Bear School Astartes

After Darkley was also killed, there seemed to be no one left in this mountain valley still maintaining clear-minded rationality.

Faced with the mountain fire, even united and brave people would find it difficult to cope, let alone these fragmented, suspicious Niflgaard deserters.

The five hundred Nausicca Cavalry Squad, one thousand Black Infantry Archers, and two thousand Niflgaard infantry regiments, can now be declared... completely annihilated.

By one person.

In the mountain fire burning ever closer, even the ground, soaked with blood and mud, seemed to be drying rapidly.

The heat seemed to lift one’s very soul upwards.

All that met the eye was a sea of fire, the brightness of which had already begun to dazzle people.

The deserters, completely lost to reason, their black silhouettes running, crying, wailing through this hellish red inferno.

Lann silently picked up his [Turbulent Flow] and placed it into the alchemy pouch at his back waist, walking towards the only exit of the mountain valley’s fire field.

Lann’s body was already very tired, his two misaligned soft tissues, forcibly realigned by muscle, now swayed loosely again due to muscle relaxation.

With struggling steps, Lann walked to the side of the cart platform at the mountain valley’s exit.

This was the origin of the Niflgaard Army’s rout, the corpses of the dead had even piled up to be level with the cart platform.

Even until their deaths, the eyes of these Niflgaard people were filled with madness and terror.

Were they born to delight in slaughtering the weak?

Looking at the eyes of these corpses, Lann suddenly thought without reason.

These Niflgaardians were just ordinary soldiers, living in the territories of the Niflgaard Empire, with families, friends, and their own social interactions.

Did they behave the same way, like when they slaughtered refugees, in their hometowns?

If not... what was it that turned them into this?

Lann indifferently stepped on these corpses, walking to the cart platform.

Lann saw that Duke who once stood on this platform, taunted him, showed him disdain.

And now, more helpless and even numb than those refugees slaughtered under his commands, his former nobility and arrogance completely vanished.

”You once said, that to find you, I must make it here first.”

Lann looked down at the Duke lying on the platform: ”I can’t quite remember, can you remind me, my lord? How long did it take after you said this for me to reach here?”

Perhaps because he clearly understood that his actions could never be forgiven, or he thought a ’Killing Demon King’ like Lann wouldn’t spare him. Or perhaps, at the end of his life, Duke Adal’s pride as a grand noble of the world’s foremost Empire finally burst forth from his bones.

So there was no unsightly begging, but rather, his eyes bore a red fury, his gaze at Lann like a man-eating demon.

To cool himself down, he removed all his armor. Even to take off the armor on his leg, he directly severed the ankle deformed by Darkley’s kick!

”Don’t you know what you’ve done? You should know! You’ve destroyed nearly a fully assembled division of Niflgaard’s forces! The Empire will never let you go, just wait! In your future life, for you and everyone you care about, the Empire will offer a high bounty on them! No rest until death!”

Faced with Adal’s red-eyed curses, Lann appeared very calm.

”Just as you said, my lord Duke.”

Lann’s palm clenched in front of Adal, the steel plates on his hand emitting a cold, hard sound.

And behind Lann, the fiery blaze continued to rise towards the sky!

”If curses worked, then what need is there for iron and fire?”

Lann picked up the steel scepter, gently pushed Adal, rolling him off the cart platform into a small slope formed by countless Niflgaardian corpses.

Watching him curse, entangled by the dead’s limbs and armor, stained by the blood and filth from their bodies.

He would be roasted alive here, just like he had ordered underlings to do to Hacksaw.

On the other side of the cart platform, Stuart’s body had already been beaten into a twisted wreck.

But he still did his best to support his more harshly punished father on his shoulder.

”Don’t be afraid, child, don’t be afraid. I’m here with you, don’t let the Niflgaardians look down on us.”

Hacksaw murmured indistinctly. He was already gravely injured, barely conscious, if not on this platform he would have long died.

Even now, he still thought he was receiving punishment from the Niflgaardians.

Until Lann walked up to him, that towering figure seemed to make him recognize, a burst of inexplicable strength reappearing in his at-the-limit body, even straightening his back for a moment.

He began to murmur a name: ”Lann... have you returned?”

The Demon Hunter half-knelt in front of him, holding his hand that struggled to reach out.

”It’s me, I have returned, and I have won. You chose a good place, this is thanks to you.”

”Is that so? That’s great... then, what about the refugees?”

Hacksaw first showed a relieved expression, then quickly became anxious again.

”Did I... do it? Those cries of sadness... the suffering endured by the refugees... did I convey these out?”

The Demon Hunter nodded calmly: ”You did it, Hacksaw. What happened today will be known by everyone.”

”Ah, that’s great, thank you, thank you...”

He repeated, tears falling down his filthy face.

”I’ve finally ensured their suffering wasn’t buried, that’s really good, just... will Her Majesty approve of me? In her eyes, how did I do? Was this the right thing?”

Stuart, body slanted, blood at the corner of his mouth, yet still looked at Lann with fiery eyes.

But Lann opened his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Even facing an entire cavalry regiment, he wasn’t this nervous.

Ultimately, he could only say: ”I don’t know, Hacksaw. I don’t know how Calanthe would view you.”

The soon-to-die Royal Steward first fell silent, then smiled.

”I can’t control that much now, I’ve already tried my best... right?”

”That, at least.” Lann’s big hand gripped Hacksaw’s hand, warm and strong. ”Yes. I’m very certain you gave it your all.”

”That’s good... that’s good...”

In Hacksaw’s body, that inexplicable force had already run its course, his tone drifting and faint. Yet the tortured corner of his mouth revealed a satisfied smile.

”Stuart, take care. You take good care of yourself...”

Finally, the former Royal Steward of Sintra, the leader of the refugee group, died this day.