Our Family Has Fallen

But these Heretics knew no fear; they were not even afraid of death. With fanatical fervor, they sought to kill this man and offer him to their god.

”Like an avalanche, unstoppable!” The man’s words were still calm and carried a heavy momentum as he swung the broken sword at the injured Elite Heretic.

The broken sword struck down with peerless strength. Even a black iron helmet couldn’t block the blow; it was cleaved open along with the skull, exposing half the brain and killing the man instantly.

With a backhand slash, the terrifying force split two attackers, one after the other, as blood and guts exploded like a popped balloon.

The robust strength displayed by his physique showed no signs of his earlier frailty. It was as if a surge of power now flowed within him. If Lance were here, he would probably notice the aura encircling the man’s body. The man surely possessed more than one piece of Extraordinary Equipment, and none of them were ordinary items. Perhaps he himself was a mighty Transcendent!

Single-handedly combatting so many Heretics, his figure became the focus of the entire scene, even drawing the Heretics’ attention.

Vick, seeing the man wielding the broken sword, felt a surge of relief at his earlier decision not to provoke him.

But Hamlet’s People were not weak!

Vick hadn’t entered the wagon laager; instead, he maneuvered outside, gathering the mounted Guards and forming a Cavalry Squad of about a dozen.

Not everyone was fit to ride and scout; these were essentially the old stock from Hamlet, each a skilled and seasoned warrior.

After the man attracted the Heretics’ attention, Vick took the lead, musket in one hand and saber in the other, charging towards the Heretics.

”BANG!”

At close range, a shot created a bloody hole in a Heretic’s chest. Vick swung his saber, blocking another Heretic’s pitchfork thrust. Before Vick could act, his teammate beheaded that fellow.

Teamwork was Hamlet’s People’s weapon against foes.

”Kill!” Vick raised his saber and charged. In that moment, he felt as though he were back in his army days.

The wagons were drawn into a defensive formation and were temporarily out of immediate danger, while Vick’s small squad, nimble and striking continuously, either shot their guns or slashed with sabers, felling one Heretic after another.

The Ascension Sect mustered at least forty to fifty people, but among them, there were probably only five or six Elites; the rest were riffraff, their weapons akin to ordinary farmers’ tools.

Apart from their fearless morale, there was nothing noteworthy about them. Especially when facing Vick’s brave old soldiers, it was like slicing through melons and vegetables.

The Heretics surrounding the wagons were quickly killed, but Vick and his men didn’t stop. They reformed ranks and advanced toward the Heretics still among the throngs of refugees.

The refugees had long scattered, leaving corpses in their wake. However, one could still see the man previously encircled by Heretics fighting on. Mounted on horseback, each of their saber slashes carried the momentum of the charge, easily inflicting greater damage. After a few charges, they rescued the besieged man. But Vick knew that even if he hadn’t intervened, the Heretics probably wouldn’t have killed the man. In fact, the man would likely have slain them all, judging by the bodies already cleft in pieces on the ground.

”Friend, are you alright?”

”I’m fine,” a hoarse voice replied, accompanied by deep breaths.

Vick noted the blood staining the man’s armor. While the armor had blocked most of the damage, it was clear that many of his bandages had ruptured. Blood seeped from within these wounds—clear signs of the recent attacks. Hardly what one would call ’fine,’ Vick thought.

What happened next seemed odd to Vick. He saw the man plant the broken sword before him; his hands rested on the hilt as he bowed his head slightly, muttering as if in prayer, evoking a sense of solemnity.

Within mere breaths, the man’s condition improved markedly. It reminded Vick of the powers that the Lord often spoke of Transcendents possessing.

By the time Vick processed this, he saw the man was now cradling a bandaged patient. This patient was clearly someone wounded in the recent fight and was now on the verge of death.

”I’m sorry, I failed to protect you all.”

”No... it was us who dragged you down, King... Dying in Your Majesty’s arms is my greatest honor... Please don’t grieve for me...”

The patient tried to raise a hand and say more, but it fell limp as their life completely faded away.

Seeing this, Vick said nothing further, instead signaling his team to deal with the lingering trouble left by the Heretics—the corpses on the ground, and the severely injured who hadn’t died yet, wailing in agony, comprising both Heretics and refugees.

For such cases, Vick had no better solution than to have his men grant them a merciful end. This wasn’t cold-hearted cruelty, he reasoned, but rather the best he could offer them.

”Do you have any final wishes?”

”I hope there’s no next life...”

”Yeah, this world is just too bleak...” Vick nodded in agreement, but in an instant, he snapped the man’s neck, allowing him a painless death.

Laying the body down, Vick’s expression was not shaken. Instead, it grew firmer as he looked towards Hamlet, muttering to himself.

”But there’s always hope...”