Chapter 447: The Reaper
Ayt couldn’t move. He lay on the stone and stared up at the beast, and it turned and looked at him.
He could see the mucus hanging from its pale fangs.
“Relax,” the beast said. “I’m not going to eat you.”
It spoke in human language, in a voice like mud stirred in a barrel, and the shock of it was nearly enough to make him pass out. Then a girl dropped from the beast’s back, landed without ceremony, crossed to where Bronzehill lay and turned him over. She checked him quickly and straightened.
“He’s alive, Maggie. Take him to Nana.”
The beast — Maggie, apparently — closed its claws around Bronzehill and lifted off. The wingbeats drove a wall of wind across the parapet, snow and cold air flattening everything, and Ayt threw his arm across his eyes. When the gust passed and he could look again, the creature and Bronzehill were gone, swallowed by the dark sky.
Not a dream. That girl is still here.
In the darkness her eyes were extraordinary. Gold, somehow. They gave off light — barely, like embers — but in the black of the wall they were visible the way stars are visible before the eye has fully adjusted to night.
“You — you’re—”
“I came to help you,” she said.
He stared at her. “To help me?”
“His Highness Roland sent me.” She crouched down and dug a long sword out of the pile of flattened corpses, checked its weight with one hand, and swung it experimentally. She paid no attention to the blood and matter coating it.
Ayt turned his head and retched. Bile only. There was nothing left to bring up.
Outside the wall, a battle cry rose again from below. The beast had terrified the enemy, but now they understood only that it had left — and they had no idea what had happened on top of the wall.
“When you say ‘His Highness,’ you mean the prince? From Border Town?” He wiped his mouth.
“Is there another Roland?”
“But it’s at least three days’ travel from Border Town — how did he know about the rebellion so quickly?” He swallowed. “And that beast—”
“Not a beast. A witch who came here to save you.” Her voice went cooler. “I don’t have time to answer questions. Be quiet.”
The first enemy to clear the breach this time found no flintlock waiting. He got both feet on the parapet and straightened. Then he saw only a girl.
Laughter moved through the men behind him.
“Stay alert, don’t let her use any tricks on us.”
“Don’t worry, my lord — we’ll take care of it, but after—”
“When I’m done here, she’s yours.”
“Works for me.”
“Run — come back here!” Ayt struggled upright. Whatever happened next made him stop moving entirely.
A silver arc cut through the torchlight.
The laughter died before the leader finished falling. He was in two pieces before he hit the stone. The sword had passed through his shield and his armor as if neither existed, and he hadn’t seen it coming.
When the two halves of him landed, their blood still moving in different directions, the smiles on the faces of the men behind him froze and then went rigid.
The black-haired girl stepped forward.
One stroke. Three men opened across their stomachs. They had not reacted, had not dodged, had not lifted their weapons. Their intestines hit the stone in a wet sound before the rest of them followed.
“You—” Ayt couldn’t form the rest of the sentence.
She glanced back at him. “Find your surviving companions and gather on top of the wall. Someone will come for you.” Then she stepped off the edge.
The wall was thirty feet tall.
He crawled to the parapet’s edge and looked down.
The crowd below had become a slaughterhouse. She moved through it as if the street were empty — and wherever she moved the enemy opened and fell and didn’t get up. No one she reached could react before she was already past them. The long sword swung through human bodies the way a scythe handles grain, and the men before her fled the same way grain doesn’t: in all directions, stumbling over each other, screaming.
In less than a quarter hour the siege collapsed.
The noblemen retreated. She followed the escaping crowd all the way, leaving a trail of red behind her on the snow.
Ayt lowered himself back to the stone and sat.
Cold sweat had soaked through to his back.
That was a witch?
Well. Whatever she was — he was alive.
The Stronghold castle was besieged on all four sides. Bonfires dotted the ring around it, burning high and bright in the cold air. After a day and a night of fighting, the second floor of the castle had fallen to the four families’ troops. The Honeysuckle men had been pushed to the topmost level and were by now suffering both hunger and cold.
Jacques Medde stood before the castle and let himself feel the approaching moment.
When his father died, he had traveled back from King’s City to inherit the Earl’s title — a long road for a smaller prize than he’d wanted. But now there was a better opportunity. Timothy’s secret letter had been clear: if he could take and hold Longsong Stronghold, the king’s army would march against Roland Wimbledon as soon as the snow melted. Once the rebel prince was gone, Jacques would govern the Western Region. Added to the Honeysuckle territory, that was the land and title of a duke.
Duke Medde. The name sat well in his mouth.
He was examining the castle’s upper floors when a knight in Maple Family colors approached him at a jog.
“My lord, the sixth platoon has returned from above. They report the flintlock sounds from the enemy have dropped considerably. Should we send the iron armor platoons?”
Jacques nodded. “Arrange it.”
The iron armor platoons were his answer to the Honeysuckle flintlocks. Three or four soldiers moved as a unit — two of them holding shields of layered iron over wood, covering their group, with firing holes cut through. He’d had to sacrifice a dozen suits of knight’s armor to build the shields, which had cost him politically. But the shields had a weakness he’d accepted: heavy, slow, they were easy targets if the enemy held their nerve and had enough ammunition. Luckily, the Honeysuckles can’t hold much longer. They’d managed to pull a portion of their soldiers and knights into the castle before the four families closed the ring — barely a hundred men. A hundred men couldn’t last a long siege.
It’ll be several days before Prince Roland receives the news. And in several days, the castle would be his.
If I send Petrov’s head as a gift — what face would Roland Wimbledon make? Jacques found himself genuinely curious.
Chapter 447: The Reaper
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
Ayt was paralyzed with fright. He helplessly stared at the beast, who now also turned to look at him. He could clearly see mucus dripping from its beige fangs.
“Relax. I’m not going to eat you.” The beast suddenly spoke in human language with a muddy voice, which almost horrified him enough to shriek.
He was astounded again when seeing a girl jump off the beast’s back. She walked towards Bronzehill, turned him over and checked him out. She said to the beast, “He’s alive. Maggie, send him to Nana.”
“Ow!” The beast seemed to understand what she said. It grabbed Bronzehill with its claws and flew up again. The flapping of its wings stirred up the air, producing strong winds, which made Ayt unable to open his eyes. When the wind and snow finally stopped, he squinted at the city wall but saw nothing at all—as if everything that had happened was just a dream.
“No, it’s not a dream… That girl is still here!” he thought.
He vaguely saw the girl’s figure in the darkness. There was apparently no light around, but her pupils were emitting weird golden lights, like stars in the night.
“You… you’re…”
“I came to help you.” The girl’s reply left him dumbfounded.
“Wh-what?” Ayt felt this was more implausible than a dream. “You’re here to help me?”
“Yes. His Highness Roland sent me here.” She squatted down, dug out a long sword from the flattened corpses and swung it, completely disregarding the fact that the sword was covered with flesh and blood.
Ayt was overcome by a feeling of sickness. He retched twice but vomited nothing except bile. Just then, outside the city wall, a battle cry resounded again. The beast had just terrified the enemiesbut now that they saw it had left, and they had no idea what had happened up there on top of the city wall, they began to stir again.
“By ‘His Highness’… you mean the prince of Border Town?” He wiped his mouth and gasped.
“Is there another Roland besides him?” the black-haired girl asked, as she started to dig another weapon from a corpse. Ayt immediately turned his head away from her.
“But it takes at least three days to get here from Border Town… How did His Highness know about the noble’s rebellion so quickly?” Ayt swallowed hard and continued, “and the beast just now…”
“It’s not a beast, but a witch that came here to save you.” Her voice turned cold. “I don’t have time to answer all your questions. Just keep quiet.”
As there was no flintlock blocking them this time, the enemies easily came up on top of the city wall. When torches lit the place up again, they were surprised to find only a girl standing in front of them.
Malicious laughter soon broke the silence.
Ayt immediately knew what they meant by the laughter.
“Stay alert. Don’t give them any chance to play any dirty tricks on us.”
“Don’t worry, my lord. We’ll take care of it, but later…”
“When I’m done, I’ll leave her to you.”
“Hey… fine with me.”
“Qui-quickly come back here to me!” Ayt struggled to stand up, but what happened next made him stare in amazement.
A silver light chopped down and the laughter died abruptly.
The leader of the enemies was chopped into two pieces by the long sword. His shield and armor could not stop it at all. In fact, he didn’t even see the girl strike.
When the two pieces of his body fell down with blood spurting out from the wounds, everyone’s smile froze on their face.
However, this was just the beginning.
The black-haired girl took one step forward and swept her sword. Before Ayt could clearly see her movements, he heard the sound of flesh scraping and bones breakings.
The three men had no time to react as they were ripped open in their stomachs.
Their intestines fell out mixed with blood and spilled all over the ground.
“You…” Ayt opened his mouth a little but didn’t know what to say.
The girl looked back at him and said, “Go find your surviving battle companions and gather on top of the wall. Someone will come to fetch you later.” With these words, she jumped directly off the city wall.
“The city wall here was thirty feet tall!” He endured all the pains in his body, fumbled to climb close to the edge of the wall and looked down. He saw the crowd down there turning into a meat grinder. The girl killed wherever she went. She freely dashed among the crowd, with her weapon moving around smoothly in her hand. She easily cut down the entire enemy who dared to stand in front of her, like the reaping of wheat.
In less than a quarter of an hour, the enemy collapsed.
They’d never seen such a fierce opponent, who was faster than a snow wolf and stronger than a grizzly bear. Facing her sword, nobody could react, dodge, or fight. The noblemen hurriedly retreated and the siege was extinguished, merely by one person.
She followed the escaping crowd all the way, leaving a trail of blood behind her. At this sight, Ayt dropped to the ground and cold sweat soaked his spine.
That’s a witch?
Well. whatever… I survived!
The Stronghold castle was tightly besieged by the four families’ armies. A dozen bonfires around the castle brightly lit the place up.
After a day and night of fighting, the second floor of the castle had already been conquered. The Honeysuckles now shrunk back to the very top of it and must be suffering from both hunger and fear up there.
Jacques Medde looked at this towering lord’s castle and began to feel excited.
After his father died, he traveled all the way back to the territory from the King’s City just to inherit the Earl’s title, but now he had an even better chance.
Timothy mentioned in the secret letter that if he could take hold of Longsong Stronghold for the King’s City, the king’s army would come here when the snow melted to conquer the rebel king, Roland Wimbledon. Once the rebel king was eliminated, Timothy would probably let him govern the Western Region.
Together with the territory of Earl Honeysuckle, Jacques would have both the land and title of a duke.
Duke Medde. What a wonderful name!
This castle would also become my residence.
“My lord, the sixth platoon has come back down,” a knight came and reported, “and they said they heard a lot less flintlock sounds from the enemy. Is it time to send iron armor platoons up there?”
Jacques Medde nodded and said, “Go and arrange it.”
Iron armor platoons were specially developed to fight against flintlocks. During the fighting, three or four soldiers formed a team—two of them held shields made of wood with several layers of iron coating, which could cover them all up, and had holes for aiming and firing. In order to make more shields like this, he made the tough decision to tear down a dozen knight’s armors. Of course, those thick iron-coated shields had a weakness, too. As it was hard to carry and the whole team had to move slowly, they would easily become targets for their enemies.
“Luckily, the Honeysuckles can’t hold out any longer.” Jacques sneered silently. “They reacted unexpectedly quickly and withdrew part of their soldiers and knights back into the castle before the four families’ armies arrived, and they had just only nearly a hundred men. It’s impossible for them to fight a long, hard battle.
It’ll probably take several days before Prince Roland receives the news.
If I send Petrov’s head as a gift to Roland Wimbledon, how will he look like?