Gun of Ashes

Thinking of this, Galron felt a deep sense of sorrow. The Viking countries were still embroiled in endless civil wars, driven by different greedy wills. He was killing his own people, while his people came to kill him for ridiculous beliefs.

”Why... why get involved with these lunatics?”

Galron pulled out the hand ax at his waist and chopped down on a nearby enemy.

He had already been shot several times, but it seemed he couldn’t feel the loss of blood. He forcefully walked to Galron’s presence.

”Why do you care so much about the Silent Sea?”

As he fought, Galron asked in a low voice, but no one responded to his question. The buildings behind him were shrouded in darkness.

He was just a manager appointed by Froki, not a Lord, unable to use the power of a Lord. But even if he had it, it seemed to be of no use now.

More enemies emerged from the darkness, and even Galron couldn’t foresee how many followers of the Apocalypse Society there were. Luckily, their weapons were inferior compared to Galron’s side, so he still held a certain advantage—until a towering figure stepped out of the darkness.

This was a man more than two meters tall. He was not just a strongman, but a giant, making everyone else appear so small beneath his stature.

He casually wore animal skins with armor only covering the crucial parts of his chest. The giant carried a huge shield and strode towards them.

Bullets clinked off the shield, throwing sparks and leaving dents.

The rain of bullets couldn’t budge the shield; it was less of a shield and more of an unwieldy iron mass with a handle, so heavy that only a creature like the giant could lift it.

Initially, Galron thought the Apocalypse Society was a group of deceived madmen, but now it was clear that there were a few among them who were quite brainy.

More people hid behind the giant’s silhouette, slowly inching closer.

This was both a primitive and modern battle.

Galron’s side was positioned halfway up the mountain and high up; his lieutenant smashed a barrel with a hand ax, spilling out a large amount of wine that flowed over the crowd.

The torch flew overhead, landing in the liquor, and instantly, flames roared up, forming a wall of fire between Galron and the enemy.

This provided some respite for the group. Galron glanced at the soldiers behind him, whose eyes showed immense pressure, making him deeply anxious.

The biggest difference between the two sides was their view on death. They were all Vikings, but clearly, the Apocalypse Society was more extreme, showing a total disregard for death—a perspective Galron couldn’t share. Belief could only deceive for a time but couldn’t sustain indefinitely. He had to maintain the advantage, to prevent morale from being shattered.

In truth, Galron couldn’t quite figure it out. Even if they won the battle tonight, he still couldn’t save Froki. He could envision the scene: when the sun rose again, through the misty sea haze, ships of the King and Lords would arrive to take over the battered city.

Without waiting to contemplate further, heavy footsteps sounded, and soon Galron saw it.

The sea of flames surged violently, swaying intensely, even though there was no wind—something within it was stirring the fire.

At first, it was a pitch-black dot, then it expanded into a dark shadow, gradually forming into a shape—a burning human figure.

One by one, gruesome figures emerged from the sea of fire, flames rising from their bodies, inflicting pain, but unable to halt their march. Some fell, while others, more capable, began to sprint.

Like demons walking out of Hell, they emitted a wailing roar, marching as if in a legion.

This horrifying sight stunned everyone; no one shot for a moment, and by the time they came to their senses, the enemies were already close, causing screams to pierce the air.

The flaming figures pounced on the soldiers, consuming them with the fire on their bodies. Struggling on the ground, they gradually stopped moving.

Fear arose within, for an instant Galron doubted whether he was fighting humans or some unknown monster.

”Retreat!”

Galron turned around and shouted to the soldiers.

Just then, a warm breeze swept across his neck. In the corner of his eye, Galron saw a sinister silhouette, stiffly turning his head to find a towering figure encompassing his entire view.

Flames burned on the giant’s body as he raised the massive shield, like the Giant Blade of judgment.

It crashed down with a roar, kicking up dust, and at the last moment, his lieutenant grabbed Galron, pulling him away. They tumbled on the ground, painfully gasping, then struggled to get up.

”My Lord!” the lieutenant shouted.

Galron leaned on his firearm and attempted to stand, but intense pain shot through his left leg, his ankle grotesquely twisted, with fresh blood dripping.

He hadn’t completely avoided the attack; his lieutenant rushed over, hoisted him onto his shoulder, and staggered back, soldiers firing to cover them. But to little avail, more figures crossed the sea of flames.

”Looks like we’re all going to die here.”

Galron looked at the increasing number of figures; they were surrounded layer by layer.

”There’s still hope. We can retreat inside the building and defend. They’re unfamiliar with the internal structure, so we can use it to hold out for a while.”

The lieutenant pondered countermeasures.

”It’s useless; they’re waging an annihilation battle. They don’t need to enter the building; they only need to ignite everything.” Galron’s voice was filled with despair.

”Their target is Froki; we’re merely sacrificial offerings.”

Regarding the Apocalypse Society, Galron learned enough because of Froki’s involvement. These guys couldn’t be judged by common sense, and after some time, Galron sometimes felt as if there truly was a divine existence.

”O... Odin...”

As he thought this, his gaze froze.

A blurred figure stood in the sea of flames, and as it became clearer, it transformed into a being that absolutely shouldn’t appear.

A cloak threaded with holes and scars, a silver-white armor full of scratches and dents. The figure leaned on a spear, standing amidst the flames, Galron couldn’t help but look at the face, seeing only blackness beneath the helmet, followed by a blistering white light rising within the darkness.

”Odin!”

The piercing coldness swallowed Galron’s heart; he realized he was witnessing things he shouldn’t see.

In an instant, his mind went blank, leaving only Odin’s figure. After a moment of stupor, once again looking at the sea of fire, he had lost sight of the mysterious figure.

”Perhaps...maybe they were right...”

Galron’s expression twisted, his heart struggling, seeing these fearless enemies, suddenly feeling as if they were truly devout.

The lieutenant dragged him through the gate, and the soldiers closed it, barring the burning sea of flames outside.

The sound of pounding persisted as the enemies battered on the door; amidst the violent shakes, a sudden impact sent a few soldiers reeling. The door dented, revealing a glimpse of a towering figure forcibly hammering it.

”It’s...it’s unsustainable.”

A trembling soldier said, as the door twisted under repeated strikes, even wondering what they were up against.

Galron’s mind was muddied by the presence of Odin; he could no longer feel the pain in his ankle, his mind entirely occupied by the divine figure, unresponsive to how his lieutenant yelled.

”My Lord! At this rate, we’ll all die here!”

The lieutenant punched Galron’s face, and the pain brought him some clarity. He belatedly looked towards the door, amid the gaps flickering with the glow of flames.

”We need to hold this...”

Galron whispered, but then an even greater despair enveloped him. He couldn’t hold this place; he’d once had the strength to fight, but the figure in the sea of fire stirred his mind.

Amidst the shock, suddenly everything fell quiet. The commotion outside vanished, as did the flame coming through the cracks. The golden flames lost their original color, turning blisteringly white, like Odin’s gaze.

—Ching

A sharp folding blade penetrated the door’s crevice, twisting forcefully, prying the door open.

The figure stood with the blistering white sea of fire behind, looking at the frightened crowd, and exhaled a long breath.

”Lorenzo, they haven’t all perished yet.”

Bola’s words received no reply; behind him, in the blistering white flames, the Demon Hunter held gun and sword, suffocating the legion of death in place.