Warlock of War: My Ares System

Chapter 518 Flashback To Cy’s Quest (5)

Chapter 518 Flashback To Cy's Quest (5)

The other ghosts hesitated for a moment, their malevolent intentions momentarily disrupted by the power of the darkened spear. I seized the opportunity, swinging the weapon in sweeping arcs, striking at the oncoming phantoms with a ferocity born of desperation. Each strike was accompanied by a burst of shadowy energy that tore through the spectral sailors, sending them scattering in all directions.

The cove reverberated with the echoes of their torment as they faded into the ghostly fog, their cries of anguish mingling with the mournful whispers of the innocent souls caught in this cursed place.

With each swing of the darkened spear, I felt the weight of the cove's malevolence lifting, if only momentarily. It was as though the darkness that had pervaded this forsaken place was now my ally, a weapon forged from the very essence of its haunted depths.

But I knew that my battle was far from over. The ghostly sailors would return, their thirst for vengeance unquenched, and the innocent souls remained trapped in their anguish. I had become a reluctant guardian of this cursed realm, wielding the darkness as my only defense against the relentless forces that sought to drag me into their spectral abyss.

"Don't worry. I will save you once more," I closed my eyes before letting the pained villagers open a pathway up through the coves surrounding walls and onto a prairie brazen with death.

The prairie, in its state of desolation, was a vast and haunting expanse that seemed to stretch on forever beneath the relentless sun. The grasses, once a vibrant carpet of green, now stood parched and withered, their golden stalks bending under the weight of time and drought. Each blade of grass had lost its vitality, and the once-lush landscape had been transformed into a bleak and sun-scorched tableau.

The earth beneath the grasses had turned cracked and desiccated as if pleading for the long-lost touch of rain. Dust devils danced sporadically across the prairie, swirling gritty particles into the air, creating an otherworldly haze that added to the eerie atmosphere.

As the gaze ventured further, the remnants of the village came into view, nestled within the forlorn embrace of the prairie. Half of the village had fallen victim to a merciless inferno, leaving behind a landscape of destruction and despair. The buildings that had once been homes and gathering places for the villagers were now twisted and blackened skeletons, their charred remains reaching out to the sky in grotesque contortions.

The houses that had managed to escape the voracious flames were not spared from the onslaught of destruction. Their windows were shattered, their roofs had collapsed in on themselves, and their walls bore the scars of fierce flames, marked with streaks of soot and ash. The wooden beams that had once supported these structures were now warped and misshapen as if they too had succumbed to the agony of the fire's embrace.

Smoke continued to rise from the smoldering ruins, an ever-present reminder of the devastation that had unfolded here. It drifted lazily into the air, carrying with it the acrid scent of burnt wood and the poignant memory of the village's former life.

The streets that had once bustled with the laughter and activity of villagers now lay in eerie silence, punctuated only by the occasional mournful gust of wind. The absence of life was palpable, and the remnants of a once-thriving community seemed suspended in time, frozen in a moment of tragedy.

The further I traveled down a dirt-trodden path, the more my soul began to sink. It was more like a graveyard rather than a battlefield. A domain, extending way past the clashing of two sides and into a realm where only one side dominated while the other fled, bathed in a horrifyingly dreaded light.

"*cough* *cough* *cough*..."

All of a sudden, I heard the muffled emissions of a sickly child emit from behind a shattered pane of glass. Its frame still stood tall, but it has definitely seen better days. With a charred exterior and chipped corners, it somehow managed to keep itself together and project its once sturdy days.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice stretching through the open expanse.

There was no response. The only thing I did get, was a slight hint of fear radiating from the child's skin. It was like thermal heat slowly escaping from his body as my cold and malevolent presence approached him.

"S-Stay away…"

I reached my head through the window, only to be met by a sleek metal blade swiflty approaching my face. It was horribly coordinated and the tip rattled like the toy of a baby. Clearly, the wielder was inexperienced and most importantly… full of hesitation.

SWOOSH

"*cough* *cough* *cough*... *cough* *cough* *cough*..."

Before me stood a sickly boy, no older than twelve, who had positioned himself protectively in front of his frail and bedridden sister. The boy's emaciated frame trembled with exhaustion and fear. His eyes, once bright with youthful innocence, were now clouded with sorrow and determination.

In his trembling hand, he clutched a rusted knife, a weapon that seemed incongruous with his tender age. It was clear that he had taken on the role of protector in the absence of any other support. His sister lay on a straw pallet, her body wracked by the ravages of disease. Her skin was pallid, her breathing labored, and her eyes, though open, were vacant and distant.

As I stood there, my heart aching for the plight of these two siblings, I slowly raised my hands to show that I meant no harm. Our eyes met, and I could see the mixture of relief and suspicion in the child's gaze. The boy's fierce determination to shield his ailing sister had led him to this desperate stance, and I knew that their story was one of immense hardship and suffering.

"It's okay…" I continued to keep my hands raised while stepping through the window. And it seems I acted a bit too fast as the boy swiftly stabbed half of the blade into my calf.

"D-Don't come any closer," The boy trembled with fear, yet still had the courage to stand in between me and the girl.

"I won't hurt you," I smiled, keeping the boy's attention away from my leg which grotesquely pushed the blade out of my flesh and regenerated like nothing had even happened. "Just relax… I won't do anything bad. I just want to take a look at the girl-"

"ALEX! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU! YOU BETTER REVEAL YOURSELF OTHERWISE I WILL SLAUGHTER YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER!"

The boy instantly shrunk back in fear at the sound of a man's voice booming from the depths of his chest. Another enemy? A scavenger maybe? No, he was too familiar with the boy… so there was no other option but him being a survivor with this boy.

"Hmmm… it's best not to underestimate the people of this eon," I muttered under my breath before sinking into the shadows below. This caused the boy to desperately grab at me, wanting my protection, but it was too risky. I wanted to care for this duo, but I had no interest in putting my life on the line.

The disgruntled old man hobbled along the scorched path, his gnarled and weathered face etched with deep lines of discontent. His eyes had been clouded by years of bitterness, peering out from beneath a tattered and dusty hat, casting a cynical gaze upon the world. His scraggly white beard, matted with patches of grey and brown, hung haphazardly down his chest, framing a mouth that looked as if it hadn't smiled in years.

The man's frail and stooped frame was clad in a tattered, patched-up coat that had seen better days. Sickly black spots, like ominous shadows, marred his ashen skin, a testament to the countless years spent toiling under the harsh sun. The wrinkles on his hands were as deep as the furrows in his brow, evidence of a lifetime of labor.

In one hand, the old man clutched a rusty and well-worn sickle, its curved blade gleaming with the fresh, fragrant residue of cut grass. The tool bore the scars of countless hours spent in the fields, a faithful companion to a man who had wrestled his livelihood from the unforgiving earth. The sickle's wooden handle was polished from years of use, the grooves worn smooth by the grip of his weathered fingers.

Despite the toil etched into his very being, the old man's steps were slow but deliberate, carrying with him the scent of freshly cut grass, a fragrance that stood in stark contrast to his own worn appearance. He moved with the weight of time upon his shoulders, a living embodiment of a life well-lived and bitterly remembered.

Clunk

He entered what was left of the house protecting both the boy and girl. The girl's body was still in tatters due to the sickness, so she had no choice but to meekly let out a pitiful stream of tears while her body continued to fight. It was a horrible sight. Truly depressing.

"You piece of shit! You've killed everybody! That was the last of our medicine! We could have traded for something more useful! Do you know how many mouths I have to feed!? DO YOU!? FUCK!"