Chapter 180: Grayscale (Part 5)
The night wind howled as it swept through the forest.
Nestled at the foothills east of Stag Town, less than a kilometer from the waterfall creek, over two hundred knights galloped on their steeds, their iron hooves thundering across the grass, kicking up clouds of dust. At the forefront, the Captain of Knights, clad in heavy armor and draped in a cloak, wore a stern expression that flickered in the torchlight.
He was the leader of the Ninth Squad of the Judgment of the First Knights Order, dispatched to Silgaya on a secret mission from the Holy City with Lord Isaac. They had expected to face off against the stinking bugs from the Eastern Continent and fight vicious demons in a bloody battle to protect the faithful—he and the warriors behind him were all revved up for it. Some had even been too excited to sleep all night. But upon arrival, they discovered that the war was not as they had anticipated.
The captain and his squad weren’t allowed to join Lord Isaac for the southern crusade. Instead, they had been ordered to stay in the North, setting up camp on the outskirts of Woodward Forest, manning hastily built watchtowers alongside a group of clerics from the Faith Organization, searching for so-called “stray heretics” that, in his mind, wouldn’t show up at all.
In the captain’s heart, the rodents of the Gate of Truth swam across the Ipos Sea, crushing the defenses of the Third Knights Order at the Moslin Coast. After twenty years of silence, they were back to challenge the authority of the Holy Church, wreaking havoc with reports of dire consequences. The Third Knights Order would surely pay for this embarrassment, and despite the support of the Williams Family, with the Sixth Knights Order and two Pope Knights, it was shocking they could still lose to a pack of scrappy, desperate pests.
He looked down on Commander Nick Williams, whose defeat had brought shame upon the Holy Church and thrust the once peaceful citizens of the Republic into chaos again. The flooding disaster had only made their plight worse. Countless poor souls must have perished in the south. As a knight, he felt furious about Williams’ incompetence as Commander of the Third Knights Order and felt humiliated that matters had digressed to this point. He had arrived with such determination.
But at the same time, the captain also realized something: those heretics, while disgusting, were undeniably brutal, and the South was surely in a state of turmoil. If those rodents could wipe out over ten thousand knights and take down two Pope Knights, then these foes were not just the minor players he had dealt with in the past—this was an excellent opportunity for fame and glory.
The captain longed to wade into battle, to earn reputation and honor for his family and himself, but alas, life doesn’t always unfold as planned. He was left behind. Despite having made requests, Lord Isaac—or rather, the Pope—had not granted him this chance.
He had lost that golden opportunity.
Now both lords were on the battlefield, accompanied by a little Pope Knight who, no matter her true strength or whether rumors about her prowess were accurate, was sure to boost the morale of the seasoned wolves of the First Knights Order simply by her presence.
Who wouldn’t want that sweet little lady to witness their bravest moment?
The battle would surely swing in their favor.
This wasn’t just him being charmed by the little Pope Knight. Her presence was practically irrelevant; the outcome of the battle wouldn’t change because the real heavyweights were leading the charge: the Pope and Lord Isaac. Even the most fearsome heretics would be lucky to survive once they encountered those two in battle.
The captain felt that from the day the fifteen hundred knights were ordered to march, the outcome had already been sealed. Whether or not they could save the Third Knights Order, the heretics were definitely going to face defeat.
And those of them left to obey orders here would miss the glory of fighting alongside the Pope, the honor of standing shoulder to shoulder in battle, saving the innocent from peril. They were fated to have nothing to do with all of it.
So the bitterness grew within him. He wanted nothing more than to charge into battle but had no chance to do so, stuck in this miserable place. Every day consisted of endless patrols, tiresome and redundant tasks like checking every village and hunting for elusive dragons in the forest—what a ridiculous waste of time!
No wonder the captain was harboring resentment. In fact, the knights who hadn’t been deployed had all been feeling a bit aggrieved lately; they hardly believed any heretics could penetrate this far and couldn’t comprehend why they had to brave mosquitoes and venomous snakes in the hunt for a white-haired dragon. A dragon with white hair? Preposterous! It was just another silly tale invented by country bumpkins.
Nonetheless, the captain fulfilled his duties diligently, completing assigned patrol routes while trying to uplift his comrades’ spirits with motivating words and feasible acts of encouragement. But deep down, he knew that he probably wouldn’t see a single heretic until the two lords returned triumphantly with their knights.
That very night, he sensed movement on the Faith Organization’s side; it seemed something strange was unfolding in Stag Town. A performance was happening, with some people heading there, but it was probably a trivial matter. Nothing ever happened in the North. This calm would likely last until they returned to the Holy City.
As the captain stood on the tower, feeling a bit disheartened, he pondered how to report back to his family and explain to his wife that he had arrived full of ambition and bravado only to end up as part of the garrison. He couldn’t help but wonder if Lord Isaac held some grudge against him. Why hadn’t he sent his squad south to battle? Was it because he hadn’t performed well enough?
While lost in thought, he spotted flames flickering in the distance.
That was in the direction of Stag Town.
The captain’s post was the closest one to Stag Town, and as the flames rose, he heard a thunderous noise from that direction. He wasn’t alone in noticing; nearly half of the knights in the camp perked up after a moment of shock. They quickly realized that a battle was underway.
The color of the flames was as red as bl**d—definitely those stinking bugs from the Eastern Continent.
The heretics really had come…
His subordinates began to stir. The captain climbed down from the tower, actively organizing and mobilizing his men, preparing for battle. However, without orders from above, no one was to act rashly. As the flames from Stag Town grew ever more furious, thick black smoke billowing up, the sounds of combat increased, and anxiety gripped the captain. He ordered someone to seek orders, but before a response could come, a brilliant golden light erupted.
That golden light was a distress signal from the Faith Organization. Judging by its splendor, it was the highest level of MaFa’s Light—someone at least a seasoned bishop was responsible for it. Such a signal indicated that the situation had escalated beyond anyone’s capacity to gauge.
Without hesitation, the captain made his decision. After leaving fewer than a hundred to guard the camp, he led the most elite two hundred knights, along with several clerics from the Faith Organization, rushing along the forest’s edge at the foot of the mountain. Thankfully, the Horned Horses were plentiful, and even in the dark, they moved swiftly in the glow of their torches. Just as they neared the town, the captain suddenly saw two shooting stars racing across the night sky, one red and one black.
In that instant, the captain’s pupils constricted, and his thoughts went haywire as his heart sank.
What was that…?
Was it the Abyss?!
A sudden wave of unease surged within him. All the fervor for battle that had reignited in his chest was extinguished in an instant, even sparking an instinctive urge to retreat. He recognized that the black mist was definitely the Abyss; the situation was far more severe than he had imagined. But they had already come this far, and the townsfolk of Stag Town might be in dire straits. As a knight, his pride forbade him from retreating. Even if he needed to call for reinforcements, he had to clarify the situation first.
So, the captain ordered the release of MaFa’s Light, steeling himself to press on.
The red and black beams shot through the night sky, landing near the east slope outside the town. They were still far off, but they could hear dull booms from that direction. After a few echoes, there was silence. The captain suspected the battle had reached a conclusion but was riddled with doubts about why the Abyss had suddenly appeared—especially when it seemed to be engaging the heretics. Both forces were unprecedentedly powerful; he could feel their might, even though it seemed the fight had truly ended.
Yet, the golden light that had earlier risen from Stag Town now remained quiet. The captain’s heart sank further; he realized the Church’s people there might be dead.
“…Stop!”
Before them lay a creek crossing the slope, glistening silver in the moonlight. The two shooting stars had likely fallen nearby, and the captain hesitated to take action. He raised a hand to halt his troops, furrowing his brow. Suddenly, his most trusted lieutenant approached, and they exchanged glances filled with hesitation and apprehension.
“What should we do?”
The lieutenant rubbed his face, voice grave. The captain pondered for a moment: “Let’s slow down. Stay close and alert—I believe we’re among the first to arrive. If that truly is the Abyss, with just these two hundred knights, rushing in would be tantamount to s*icide. We need to ascertain the situation first… Go find the clerics from the Faith Organization.”
“Understood.”
The lieutenant departed, and soon two clerics from the Faith Organization joined them to confer. The company resumed its march, albeit at a much slower pace, the flickering torchlight illuminating the tense expressions on their faces.
Shortly after, they encountered a hunched figure blocking their path.
It appeared to be an old man.
The hooves came to a halt, and the captain squinted, asking, “Who are you?”
The old man didn’t respond, shrouded in darkness where his face was barely visible, but in the next moment, the figure suddenly struck.
Without any warning.
In that instant, none of the seasoned warriors of the First Knights Order or the elite members of the Faith Organization could react.
Just an old man, the captain mused as he asked, “Who are you?” Still preoccupied with thoughts of the Abyss, wondering if they could delay for reinforcements, he foolishly considered that the old man might know something if he were a villager from Stag Town. Should he ask…?
He was still pondering those thoughts when, in an instant, a flash of cold light flickered in front of him, and the scene around him suddenly dropped to a lower vantage point.
The distant creek rushed by, followed by weeds and the ground—the captain saw the old man’s feet crushing the grass as he landed. Meanwhile, his beast was gushing bl**d from its neck. The captain wondered how he could see all this without lowering his head; what was wrong with the Horned Horse? The old man had been standing so far away—how had he reached them so quickly? He then heard his lieutenant cry out, “Walker—”
And consciousness faded amidst that shout.
In the next moment, chaos erupted among the ranks, with blades flashing and bloodshed starting!
