck, a small cold face pressed against his ear, softly saying:
“Dear, dinner is ready, it’s time to go home, you’ve been tired all day.”
“Mm.” Akanis relaxed, asking, “Who are you?”
“I am your wife.” She replied with a gentle laugh, “Would you like to eat dinner first, or eat me first?”
“Me…? Veilin… dear… my wife…” Akanis’s eyelids drooped, “You first stab me with a sword!”
Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly lashed out.
The Shadow Blade, the length of a forearm, plunged fiercely between the third and fourth ribs of the figure behind him. Yet before the blade fully embedded, Akanis’s form vanished from that spot.
He reappeared in the shadow of a thick branch above, crouching like a cat, staring down at the caravan.
A faint mist had settled around, enveloping the scene.
A bald, pointed-eared succubus, her right hand as flexible as a snake, and her left hand like pincers, was bleeding profusely from under her ribs, unable to stem the flow, despite all attempts.
Surrounding her were over twenty followers of the Color Sin, nearly all sporting mohawk hairstyles, wielding whips, serrated knives, or various bizarre objects.
This was a trap.
The succubus boldly thrust her snake-like right hand into her own wound, tears streaming down her face, saying:
“It hurts, so much pain. My love, why have you hurt my heart? I am your dear wife.”
She had immersed herself in her role, quivering as she spoke, tilting her head back, as if she had fallen for someone she shouldn’t have. This novel and intense experience made the succubus unable to stop.
Her body could not endure this reciprocal harm of love; she fell to the ground, curling up and shaking, yet still forcing her hand deeper into her wound.
This is the “Color Sin.”
Even a seasoned Akanis could not help but shudder.
He truly believed it was Veilin, not understanding how she had come back to life.
“Van Helsing!”
A follower of the Color Sin, with a bone bottle tied to the back of his head, from which smoke was emitting, was the source of the momentary confusion that had fooled Akanis. He raised his torch high and shouted: “Where are you? Count to three, and if you don’t show yourself, I’ll set your caravan on fire! I know it’s an artifact left by your deceased wife!”
“Three!”
Akanis leaped down from above as the wind whipped through his cloak.
“In the name of Sigmar,” witch hunter Akanis declared, “today I will bind you all and burn you alive.”
“Here he comes!” A voice filled with an artistic intonation called out.
“Here he comes!” another follower of the Color Sin echoed.
“He’s coming! He’s coming!”
Their voices fluctuated in pitch, as if they were playing a call-and-response singing game.
Moreover, they formed two lines, crowding around the bone bottle follower, who held a longsword and sang loudly in a deep voice:
“That timid boy has finally grown up, desperately seeking revenge…♪
“The dog of Karl, the Emperor’s executioner, descends from the shadows, his cold eyes just like they were when he slaughtered my family….♪”
Next to them, an accompaniment of clinking and clanging sounds arose.
Akanis looked toward the sound and saw what looked like human instruments standing by the roadside on the overturned carts, several color sin female followers with towering hairstyles, striking the opened ribs with bone clubs to provide the music.
At that moment, the succubus lying on the ground cried out in a soprano: “It hurts! So painful!”
“Hmph.” Witch hunter Akanis sneered, “I thought I had seen everything in my career as a witch hunter.”
“You! Why?!” The bone bottle follower stepped up, raising his hand, pointing his finger at Akanis’s chest. The color sin followers on either side, shorter than him, copied the same gesture.
The bone bottle follower sang in a deep voice: “Why did you kill my whole family?”
“You are?”
“The family of Count Weissner, have you forgotten? You cut off my parents’ heads in front of me?”
“I’ve killed many families.” Akanis replied, “Which one are you?”
“Bang!”
The bone bottle follower stomped his foot angrily on the ground, glaring at Akanis:
“On the fleeing convoy! Simply because my family’s coachman offended you, you slaughtered my entire family and framed us for colluding with the enemy! You have shamed my family!”
Akanis seemed to recall something, asking, “You’re the little boy who I didn’t kill? Have you fallen since then? If I’d known this would happen, I should have gotten into the habit of leaving no survivors.”
“No! I was out on errands and fortunately escaped a disaster.” The bone bottle follower sang: “Tell me why? Otherwise, I will burn your caravan.”
“I’m starting to remember.” Akanis said: “Your family packed a whole convoy with all sorts of items, causing delays. Attitude was arrogant; whoever was in front would get whipped. I couldn’t stand it, so I found an excuse and killed your whole family; I’m sure I didn’t spare your five or six-year-old brother either—my bad.”
“Despicable! The Emperor has wronged me; Sigmar is a lie. Now the gentle and kind He gives me strength and the opportunity for revenge.” The bone bottle follower’s face turned red with anger: “I will cut out your tongue to remember your eloquence!”
“Do you have confidence?”
The bone bottle follower indeed was very confident. Behind him, the succubus had been passionately crying out, “It hurts, so painful!” Although her voice had lowered, her actions and emotional excitement drew the blessing of Color Sin, which flowed into her body.
Her body visibly began to change; not long after, when she stood up, she would become a fearsome warrior.
“Yes!”
“Very good.” Witch hunter Akanis drew his curved blade; “In the name of the Emperor…”
Fifteen minutes later.
“I condemn you all to be burned at the stake, to be executed immediately.” Akanis threw the torch onto the cart drenched in oil.
A pile of severely injured Color Sin followers tied to it burned alongside the human instruments they had made.
“Ahhh!” The bone bottle follower attempted to scream rhythmically through his pain, desperately savoring the taste of failed revenge.
The succubus, transformed after the ascension, weakly murmured in the flames: “It hurts, so painful.”
A minute later, the flames engulfed the group of Color Sin followers, “purifying” them.
“Finally, no one is disturbing my ears.”
Akanis sat swaying in the caravan, “That gave me a scare; I thought that vampire had resurrected. Once we reached Vanguard City, I could obtain some strong holy water and pour it in.”
Vanguard City, this fortress stood on the edge of the Tarabec Province, located in the heart of the Empire, had now become the Empire’s frontline. It was uncertain when it would fall, or when the nearly invincible Everchosen would lead his army to uproot this nail.
Akanis’s luck was very poor; he was almost forcibly shoved forward without any support. Many hoped he would die soon, their hatred for him was perhaps no less than that towards the demons.
But Akanis didn’t care; when the boss told him to go, he went.
Thinking of this, he recalled that Vanguard City housed the miracle of the Goddess Shalayah, whatever it was, a fountain called “Tears of Shalayah.” Anyone bathing in it could heal their wounds.
Akanis rubbed his slightly aching shoulder, planning to fully experience this miracle once he reached Vanguard City. He intended to bring back several empty barrels. Regardless of what Shalayah’s priests said, he would fill buckets with water to take back.
Just in the name of the Sigmar Church.
Akanis felt a surge of excitement about the destination, whistling as he urged the horse with a few more lashes.
Another breeze blew through.
A few strands of silver hair swayed in the caravan; Veilin remained motionless, after all, she could be considered dead.
Akanis, having half-elf blood, possessed acute hearing but failed to perceive the presence of this progenitor of blood.
Veilin, bare-skinned, listened to Akanis’s gravelly singing.
…
…
“Ha… ha…”
Henry gasped for air as the icy spring water soaked his wounds, the flow entering deep into the bone-deep injury caused a sharp pain, quickly followed by a comfortable tingling sensation.
He saw that his deep wound was visibly healing at an extraordinary speed.
The “Tears of Shalayah” fountain was truly living up to its name; the effect was remarkably good.
So good, in fact, that Henry felt a wave of frustration.
“The Sword Saint Skari?!”
A surprised voice erupted from a nearby large man who was also bathing: “You’re the Sword Saint everyone in the fortress has been talking about? You’re so brave!”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Having been in Vanguard City for a few months, Henry’s skin had thickened considerably.
As soon as he arrived in Vanguard City, he was promptly conscripted.
Fortunately, the refugees he brought along rushed to the rear with a group of stragglers.
Henry did not want to stay on the front lines; he wanted to go home.
To find an opportunity to escape, preferably to make it seem like he had simply gone missing.
Henry enrolled and joined the reconnaissance team, responsible for patrolling outside the city and capturing scouts, a very dangerous role only strong individuals with a sense of honor could undertake. However, it also provided many escape opportunities.
But it was difficult to be a deserter, as the wood elf named Kaelin had joined the Imperial army and had even been assigned to his small unit.
Every time he “accidentally” got lost during a battle, Kaelin would always find him.
Determined, he decided he would deliberately injure himself in battle. He realized that the “Tears of Shalayah” could not heal disabilities; otherwise, why would they send disabled soldiers back?
Thus, Sword Saint Henry, disregarding danger, sought out powerful opponents among the demons, risking himself in the process. Perhaps due to luck, he managed to win by a slim margin each time, gaining fame in Vanguard City, making it awkward to escape.
Today, he had finally been severely injured, on the verge of disability.
Yet his teammates rushed him with tears in their eyes, quickening their pace to deliver him promptly to the “Tears of Shalayah.”
Reflecting on this, Henry couldn’t help but sigh.
The veteran beside him, discussing and praising his valiant deeds, asked:
“Sword Saint Skari, what’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, me?” Sword Saint Skari changed to a solemn tone: “Thinking of how many monsters I’ve killed, yet the apocalyptic army still ravages the Empire, it pains me.”
“If only there were more heroes in the Empire like you, under the Emperor’s leadership, we would have long driven those demons back.”
“Sorry, Henry, I thought you were fleeing last time.” A knight said sincerely: “I didn’t realize you had crashed into the stealthing monster that was preparing to ambush our flank.”
“Hahaha, it’s all thanks to everyone’s brave fighting.”
Henry laughed on the surface but felt relieved deep down; he had almost died that time.
This won’t do; once I finish bathing, regardless of face or dignity, I’ll find a chance to get out—I must escape. No matter who shows up, it won’t change anything; this is no place for a person to stay.
