Chapter 14: Iron Cross
Knock, knock, knock.
Knock, knock, knock.
The knocking at the door continued incessantly.
It started out relatively restrained, but as time went on, the force of the blows increased, making it sound no different from someone attempting to break down the door.
Hiltina silently gripped the hilt of “Flickering Morning Star,” watching the door shake violently from the impacts, readying herself for battle; she had fully recovered from the energy consumption of using Night Blade during her recent sleep.
She had no idea who was knocking outside, but the “super instinct” granted by the Chariot Sequence was frantically warning her.
Without a doubt, standing outside the door was something that transcended Hiltina’s previous understanding and lay beyond the realm of human common sense… it was even uncertain whether it could still be referred to as human.
The only knowledge Hiltina had about it came from Rast’s few words and that brief term recorded in the Night World—
“Iron Cross Plague.”
The pounding from outside suddenly ceased.
But a few seconds later.
Scrape, scrape.
It sounded as though someone was continuously scratching the doorframe with their nails, producing a sharp, piercing sound that made one’s teeth ache.
Whether it was an illusion or not, amidst that ear-piercing noise, Hiltina also heard faint gasping and laughter… as if someone was trying to hold back uncontrollable laughter but was forced to suppress it for some reason.
The sharp scratching seemed to last for an eternity when Hiltina suddenly heard Rast let out a sigh.
Boom—
Then, with a crisp sound, the wooden bolt was snapped, and the door swung open violently.
In that moment, Hiltina finally saw the figure in front of her.
The person’s complexion was ashen, and beneath the bloodied coat, the left arm was completely mangled, with white, broken bones protruding, and the tips of the bone shards still showed traces of having scraped wood… he had just used his shattered arm bone to break the bolt.
His right hand gripped a spine soaked in minced flesh, looking like ribs hanging in a butcher’s shop, but this spine clearly did not belong to livestock; it appeared more slender and fragile, with signs of being gnawed all over.
What was most striking, however, was the man’s face, which was marked by a huge iron-gray cross scar that cut across his entire visage.
He looked at the two people inside the manor, and beneath the iron cross, the corners of his mouth slowly twisted into a deranged, grotesque arc that would be impossible for a normal person to achieve.
“I knew it… haha… you were still here.”
Despite being in such a bizarre atmosphere, the man laughed maniacally, his laughter losing all reason.
“Is this that private detective or your unfaithful wife?… Haha… but it doesn’t really matter.” The man pointed his spine, covered in minced meat, at Hiltina: “If I pull out her spine to use as a whip, it will surely be more convenient than using this little beast right now.”
Upon hearing his words, a chill suddenly rose in Hiltina’s heart… was this the coachman who had brought them here? And was the source of that slender spine the coachman’s own underage child?
Beneath the cross-shaped scar, the cruelty in his bloodshot eyes intensified, and he moved slightly as if about to charge at Hiltina.
Bang—
Faster than the man’s movement was Rast’s g*n.
The b*llet whizzed out, piercing the man’s left chest.
Yet what followed was a muffled thud; the full metal jacket b*llet, known for its armor-piercing capability, failed to penetrate the flesh and bl**d, as if it had hit a steel plate and come to a halt.
Through the tear in his coat, it could be seen that the muscle diaphragm at the man’s left chest was knotted like iron. The armor-piercing b*llet was lodged tightly within it, with only a few cracks visible, but it had not truly struck the heart’s vital area.
Bang—
Another five bullets were fired.
Despite the rapid fire, the remaining five bullets followed the exact same trajectory, once again accurately hitting the already wounded left chest of the coachman.
Crack.
This time, even that iron-like diaphragm could no longer hold, completely shattering, and the heart within exploded into a bl**d mist.
Yet the coachman was still not completely dead.
He clutched at his chest, looking at Rast, who had just emptied a magazine and had not yet reloaded, a grotesque grin stretching his mouth as if he wanted to say something.
In the next moment, a silver piercing flashed.
Sparks flew as metal clashed at the coachman’s throat, but this scene of iron and steel did not last long; in an instant, the slim silver sword gained the upper hand, and the head, still wearing that maniacal grin, was sent flying high.
The knight’s slender sword trembled slightly, and with a flash of silver light, the stained bl**d was cleared away in an instant, leaving no trace behind.
Hiltina sheathed the Flickering Morning Star, her brow slightly furrowed.
Even though Rast had exploded the coachman’s heart, stripping him of much of his strength, the thrust that pierced the coachman’s throat still used seventy percent of her strength to penetrate that iron-like diaphragm.
Had she fought alone without Rast’s assistance, a mere pollutant like this one would have been enough to exhaust Hiltina significantly.
If she wished to end the fight swiftly, she could only activate Night Blade.
However, how many times could Hiltina use Night Blade continuously? And how many such pollutants remained in the entire Deep Blue Harbor?
Yet more than simply the difficulty she faced, what chilled Hiltina the most was the blatant malice exhibited by this coachman.
Clearly still retaining some rationality, even capable of dialogue… yet the other party could no longer be deemed human; they resembled more a beast clad in human form.
She looked at the man’s lifeless body and recalled the previous conversation in the carriage; no matter how she tried, she couldn’t link the warm-hearted coachman to this brute who had torn out his own child’s spine to use as a whip.
Hiltina softly asked, “Was his relationship with his children terrible at home?”
“No, in a previous cycle, I once invited the whole family to dine at the Golden Deer Hotel.” Rast’s tone was calm: “It was a happy family; the wife was virtuous and thrifty, often doing handicrafts to supplement the household income. Their financial situation wasn’t particularly wealthy, but it was enough to make ends meet.”
“His two children were also well-behaved and understanding; the older brother worked at a newspaper, and the younger brother excelled academically, just recently receiving an acceptance letter from a university in the mainland. The whole family was preparing for the tuition fees.”
“After drinking during dinner, that coachman once patted my shoulder and told me that his greatest pride in life was his two precious sons.”
“So even if he had to sell everything or run a carriage at night, he would ensure his sons could make something of themselves in the big cities in the mainland, and if anyone dared to scheme against his precious sons, he would smash their heads with a beer bottle, even if they were a congressman.”
Rast’s voice remained steady: “I know those words were heartfelt.”
“But that means nothing in the face of the Evil God’s will.”
“All the beautiful, sincere feelings in ordinary people’s hearts… are completely transformed into a pure desire for destruction and tendencies for cruelty, devolving into beasts with intelligence.”
“This is what is known as the ‘Iron Cross.'”
(End of Chapter)
