Horse Thief (3)
The cultists, having received Eugene's message, were advancing through the forest while checking the marks. At that moment, inside one of the tents in the refugee camp, an old man filled with fervor was completing a massive altar.
Finally inserting the last piece, the old man looked up at the altar with eyes brimming with emotion.
"At last... now we can all escape this wretched life and become one with the true Orobas..."
No sooner had the cultists, armed with shields, swords, maces, spears, and the like, arrived than Knights William and Torn mounted them on horses and positioned them to watch four points near the village. Along with one secretive order.
"If any try to flee, pursue and kill them."
After confirming the cultists were in position, the two knights mounted their own horses and headed toward the eerily silent refugee camp.
Clop-clop-clop. Closing the distance with the heavy thud of hooves, William and Torn arrived at what could be called the camp's entrance.
Tents with barely any sign of life came into view, and Torn drew a deep breath before bellowing loudly.
"By order of Baron Noden, the rightful lord of Iron Valley! All those hiding inside, come out now!"
Torn's shout, filled with authority, echoed through the surroundings. Just before the echoes fully faded.
An old man in a tattered cloak cautiously lifted a tent flap and emerged.
"Aigoo, sir knight, we just lost our homes—"
"Quiet! We'll hear your story later. For now, get everyone out here."
"Ah, y-yes, of course. Everyone, come out..."
Trembling in fright at the knight's sharp command, the old man gestured toward the surrounding tents, urging people to emerge.
The once deathly silent tents began to stir faintly. Soon after.
Around twenty refugees—mostly elderly, women, and gaunt children—poured out and gathered in the center of the camp.
William and Torn felt a twinge of unease at the sight, but it was fleeting. Recalling the absolute nature of their lord's command, their eyes hardened coldly.
"Everyone's out as you ordered, sir knight. But what brings you to this humble place?"
"Horses have been stolen in this area lately, and now the thieves have dared to touch Baron Noden's prized steed."
"No, how could such a horrible thing..."
When Torn mentioned the horse thieves, the old man who had first appeared showed no panic—only sorrow. He seemed utterly innocent.
But with the evidence already pointing straight at the refugees as culprits. Torn began the interrogation in a firm tone.
Shing!
"Don't play dumb! We've confirmed traces of the stolen horses leading here. Confess now, and we'll show mercy to the innocents..."
"Spare us, sir knight! We must've lost our minds from hunger. I'll take full responsibility—just please spare the women and children!"
As the two knights drew their swords and pressed with both threat and carrot.
The old man and other refugees immediately admitted guilt, prostrating themselves on the ground.
"Before passing judgment, we need to check the baron's horse first. Maximus—the black stallion a head taller than the others—where is it?"
When asked to describe Maximus's appearance and location.
The old man, forehead pressed to the dirt, cautiously rose and approached the tent right beside them.
"If it's the one with silver ornaments on its mane, it's over here..."
He slightly lifted the flap of the tent, from which a foul, fishy stench emanated, pointing inside.
William dismounted and approached the tent.
"This—heresy! You filthy devil worshippers!"
Peering inside, William roared in fury, raising his sword high.
And for good reason.
The corpse of the already-dead Maximus had been grotesquely assembled into a tower-like structure, bones and entrails fully exposed.
The next instant.
Without a shred of hesitation, William swung his raised sword diagonally down onto the old man's shoulder.
Slash!
"Gurk—"
His honed strike cleaved through the old man's torso, exiting near the pelvis. At the same time.
"Iliana! Aid us!"
Watching this, Torn invoked the goddess's name and began swinging his sword. As cleanly as William, his strikes severed the heads of nearby refugees—no, cultists.
At that moment, the old man—his already scrawny body now bisected—twisted his lips into an eerie smile.
Gazing at his own blood soaking the ground, he murmured softly.
"It's done... now we all become one with Him..."
Even as he spoke, the knights' enraged blades never ceased. With each merciless stroke of judgment, the number of cultists collapsing to the earth grew rapidly.
A short while later.
Less than a minute after the knights began swinging, the forest fell silent once more. As his rage toward the cultists somewhat subsided, a nagging doubt surfaced in William's mind.
The old man had shown the blasphemous altar so readily at first. And the other cultists hadn't resisted—instead throwing themselves onto the blades as if offering their lives.
These pieces clicked together, his reason flashing a strange warning. Just then.
A discordant wave emanated from all thirteen tents around them, and light bloomed from the blood-soaked ground where the cultists lay.
A grim crimson-black glow, ominous at first sight.
Having concealed my presence and returned to where I could see the refugee camp again.
I watched everything—from the four cultists on horseback encircling the camp to the knights' massacre.
With cold eyes devoid of pity or sympathy.
'By the way, what did William shout in the middle...? What was it?'
More than that, I was curious why he'd exploded in rage upon seeing inside the tent. Maybe it tied to Fate's Scale.
So after the knights and cultists left, as I waited to inspect the site.
A bizarre humming vibration came from the camp, followed by a crimson-black light surging from the ground, enveloping the two knights.
Whoosh!
At the same time, a sudden gale ripped through, scattering the tents and revealing what lay hidden inside.
'Fuck, that's bad.'
Even from quite a distance, I recognized the sinister shape and immediately bolted back the way I'd come.
Demonic summoning altars made from horse corpses. Ones that reportedly took two knights to handle—and now thirteen were activating.
To survive, running was the answer.
Splat! Splurch! Groooar!
"Scatter and run! We have to inform the lord!"
In the process, sickening squelches, roars, and panicked shouts from the cultists around the camp reached my ears.
But I didn't even glance back, just kept running. Toward the clearing outside the forest where Selene waited with the horses.
Thud! Thud! Crack! Crash!
The ground quaking intermittently, trees uprooting and splintering, tempted me to look back.
"Hiiiing!!"
"Gah! Save m—"
The sporadic screams of horses and men gripped my heart. But I ran forward only. With every ounce of strength.
Thanks to that, by the time blood filled my mouth, I'd nearly escaped the forest.
targets you.
This cursed abomination will not stop until it destroys you.
A sudden window popped up in front of me, hitting my mental health.
'Fuck, this is boss mob text!'
Boss mob—or at least named mob—aggro message. The shock made my legs wobble.
But a saving voice from ahead steadied me.
"Run! Hurry!"
...
Selene, sensing something off and bringing the horses to the forest edge.
Thanks to her, we put distance between us and the abomination of horse and human corpses, whipping the horses madly back to Iron Valley. We headed straight for the guards.
"A massive monster created by cultists..."
To warn that Orobas's abomination would soon overrun the village.
Ah, of course, omitting the part about it being my fault.
Right after.
We went to the village's sole cathedral—the temple of the goddess of light, Iliana—to find the specialist in great demons, a priest.
"What do we do? The priest isn't here... He's in High Garden until the day after tomorrow for the diocese council."
The deacon fidgeted, informing us of the head priest's absence. He looked not just young but hopelessly inept—unlikely to handle anything.
Still, I asked the deacon anyway. Appearances could deceive; he might have solid divine power.
"Me? I-I can't! I've only been a deacon for two weeks, and—"
"Fine! Then do you have any holy relics here? Ideally a sacred weapon."
"Holy relics... sacred weapons... Ah, there is one. But..."
"But what?"
"The priest took it. Said he'd show it off—no, use it for education—at this council..."
"Haa..."
They say if luck's against you, you break your nose falling backward.
No effective weapons against demon-type monsters.
My neck cramped, head tilting back slightly, when a basin of clean water by the altar caught my eye.
Well, even a plain item drenched in holy water becomes a holy relic.