City of Sin

Book 2, 3

A Mishap(3)

The four knights originally guarding Flowsand had already dispersed to the sides, ready to face their enemies who’d freed themselves from the boars head on. Now, the only person left supporting Richard was Flowsand.

Before Richard even had the time to express his gratitude, three warriors were charging them down. With the knights tangled up, they likely realised that it was best to dash towards the mages in a straight line. Unable to break away from the enemies that outnumbered them, Richard’s knights were helpless as the warriors pounced towards him.

Richard quietly tried to gather some mana, but gave up quite quickly. He didn’t have enough to power even a single fireball, but the warriors were so close that he could see the flames burning in their sinister gazes. His face flushed a peculiar shade of scarlet on this line between life and death, and strands of hair flew back as he leaped forward to dash right between one of the warriors.

*Bang!* The collision was loud and powerful, taking the warrior by surprise. He stumbled backwards immediately, spouting fresh red blood all over his opponent. With Eruption having been activated, Richard was currently no weaker than a level 10 warrior. The level 5 opponent was seriously injured in just the one frontal collision.

Richard himself already took advantage of the moment to remove the axe the man had in his hands. The amber second moon suddenly flashed out above his head, moonforce flowing into his body at an astonishing speed. He placed the axe level with his body, spinning on the spot to leave a ring of yellow sweeping past the remaining warriors.

Silvermoon secret sword, Ring of Destiny.

The two aggressors were still charging at full speed, and nothing seemed to be out of place for the first few steps they took. However, just as the edges of their swords approached Flowsand, they staggered, unable to stand steadily as they split in twain. The amber ring of light had been powerful enough to separate arms from their bodies, leaving unbelievably deep wounds on their lower torsos.

Shocked out of their wits, the two warriors howled loudly as they pressed on the wounds with all their might. Blood and innards spilled out wildly, however, not enough for the single remaining hands to stop. The violent struggles only made it worse, blood spurting out like a fountain as the cries quickly grew faint. Even that quickly faded away.

The amber moon disappeared silently, the axe in Richard’s hand spotless and free of any trace of blood. He rested the head of the axe on the ground, staring calmly at the enemies who were standing mere metres away. Even though the warriors had an absolute advantage in numbers, none of them dared to take a single step forward.

Richard glanced at the axe in his hands, noting with a beautiful but cruel smile, “This seems to be a little too sharp.”

Colour immediately drained from the volunteers’ faces, and they retreated by instinct. Even veteran warriors would grow fearful when faced with a homicidal maniac who found joy in torture and blood.

However, explosive claps rang out from the forest behind them. The woods were instantly engulfed in smoke and dust, with trees collapsing continuously. It was so much more chaotic than the encounter with the boars, almost as if some gigantic beast were charging through.

All of a sudden, two archers flew out of the woods, crashing heavily onto the floors. Their bodies lay there, unmoving and at weird angles. It was obvious that they hadn’t come out willingly.

The shrubbery surrounding them collapsed, a loud explosion sounding as two trolls rushed out of the dust with a thunderous snarl. Each one had a thick tree trunk on hand, with no regard for the class of opponent they were facing as they smashed heads in without exception. Absorbed in the chase, they even knocked nearby trees aside, roots and all. The arrows raining down on them were ineffective as well; the archers had no vision. More than half of the trolls’ bodies were covered by branches and leaves.

Both trolls had several arrows stuck in their bodies, but their naturally tough skin and thick fat made for armour of its own. The arrows were like mere toothpicks, not hindering their movements at all.

They did not observe the surroundings, nor did they have any concept of teamwork. All they did was to dash directly into the frontlines of the remaining troops, sending two or three warriors flying with every wave of the trunks in their hands. One of the Archeron knights would have been sent flying as well, had he not ducked away in time. Tiramisu didn’t even look like a mage, wielding his trunk with the same ferocity that Medium Rare did.

Gangdor rushed over as well, roaring his way into battle. His body was covered with flesh wounds, but looking at the blood on the trunk in his hand his opponents must have been corpses by now. Waterflower bounded over behind his enormous frame, making no sounds regardless of whether she stepped on solid ground or twigs. The Shepherd of Eternal Rest was resting diagonally in her hand, not stained by a single drop of blood even though it had obviously seen its fair share.

Completely surrounded, the last dozen or so warriors were cut down in a flash, leaving only a handful of critically injured survivors.

Richard seemed to remain unfazed, standing straight with the axe still on the ground. The smile in his face hadn’t faded in the least as Flowsand walked over stealthily, patting him on the back and whispering, “Hey. There’s no enemies left!”

To her utter surprise, Richard went weak at her slightest touch. She held her hands out to catch him in a hurry, but couldn’t prop his heavy body up for long. Just as she was about to collapse under his weight, a white shadow flashed past her. Before she knew it, Waterflower was already on the right, helping her support Richard.

Having overdrafted his mana, using Eruption and forcefully executing a secret sword left Richard completely spent. He’d been near-unconscious by the last sentence, barely holding up his intimidation on the strength of will alone.

Flowsand and Waterflower laid Richard flat on the ground. The cleric raised her hand, about to cast a vitality spell on Richard, but the boy caught her arm. Seeing her startled expression, he responded weakly, “There’s many injured. I’ll be fine after some rest, don’t waste your power on me.”

Flowsand cast a meaningful glance at Richard, standing up without protest and walking towards the injured. She cast minor healing on everyone, ensuring that outside of severe injuries everyone would heal in three days at most. Resting in Waterflower’s arms, however, Richard started to gasp more violently. The mana depletion this time was a lot more unbearable than he had expected. All he wanted to do was to close his eyes, but he knew that at such a time he could not afford to lose consciousness lest his mana pool be damaged. He struggled to ask, “Is there anything that can keep me awake?”

“Alcohol!” Tiramisu chimed.

“Some very strong alcohol!” Medium Rare emphasised.

Both trolls then turned to face Gangdor, staring straight at him. The brute eyed the two trolls suspiciously before rummaging through his fabric belt, finally finding a small silver bottle that he passed to Waterflower.

A strong alcoholic smell hit everyone as she unscrewed the bottle. Waterflower took a deep sniff, even tasting the drink with her tongue before she eventually let Richard take a big gulp.

Gangdor immediately yelled angrily, “Hey, that’s uncalled for! That’s a drink I made for myself! Do you really think I’d poison myself?”

“Hard to say,” Waterflower replied harshly, glaring coldly at Gangdor.

“WATERFLOWER!” Gangdor roared, grasping the trunk in his hand tightly. However, Waterflower stared at him with a poker face. Her fair, slender right hand was placed right on the Shepherd of Eternal Rest by her side. Gangdor’s expression fell as his gaze darted between the trunk in his hand and the sword in hers. At last, he shouted begrudgingly, “Don’t you dare use that sword!”

Waterflower just stared at Gangdor pitifully, almost like she was looking at an idiot.