Chapter 173 : The War Begins (3)
A ragged scream tore from his throat.
Roxen shot bolt upright, breath catching in his lungs like broken glass.
A nightmare?
A splitting pain throbbed behind his eyes, and each exhale was a ragged burst of air.
“Dammit,” he cursed, leaning his head against the rough bark of a nearby tree.
He must have dozed off on watch. The pounding in his skull was a gift from last night’s ale.
“Ugh… This is going to be the death of me.”
Roxen staggered to his feet.
Between the hangover and the dream’s lingering horror, his body felt impossibly heavy. He braced himself against a tree, the world slowly swimming back into focus.
The sun was high. His shift was long over.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to head down from his post.
The reason was simple.
“…I’ll get an earful if I go home like this.”
He groaned, rubbing his forehead as if to ward off the thought.
He wasn’t worried about his superior—he was worried about his wife.
If he stumbled home reeking of last night’s indulgence, a lecture was certain.
Hah.
The endless nagging… and even his daughter had started joining in, a perfect little echo of her mother.
Still, what could he do?
He loved them. Besides, the drinking had been part of his duties. He’d had to suck up to that bastard of a lord.
Roxen slapped his own cheek, the sharp sting helping to clear his head.
Either way, dragging his feet wouldn’t change a thing. She’d find out eventually. Better to face the music and get it over with.
“Time to head back,” he muttered, starting down the mountainside.
As he reached the village entrance, a familiar face greeted him.
“Hey, Roxen! Not on duty today?”
“Even I get a day off now and then.”
“Come on. How are you ever going to save coin like that? Switch shifts with me. I hear there’s a big game at the gambling house today.”
That madman.
And this was the same man who always whined about being broke. The man lost coin every day, yet he kept chasing his losses.
It was less gambling and more a daily donation to the house.
“I don’t think you have a talent for it, Filin. Why don’t you take that money and buy your wife some hog skewers instead?”
“Hah! What’s the point? She’ll nag me either way. Besides, my talent just hasn’t blossomed yet.”
Roxen shook his head, sighing inwardly. “You’re hopeless.”
“So, will you switch?”
“Can’t. I have a date with my wife’s scolding today.”
“Huh? You?”
“It’s a long story.” Roxen offered a faint smile and fell silent.
Filin stared at him, bewildered. “Well, I’ll never understand you. No husband on this mountain is more devoted. Tsk. Fine, the answer’s no.”
He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “You’d better head in, then. Looks like some travelers are coming up behind you.”
Roxen turned. Sure enough, a group of travelers approached the wall, their hoods pulled low. They looked suspicious, but he trusted Filin to handle the inspection.
With a nod, Roxen walked into the village.
“Peaceful,” he murmured, taking in the scene.
Women washing laundry by the stream, men drinking in the midday sun. Fathers working the fields while children played in the dirt.
Every sight was a portrait of tranquility.
Creeak.
“I’m home.”
The moment he opened the door, a small body crashed into his.
“Dad!”
His daughter, Laura. The greatest treasure of his world.
She threw herself into his arms, beaming.
“Hehe… Why are you home so early?”
“I missed my Laura, so I hurried back.”
“Wow!”
Roxen lifted her high, laughing.
Just then—Smack!
“Ah!”
A sharp sting landed across his back.
Roxen yelped and turned to see his wife standing there, glaring.
“Were you drinking again? I thought you were on the night watch.”
“Dad, you were drinking?”
Oh, great.
With his wife on the attack, his daughter narrowed her eyes, a miniature inquisitor.
“Ahaha… well, you see, the Lord is so fond of me. He insisted on buying me a drink, and you know how he gets. I couldn’t exactly refuse, could I? I had no choice…”
“No choice? Ugh, you need to drink in moderation. I heard the Holy Kingdom just published a study saying ale is bad for your health.” His wife sighed, her words heavy with disapproval.
Ale is bad for you? Sounded like a superstition to him. But saying that would only earn him another lecture, so he wisely kept his mouth shut.
“Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Honestly…” She shook her head.
A moment later, however, she pulled him into a tight embrace. “In any case, you worked hard. Thank you.”
“…It’s nothing. It’s my job.” Roxen scratched the back of his head, feeling a bit awkward.
It was then.
Knock, knock.
A rap sounded at the door.
“Hm? Who is it?” His daughter tilted her head and went to open it.
Creeak. The old hinges groaned.
“Who is it?” she asked, looking up at the men standing before her.
Men in hooded robes. The ones from the village entrance.
Filin must have let them in. Roxen thought nothing of it.
But then…
“…Hm?”
A strange scent cut through the familiar air of his home. Coppery and sharp.
He knew that smell.
Blood.
“Wait.”
Roxen’s brow furrowed. He pulled his daughter back toward him, his eyes scrutinizing the men’s robes.
They looked normal enough.
Then he saw it—the dark, wet stains spattered across the inside of one man’s robe.
Pushing his wife and child behind him, he asked, his voice tight, “Who are you?”
“…”
“Can’t you hear me?”
His hand closed around the hilt of his sword. One more step, and he would take their heads.
He’d rather face a murder charge than let his family come to harm.
Badump. Badump.
The air grew thick with tension.
Then, one of the robed men finally spoke. “Quite the spirit.”
“…What?”
“Yes. It would be more amusing to let you live.”
The man’s lips twisted into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Hearing that, Roxen drew his sword and charged. I’ll cut them down in one blow!
Shing!
His blade met the man’s neck.
Squelch!
The man’s head tumbled to the floorboards, a fountain of red spraying from the stump of his neck.
Ignoring the corpse, Roxen leveled his sword at the other. “Leave now, or you’ll die too!”
Good. That should be enough to scare him off.
But a cold dread washed over him.
…Something’s wrong.
His eyes darted around. The man stood unmoving, his companion dead at his feet. The one he’d killed had gone down far too easily.
And… the village was silent.
Utterly silent.
“…Wait. How did you get here?”
The road to his house should have been crowded. Even in a small village like this, there were guards, a local militia.
How could a commotion like this draw no attention? Not a single scream?
As the remaining man smiled, Roxen finally understood.
The bloodstains. They were fresh, still wet. The blood was from their journey here. To have dealt with so many people without a single outcry meant they were masters of their craft.
Someone like that wouldn’t have died so easily.
“Dammit!”
Roxen whipped his head around.
“…”
Gurgle. Gurgle.
His wife’s body was merging with the corpse on the floor, her mouth open in a scream that never came. Flesh flowed like hot wax, melting into the dead man’s form.
It was a disgusting, nauseating sight—lumps of flesh melding into one grotesque mass.
“You baaaastard!”
Roxen’s eyes flared blood-red as he lunged.
CRASH!
The remaining man slammed him to the ground, pressing his face into the floorboards.
“Guh!”
He couldn’t move. Not his head, not his sword hand. Nothing.
Only his eyes could dart back and forth.
“Watch closely,” the robed man chuckled, whispering in his ear.
And then.
“Ah, da…”
Gurgle! Gurgle!
His daughter… his Laura… was dissolving, melting into a formless heap of flesh before his very eyes.
He couldn’t close them. He couldn’t look away. His vision was filled with the sickening sight.
“Guaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
His insides twisted into knots. He wanted to kill them, to tear them limb from limb.
But he couldn’t.
He was too weak. Just a simple guard in a remote village.
“I’ll kill you…! I swear I’ll kill you!”
“How fortunate. That’s why I’m letting you live.” The man snickered, his voice a poison in Roxen’s ear. At the same time, he produced a coin engraved with a strange crest and placed it before Roxen’s eyes.
“Remember this crest. It is my mark.”
The Count of Madness. The title echoed in the silence of his mind.
“I am everywhere and nowhere. Such is the nature of madness. So… now do you remember?”
As the man snickered, Roxen’s lips twisted into a grotesque snarl.
Yes. He remembered. All of it. The day his village, his wife, and his daughter were turned into nothing but lumps of flesh.
He remembered everything.
“I have swung my sword a thousand times in my dreams to kill you.”
“A wasted effort. The same thing just happens again,” the man scoffed.
But Roxen’s lips curled upward. “No. Thanks to those dreams, I’ve earned this chance.”
His pupils began to gleam with rage.
Roxha’s Aura cultivation technique, which fed on the wielder’s emotions, ignited with a furious new intensity.
“You die by my hand today.”
Roxen slowly pushed himself off the creaking floor.
The necklace around his neck radiated a brilliant light.
Lindal’s Necklace—within it lay the swordsmanship of the tyrannical Grand Master Lindal.
Now that art, forged in pure rage, surged through the artifact.
“Come, you son of a bitch.”