1742 The Attack

Inside a forest outside Sicar…

A thick layer of snow blanketed the icy land, like the hard-as-iron icy land was granted a suit of armor. The leaves of the pine trees were sharp, like small little daggers, poking and cutting anyone who walked through.

Every year, there would be one or two unlucky bastards in the patrol team who suffered cuts and from there, the team would grow rapidly.

Carl was the unlucky one back in his days.

During his first patrol, he rejected his captain's offer to wear a thick gunny mantle, insisting on wearing his own armor, therefore the body parts which his armor couldn't cover were all poked and cut into a bloody state.

As for the parts the armor covered, they weren't any better either.

Exercising for a long period of time would produce a great amount of sweat. It didn't just cause a lot of discomfort to Carl, because that night, his skin and inner shirt were completely frozen on his skin. His captain and his colleagues had to boil water to unfreeze him. It was an unforgettable experience for Carl and because of that, he was plagued by a cold for a week.

After that embarrassing experience, he again rejected his mother's idea of joining the army as an adviser and returned to the patrol team.

He returned to the patrol team for a whole year, which was dull and dangerous, but those were the happiest days of his life.

There was no politics, no murderous intent behind the smile and everyone was as close as brothers, trusting each other with their backs.

Reminiscing on the past, Carl unconsciously wanted to curl his lips into a smile but he suddenly realized he was already a skeleton, so he did not have lips.

Carl lowered his jawbone, wanting to cry out loud, but again, he was a skeleton, so he couldn't even cry.

All he could show was flicker his soul fire in his eye sockets.

He couldn't go back to Sicar.

He couldn't go to a crowded place.

Would the wilderness be his new home?

He couldn't see his mother, father, and uncle again!

If he went back to his family, would they cut him instead?

Melancholy plagued his mind whenever he thought about his future.

He never thought he would end up in this state yet he did not hate or hold a grudge.

After all, compared to his dead colleagues, he was considered the lucky one, right?

"Phernesa, do you still remember where the captain and the others were buried?" Carl asked his ride.

"Yes, around Great Sparrow Valley," Phernesa answered.

"Bring me there," Carl caressed his Phernesa's back out of habit, even though the horse was also a skeleton now.

"Sure!" Phernesa nodded and accelerated its stroll to a full speed gallop.

When Phernesa was still alive as an excellent war horse, it was nourished with all kinds of magical ingredients, plus the higher intellect, strength, and speed that surpassed the other horses. After Phernesa ended up as a skeletal horse, all its attributes underwent some qualitative changes, at least Carl felt its horse was at least a few times faster than before.

He could see the captain before morning.

The captain he was referring to was the captain of the patrol team when he first joined.

The captain meant a lot to Carl. It was fair to say that the captain was the guide who changed Carl from a slightly hard working noble young adult to a true warrior. They were very close, as teacher and student and as friends.

If the captain didn't die during a patrol because he wanted to save his team from an enemy's ambush, he would have become an important figure in the Sicar military.

The same thing went for his colleagues, brothers, and teammates as well.

Carl was the sole survivor in that ambush.

His teammates protected him and covered his escape, one after another, and sacrificed their lives for him, the youngest and simplest member of the team, to survive, just like their captain did.

He hated himself and was plagued by anger and guilt.

He hated how useless he was.

He was angry about how dumb he was.

He was guilty… because the captain and his teammates didn't know his true identity.

He joined the patrol to cover up his background, he lied to them that he was from a declining noble family and hid his true lineage.

Then, he lost the chance to explain to them.

Even though after the incident, he begged his uncle to send elite troops to eliminate the bandits, his captain and teammates would never come back to life.

Due to the promise he made to his brothers and teachers during a chit-chat, he buried everyone around Great Sparrow Valley.

That place was beautiful during summer, where they would go for a picnic during their off days.

Before he ended up like this, he would go there to pray every season.

The last time he was there was two months ago, before the season truly turned cold. He brought liquor, sausages, bacon, and potatoes, which were everyone's favourite.

'Maybe I should be with the captain and the guys.

I probably look like them now…'

Carl's messy thoughts were running wild as he rode Phernesa.

When Phernesa finally stopped, Great Sparrow Valley was in sight.

Great Sparrow Valley in the winter wasn't as beautiful as summer, a thick layer of snow blanketing everything. During summer, when the windy breeze blew, the whole field would wave along comfortably.

Now?

Each step he took consumed a lot of his energy and Carl was walking on the path that he purposely opened from his previous visit. If one would come to Great Sparrow Valley without a proper path during winter, it would be nearly impossible to get close.

Squeak, squeak, thud, thud.

With each step he landed on the snowy ground, a thud would follow and the same happened when he pulled his foot out for the next step.

Other than the windy roar, there was no sound in the area.

Soon, Carl reached the graveyard of his captain and his teammates, his body no longer human and therefore able to reach the place easier.

The graveyard was built halfway on the slope and was grinded out of stone.

It wasn't huge by any means and had a total of nine chambers, each of the chambers arranged according to the position during their patrol.

The captain would take the front, and the vice captain at the back, the arbalest were sandwiched in the middle by two other lancers on both sides; Carl was one of the lancers back then.

Tzzzzzz!

Carl walked into the graveyard after he pushed the icy stone door open.

Like always, he started to clean up the graveyard.

Every visit, in order to keep the captain and the other's remains safe, Carl would shoo the animals away and spray some tiger urine in the area to repel them.

Though not this time, as he lacked offerings this time and couldn't even shoo the animals away.

There were barely any animals outside during the winter and as for the tiger urine, it wasn't needed anymore because he would stay here from now on.

This graveyard was the home of his teammates.

His captain, vice captain, and brothers all rest here.

He could say whatever he wanted here, he could rant without scruples about his uncle and how he disagreed about his uncle's way in ruling the city, even if he couldn't say a word back in his home.

His mother or his father, who died early on, did not allow him to say anything disrespectful.

"I'm so tired, captain. I feel the most relaxed whenever I am here. Thankfully, I kept a spot for myself here. I'll wait for spring and then I'll get some rocks to build myself a chamber… Uh...I don't think a skeleton has to eat, right? I guess it's not all that bad."

Carl sat with his legs crossed on the spot that he cleaned up, speaking softly at the tombstone in front of him.

It was a harsh winter, but Carl felt none of it, the temperature no longer a trouble, feeling like he was back in a picnic during summer with the people he held dear. They gathered around the fire, joking and dissing each other, drinking alcohol and dancing.

A warm feeling faintly spread in Carl's soul.

In that instant, the anxiety in its mind and the blabbers in his ears were all gone.

Carl was utterly relaxed, and then…

"KILL!"

A shout woke Carl.

The soul fire in his eye sockets flickered vigorously but he suppressed the anger that followed.

This graveyard was the place for his captain and teammates to rest, no blood shall be spilled here.

Carl told himself to calm down, looking towards the origin of the shout, which was on the other side of the valley.

"I will be back."

He spoke to the tombstones and then jumped on his horse.

The path of the valley was steep and bumpy but Phenersa galloped through the terrain like it was flat ground. A few breath's later, Carl reached the highest spot of the valley and saw what happened at the other side of the foot.

Two groups were engaged in a fight.

One side had the advantage of numbers and the other had only a few.

However, the side with the numbers was at an absolute disadvantage because it consisted of mostly women, children and the elderly, plus a whole lot of injured people. It seemed like the fight had started a while ago.

The opposite side had less people but they were sharper. The whole group had less than 30 men yet they executed every order without fail and worked together outstandingly, undoubtedly veterans of the battlefield. If the larger group didn't have the advantage of numbers and weren't fearless against death, they would have died long ago.

"Which new group of bandits is this?" Carl was confused.

Throughout the land of Sicar, Carl knew most of the bandits that once roamed free and everyone that he knew would never make it to the next season alive due to ruthless extermination.

Carl had zero fondness for the bandits. It wasn't just because of his duty but because his teammates and his captain died at the hands of bandits.

Carl hated them to his bones.

Instinctively, Carl reached out for his sword, wanting to charge in and kill the bandits but right after that, he hesitated.

His current state was not suitable to appear before people.

More importantly, Great Sparrow Valley was the resting place of his captain and teammates. Should he appear in his skeletal state, even if he saved the civilians, a thorough search of this valley would be inevitable.

He knew how his uncle worked and did things.

The grave of his captain and teammates might be preserved but he would lose the last place he could call home.

But…

'Am I going to just sit back and watch the bandits kill innocents?'

The soul fire in his eye sockets flickered, Carl's emotions going through some rough waves. His calm heart rumbling and the blabbers sounding again.

While he was plagued by his emotions and the blabblers, the larger group at the valley foot was on their last stand.

Although when the group left from Sicar, Forv had fully prepared themselves, he still wrongly estimated the number of believers and their resolution, almost the whole village following him away.

The increased number didn't just slow down the entire convoy, it made them a juicy target for the filthy bandits.

The journey from the outskirts of Mozaar to Sicar wasn't always safe and peaceful. Even though the viscount spent quite the amount of funds every year trying to eliminate the bandits, the situation wasn't exactly remedied.

The bandits were like wild grass, multiplying endlessly.

Sometimes, it was rather hard to identify a bandit because most of the time they were just nomads but when valuables were thrown into the mix, they would transform into bandits.

In order to return to Sicar quickly and safely, as leader of the convoy, he convinced the believers to give up a portion of their properties and foods to the bandits. He hoped the filthy bandits would be satisfied with it and let them be.

But, the bandits didn't care about the lure, chasing the believers like persistent hounds and forcing them into a desperate situation.

It was obvious that the bandits weren't after money and food, their target was the believers themselves.

"Are the enemies of my lord? Or people with malicious motives?"

The thought came afloat in Shegal's mind.

Although he was without an exact answer, the hesitation didn't stop him from lunging forward and cut the enemy off his horse.

The blade ripped the bandit's neck and sent the head flying.

There was a helmet on the bandit that covered his face but the scream before his death rang of unwillingness.

Forv laughed coldly. He wasn't fond of using his brain but using his sword?

Aside from the blessing from His Majesty, his swordsmanship was already stronger than Shegal, he was unrivaled!

The headless body followed the horse forward a few steps before it fell to the ground.

Forv didn't say anything, the believers quickly running up to drag the body and the horse back into the group and remove the armor and weapons from the body.

The other bandits wanted to stop the believers but more believers fended them off with arrows.

The believers lacked swords, armor, and horses, but they were born in the mountains, which made them excellent hunters. Their archery was outstanding and if they weren't burdened by their families and had brought enough arrows, they would teach the bandits the meaning of death.

The bandits noticed the believer's disadvantage as well.

The bandits weren't in a hurry to take the win, surrounding the large group and slowly chipping them off, like a pack of wolves hunting their prey.

They lacked everything but patience and they were very confident that they would take the victory.

They believed they would be the one who emerged a victor.

The believers of God of Mist locked their fierce gazes at the bandits. Those who were on guard were vigilant and cautious; those who acted as medics carried out their tasks well by helping the injured. The whole group operated closely and intensely.

A lot of them knelt on the ground and prayed softly.

"Oh the supreme lord! Please hear our prayers, we will carry out your will, bow to your greatness and bear your name, you will shed your light on the world and everything we have is a gift from you…"

Prayers from a single person were soft and weak but when a group of people prayed together, despite the soft volume, things would turn out differently.

The believers basked themselves in the prayers, their eyes growing stern and steady.

The bandits heard the prayers too, but they showed disdain in their gazes.

God of Mist?

Of course they heard of it before!

As a matter of fact, the God of Mist was actually their target!

Though, their lord would deal with the God of Mist himself and they were only responsible for erasing these persistent and stubborn believers.

"God? A bloody lucky bastard is worshipped as a God?"

The leader of the bandits mocked loudly.

Forv held his sword tight. The other young men around him, who met the Superior Demon before, wanted to answer the mocks by going after the leader but Forv stopped them.

"They are trying to pick on us, don't fall for it!"

He himself also had the urge to chop the head of the leader but he still reminded his comrades.

The opposite leader heard what Forv said and he replied with a louder laugh.

"Pick on you? You think too highly of yourself! Just like your so-called God! If he is really God, what would he do to me now that I've defiled his name, bared malicious intents, and talked bad about him? Would he punish me with his divine sanction? Let me tell you people, it's impossible!"

The insolent words echoed throughout the valley. The more the bandit leader mocked, the more excited he was. He saw the expression on the believers of that fake god and knew they wouldn't hold up much longer. A few more teases and provokes would break them, swarming him like bees only fire him to slaughter them like ants.

The bandit leader was prepared to continue but before he said anything, he heard a whimper behind him.

It sounded like the whimper of a hunting hound, but it was heavier and thicker, more of a tiger.

Though, how could a tiger appear in the valley?

Behind him were his men, who were in a fortified formation.

Even if there was a tiger, it wouldn't have slipped in unnoticed.

Despite the thoughts, the leader still turned around and tried to find out what it was.

Then, he saw a bloody mouth behind him.

Chomp!