Chapter Sixty-Three: Rescue in the Face of Danger

Ya and Ling collapsed helplessly into a patch of filthy, slushy snow. It was the very spot where the stray cats had just feasted; the snow was pitch black, reeking with the stench of fish entrails, blood, and bizarrely colored body fluids. The acrid odor filled their nostrils, and Ya and Ling, who had never sunk so low, nearly burst into tears.

Their bodies throbbed with pain, muscles and bones feeling shattered, numb from the wounds inflicted by the hunting crossbow. Ya’s abdomen, pierced through, was stiff and bleeding profusely, yet she felt nothing.

The beastman rhinoceros knights were not only formidable and resilient, but possessed extraordinary vitality. Thus, the arrows from hunting crossbows were tipped with potent poison—a concoction brewed from eighteen varieties of toxic herbs native to the western continent. A single drop could paralyze an entire water buffalo; ordinary people exposed to it would find their hearts gradually numbed to death.

This creeping numbness, like the shadow of death, spread from the wounds throughout their bodies. The two women lay amid the filth, residual warmth rising from them, their bodies enveloped by the foul stench—a repulsive odor unlike anything they had ever encountered. Raised in the church, of noble birth, they had lived in luxury since childhood; their hands had never even touched fresh water.

Now, they lay here, quietly awaiting death’s arrival. They wanted to cry, but their rigorous upbringing had left them even without tears. Crying, shedding tears—such weaknesses belonged to the lowly, to insects. How could the noble ever weep?

From infancy, they had been trained by special methods not to cry. Now, as the urge overwhelmed them, they could not recall how to do it—they felt the impulse, but tears would not come.

In the distance came the heavy, orderly tread of soldiers—the port garrison was approaching. Urgent hoofbeats drew nearer—the patrol dragon cavalry from the Security Bureau was advancing. Shrill sirens pierced the air, growing louder as secret police mobilized.

But more prevalent were the chaotic footsteps and clattering weapons. Dunerk’s regular garrison numbered only a thousand, with nearly a thousand dragon cavalry and copper hats, but the city’s militia counted in the tens of thousands. Any man in Dunerk could be pulled out as a burly fighter, and with its population in the hundreds of thousands, a militia of tens of thousands was enough to counter threats from the Five Northern Isles.

The roar of the fire dragon had alarmed all of Dunerk, and so the militia poured out in force. Everywhere was the sound of hurried steps and the fierce, wild barking of large dogs. On rooftops of tall buildings, people lit great oil lamps, focusing beams toward the port with mirrors; a dozen broad, hazy shafts swept chaotically across the sea.

Ya and Ling were losing blood rapidly, feeling cold all over, their vision blackening. All the commotion pressed in like a nightmare—the noise of soldiers, cavalry, and militia seemed like demonic whispers flooding their ears, nearly driving them to death.

Lin Qi rushed onto the dock, calling sharply, “Quick, the gold notes on them! And their necklaces! Rings! Ah, the hairpins too—their hairpins are all set with gems, damn it, at least three carats each! These two dead women are filthy rich!”

Bal, already a blur of motion, reached Ya and Ling’s side. He raised his long-handled scythe, about to take their heads. But suddenly, hearing Lin Qi’s shout, he paused, crouched hurriedly, and roughly tore at their clothing, ripping away the silk purses hidden at their chests.

Bal’s night vision was excellent; in the faint, flickering beams from the oil lamps, he peered inside each purse. Each contained a thin stack of gold notes—not many, barely twenty in total, but the amounts stunned him. A quick glance revealed the smallest note was fifty thousand gold coins, and the largest, an astonishing three million!

“Damn it, they’re like two land-bound gold ships! Which idiot family in Vias are they from? No way they’re Vias Commercial Federation—they only marry off their daughters or teach them business, not magic!”

He snorted coldly, swiftly stashing the purses in his sleeve, and expertly stripped the women of all their jewelry: necklaces, rings, hairpins. When younger, Bal had been Dunerk’s most notorious “Golden Fingers,” holding the unbeaten record—seventy-eight bulging wallets picked in the time it took to smoke a single cigarette on the busiest commercial street!

So Ya and Ling, as if robbed by thirty-six thieves at once, were stripped bare of valuables in an instant—even the band of tiny red rubies on their boots vanished. Those rubies, vivid as pigeon’s blood, radiated strong vitality. Though each was only grain-sized, one was worth dozens of gold coins; to a mage, they were perfect catalysts for fire spells.

“Fat sheep, two fat sheep! Almost as good as gold ships!” Bal, elated, finished looting, then leapt up, swinging his scythe at their throats.

They were fat sheep, but also enormous liabilities. Anyone could see that women carrying such fortunes, shrouded in mystery, capable of magic, and possessing high-level scrolls, must have powerful backing, and their traces needed to be erased quickly.

They could be devoured by monsters, robbed by bandits, kidnapped by pirates—but they could not be slain by the Black Tiger Clan in Dunerk.

The family feared no challenge, but hated pointless, inexplicable enemies. Better to destroy all evidence!

The scythe swung down; Ya and Ling closed their eyes in despair.

A crescent of light swept through the air, but just as it neared Ya’s throat, a massive figure burst forth from beneath the breakwater. A strange, heavy curved blade, shrieking like molten sulfur tormenting countless devils, cleaved fiercely towards Bal’s neck.

If Bal continued his attack, his own throat would be struck!

Bal sighed, reversing his scythe to meet the curved blade.