Chapter 181: Wrapping Up (Part 1)
“Hey, you two! Have you not woken up yet?”
Out of nowhere, a masked figure popped up, surprisingly short—about the same size as a child. The voice was soft and sweet, not intimidating at all. It felt oddly like a little girl was playing a prank.
Yet, that very voice instantly changed the expressions of Captain Salamus and the Old Pope of the Holy Church.
A strong wind blew, pushing both men back as they staggered, hearts pounding. Just then, there was a thunderous boom, followed by a flash of lightning. Another petite masked figure appeared behind them.
Both of them turned around simultaneously. As the lightning dissipated, they saw the figure standing a short distance away, carefully drawing a longsword from its sheath. It casually twirled its right ankle, while beneath a strange mask, a pair of cold, indifferent eyes locked onto Anseier—who still had frost clinging to his head. The strands of deep purple hair exposed from under the hood looked as rigid as icicles. The Old Pope’s eyes flickered with surprise, as if he vaguely recognized something.
But he didn’t have time to ponder.
With a buzzing sound, Captain Salamus quickly pulled out another golden orb, its light flickering. In an instant, he vanished: “Good luck, you old geezer—”
He actually had the audacity to leave Anseier behind and take off!
The Old Pope cursed inwardly, thinking “This is bad.” He also wanted to use a divine miracle to teleport out, but the next moment he suddenly turned around and found that the little girl, now much closer—twenty meters away—was staring coldly at him.
!!!
In a flash, the old man was thrown into chaos, his mind turning blank.
Her hair was black!
The instant that thought crossed his mind, he felt a tiny foot against his thigh, kicking him hard. It felt like being hit by a steel hammer. His body went limp, crashing backward for over ten meters, rolling into the mud and snow, gasping for breath, immobilized for a while.
My leg…
It’s broken…
“L-Let me handle him.”
In a daze, the old man heard the figure of lightning speak, the voice neutral, impossible to tell if it was a young boy or a grown woman, but it seemed to tremble a bit…
“Is your foot okay?”
“No, no problem. His leg is worse…”
“I kicked lightly on purpose; his bones shouldn’t be broken.”
“Mine… isn’t either.”
“What happened? Did you get frosted?”
“Um… a little.”
“Didn’t I tell you to keep your distance?”
“I thought I was far enough…”
“Is it a big deal?”
“No big deal.”
“Alright, I’ll go chase the other one.”
“Okay.”
The brief conversation was casual, completely ignoring Anseier.
d*mn it…
The old man struggled, slowly catching his breath, trying to get up from the ground.
Suddenly, he felt someone yank his hair and lift his face from the snow, causing him to scream in pain. When his blurry vision began to clear, he saw the person squatting in front of him slowly remove their hood and toss the mask aside.
The old man was stunned.
He recognized that face: “Y-You are…”
“Anacelis.”
The small woman looked at him coldly, devoid of any emotion in her eyes: “Do you still remember me?”
“You are… the Sword Demon!”
The Old Pope’s eyes widened. How could he forget that face?
The only one he had killed with his own hands, who was still considered one of his own back then—a figure that had made him feel guilty for a long, long time.
The Sword Demon, Anacelis…
A loyal, honest girl, quiet and reserved, always sent on the dirtiest and most dangerous missions, never complaining, only wishing to cure her mother’s ailment, and in the end betrayed by the Old Pope and treated as a discarded pawn.
“You… you didn’t d*e…”
The old man couldn’t understand how she had survived that fiery hell.
If it had been him, he would have long turned to ashes in despair…
How is this possible…
“Get up.”
The Sword Demon’s eyes remained vacant; she wasn’t going to explain—totally not her style.
“Get up.”
She simply let go of the old man’s hair, stepped back, tightening her grip on her jagged longsword, looking down at the Old Pope who was struggling on the ground, coldly saying: “Just like back in Woodward Forest, defeat me.”
Then she paused: “But this time, you don’t have anyone to help you.”
…………
Buzz—
Salamus stumbled out of the sudden golden light, losing his footing and falling into the snow.
He quickly got back up, his longsword positioned in front of him, cautiously scanning the surroundings. Not seeing any enemies, he let out a small sigh of relief, hastily determined his direction, rummaged for the third orb, and vanished again, this time appearing in a low valley to the west. He threw away the third orb and pulled out the fourth, repeating the process twice more.
After exhausting the last medium orb, the man looked back at the snowy slope behind him, waited a bit, and when he saw no commotion in the sky, a glimmer of safety flickered within him…
However, feeling safe, he suddenly regretted using all the medium orbs so quickly. Salamus knew his faith powers were weak—something directly tied to his poor health since childhood. Those five “Instant Blink” orbs were hard-earned, critical for life-and-d*ath moments, and he only needed one to escape.
Though it was still unclear how those two found him and Anseier so fast, it must have been some kind of special trick. After using the second one, he could have hidden anywhere, burrowing in the snow and waiting; that terrifying little creature most likely wouldn’t have found him.
Too bad…
He lost his composure, scared out of his wits by that insurmountable power, trying to get away from them as fast as possible, and used up all the orbs in one go. If the enemies came back now, he’d be left with nothing to do but close his eyes and wait for d*ath.
“Ha.”
Thinking this, Captain Salamus smiled wryly.
What a pathetic smile.
This was a total, complete failure…
There was no saving it.
Feeling disheartened, the young man had never faced such a ludicrous defeat. Previously, the Fourth Knights Order had an impressive record, and since taking command, he hadn’t faced a single small-scale loss.
How many times had he thought, if it were me, the one sent to Silgaya to resist the heretics, it would’ve been my elite knights trained under me—we wouldn’t let those heretics break through the Mosley coast! The man had such confidence; he had come to the Empire full of ambitions. All those Northern folks, like Duke Skarlij, or the Workshop Hunters who could take on ten at once, meant nothing to him.
In truth, he had indeed struck like a bolt of lightning at the start; even without Sister Kaimilante, things would have just been a bit more complicated. The Northern Army, which only liked head-on battles, simply wasn’t a threat. How could they compete with the Church Army? Baihao City had fallen in just one night, and if Anseier hadn’t taken credit for his achievements, he could’ve ended the war much sooner…
But now, there were no chances for a do-over.
Hiding in a snowy valley, the man adjusted his breathing, feeling a torrent of pain and guilt. His knights had suffered heavy casualties, and earlier, unable to accept the reality, he almost sliced the Old Pope in half… But wasn’t he secretly venting his emotions? Had he not been proud and arrogant, thinking Anseier’s little antics wouldn’t matter, or believed he could handle everything, he wouldn’t have ended up like this.
Such a powerful enemy…
Even in defeat, he didn’t want to lose so thoroughly, so completely.
If only he could have realized in that critical moment, and protected Sister Kaimilante, perhaps they could have won…
Caw—
Above him, a raven circled, cawing.
d*mn bird…
d*mn Shanter Army…
d*mn Anseier…
You old fossil, with this level of skill, daring to dream of ascension…
Dying here wouldn’t be so bad…
And the d*mn Church…
Such crucial information, yet not a word came through. Each of them merely sat in their halls giving orders, useless good-for-nothings…
You all caused me to fall to this state; you should all d*e.
In his heart, Salamus cursed everyone a hundred times, and then began to think of his escape route.
At this point in the battle, he certainly couldn’t face returning to the Holy City, nor could he show his face to his family. All that talk of knightly honor, the hopes placed upon him, being the youngest captain of the Church Knights, a once-in-a-century genius commander—it was all nonsense…
In this war, he hadn’t had the chance to shine at all; he had thrown all those titles away. After returning, he’d be nothing more than a drowning dog, reduced to being scolded and beaten, and possibly even hanged or executed…
After all, if he were to explain his defeat, it would just be that the enemy suddenly emerged like an unbeatable force, single-handedly wiping out two thousand Church knights. Such absurdity—who would believe him? Even if the Pope believed it, those who had always been against him, like the Purcell faction, or even Anseier if he miraculously survived—would stop at nothing to crush him under the judgment court.
After realizing this, Salamus surprisingly thought that maybe it would be better to d*e at the hands of such a strong enemy rather than skulk away in shame, perhaps it would be more liberating.
But he was unwilling…
So very unwilling.
He pondered for a long time but couldn’t figure out what to do. At that moment, it seemed there was commotion coming from afar; he knew it was likely the enemy taking care of Old Pope Anseier. Har har, serves that old coot right…
The man felt a hint of schadenfreude while also being relieved that he seemingly hadn’t been discovered. Darkness had fully descended and he took off his conspicuous armor, loosening his beast-hair cape, wrapping it around himself for warmth. The cloak was black, blending almost seamlessly with the night, making it hard to be spotted.
With that, he cautiously emerged from his hiding spot and began heading west—just a little further was his observation point for the Northern reinforcements, where at least thirty knights stood ready. Although it wouldn’t be wise to reunite with them just now—self-preservation meant it was safest to escape alone—he had to send a message to retreat. The few soldiers stationed at the forks might not yet know the situation.
And Salamus couldn’t just stand by and watch his men d*e.
With that thought in mind, he approached the valley exit and saw the white tents that blended into the snowy land in the distance. Just as he was about to climb up the snow slope to check things out, suddenly his footsteps halted.
In his line of sight, a tall figure draped in a Pope Knight’s cloak stood quietly not far ahead, the cape fluttering in the wind like a ghost in the night.
He seemed to be waiting for him.
Tarlasya…
Salamus recognized that figure at a glance.
