Chapter 662: The Sun
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 662: The Sun
After a moment’s thought, Abel chose to draw his dagger. He picked a carriage at random and strode toward it.
The well-honed blade sliced through the cloth covering the carriage with ease. Abel quickly reached his hand inside.
On the outside was hay for the horses. Nothing unusual.
Further in... it was crushed wheat. It wasn't fine flour, but a coarse grind mixed with husks, germ, and even stalks and grit.
This stuff tasted terrible. Once baked, it was hard enough to break a man's teeth, but Abel had long since grown used to it.
Still nothing unusual.
Was I really just overthinking it?
The moment the thought crossed his mind, his expression froze.
At that very instant, his fingers brushed against something cold, with the unmistakable texture of metal.
There wasn't just one; there were many, hidden deep within the hay and wheat.
The moment he touched the object, the magic stone stuck to his scroll sensed something. As if in resonance, it began to emit a faint, pulsing glow.
"This is..."
Abel felt a chill run down his spine. Even with his meager knowledge of magic, he knew what could cause a mana-infused stone to resonate like that...
Magic materials!
These carriages appeared to be transporting grain and fodder, but they were actually carrying magic materials ten thousand times more precious!
This was no longer a simple matter of intercepted supplies. This involved...
Abel’s mind raced as he realized the gravity of the situation.
But before he could make his next move...
"Humans are always so clever for their own good—and far too curious."
A cold, cruel voice rang out within the tent.
"..."
Abel turned back with stiff movements. In the dim light, he saw a tall figure.
The figure wore silver-white armor. His face was obscured, but his presence was extraordinary. More importantly, the skin visible through the gaps in his armor was... deathly pale.
A High-Class Demon!
Dammit, why is there a High-Class Demon in a godforsaken place like this?
...No, if the carriages were carrying that kind of cargo, the presence of a High-Class Demon was only natural.
"Why did you have to look?"
Solin spoke with a note of profound regret. "You could have died so much more easily."
"..."
Abel didn't answer.
The moment he spotted the High-Class Demon, every muscle in his body coiled tight. Taking advantage of the brief moment the demon spent gloating, he lunged toward the simple trigger mechanism he had set up earlier.
The plan had changed. He had to activate the magic scroll immediately!
"Laughable."
Solin moved. His form was so fast it was little more than a blur.
Before Abel could even react, a wave of agonizing pain erupted from his abdomen. The crushing pressure forced his empty stomach to heave, trying to expel something that wasn't there.
Having starved for days, there was nothing to vomit but foul-smelling blood and bile.
"Human maggot, what is the point of struggling?" Solin sneered, withdrawing his fist. Against such a creature, he didn't even bother to draw his sword.
"Dammit..."
Despite the heavy blow to his gut, Abel forced himself to stand firm. He drew the dagger at his waist and lunged for Solin’s flank, a low growl escaping his gritted teeth:
"Polly! Morse!"
Clang—
Blades cleared their scabbards. Polly and Morse, who had been lurking in the shadows, pounced simultaneously. With practiced coordination, they struck at Solin from both sides.
Solin remained unperturbed.
With just those few moves, he had seen through them. These "rats" who had crawled into the camp were truly just rats.
They had no magical talent, and their Fighting Spirit was nothing more than a sliver honed through years of drudgery. For such weak creatures, they perhaps possessed a modicum of courage.
...But that was all.
Thud.
A dull impact echoed.
Abel didn't even see how the enemy had struck. He felt a surge of pain so intense it nearly made him black out, and then he was sent flying.
Polly and Morse were also sent tumbling back, coughing up blood as they crashed violently into the carriages.
The wood splintered, and wheat flour spilled out like yellow sand burying a corpse.
The gap was too wide.
Despair washed over Abel’s face.
A High-Class Demon was simply not something they could handle.
"Cap... Captain!"
Vik ran out from his hiding spot in a panic, his hands shaking as he tried to stop Abel’s bleeding.
"What... what can I do? I'll help you, yes, I'll help you!"
"You idiot!"
Abel spat, shoving Vik away. "The plan failed! Run!"
"If... if I run, what about you guys?"
"Get lost! You useless brat, you're just in the way! I'm not dead yet, now move!"
Abel suddenly regretted bringing Vik along. He should have left him outside to keep watch. Men like them—old soldiers who had already lived past their prime—could afford to die. But Vik... he was too young.
He hadn't even married the girl he liked yet.
"You waste! Get out of here!"
"No... I won't... I still have a way... Right, there's something I didn't tell you, Captain. Actually... actually, I hid an alchemy bomb!"
As he spoke, Vik actually pulled a black, coal-like object from his tunic.
The alchemy bomb looked utterly unremarkable, but only those who had survived the meat grinder of a battlefield knew how terrifying these things truly were.
"You actually have one of those?"
Solin’s brow arched slightly, a flash of mockery in his eyes.
He didn't even bother saying anything more to these ants. His figure blurred as he prepared to...
"Hmm?"
Solin’s movement stopped abruptly. He looked down to find two blood-soaked hands reaching out from the spilled wheat, gripping his ankles tight.
Those hands were so badly mangled from the previous impact that white bone was visible, yet they held on with a terrifying resolve, as if saying:
—Go to hell with us, you piece of filth.
"Die... JUST DIE!"
Seizing this fleeting window, Vik’s eyes turned bloodshot as he aimed the alchemy bomb at Solin and hurled it with all his might.
BOOM—
The deafening explosion roared through the camp for the fourth time that night. A searing shockwave ripped the tent to shreds.
The gale lashed his face with sand. Vik swayed as he pushed himself up from the ground. Looking at the swirling dust and smoke, a tragic smile touched his lips.
"I... I did it. Captain, did you see? I did it."
"..."
Abel also stood up, staring silently at the site of the blast. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed Vik by the collar, using every ounce of his remaining strength to hurl the boy away.
"Cap... Captain, what are you doing?"
Vik tumbled through the dirt again, getting a mouthful of sand as he struggled to his feet.
But when he turned back in confusion, he didn't receive an answer from his captain’s lips. Instead, he saw...
A shattered blade whistling out of the smoke, burying itself deep in Abel’s abdomen.
Solin stepped out of the dust, completely unscathed. He merely raised a hand to brush off his chest, looking annoyed. "You insects... you actually soiled my armor. Damn you!"
Blood sprayed.
Abel collapsed as if all the strength had been drained from his body.
Yet, he still raised a trembling hand, pointing toward the distance.
Run.
There was no sound.
But Vik understood perfectly. His captain was screaming at him.
Just like he did during their daily training.
Vik clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms. Ignoring the trivial pain, he wiped away his tears, scrambled up, and bolted.
His leg had been injured in the blast. It hurt—perhaps the bone was cracked—but Vik kept running with everything he had.
He didn't know where to run, nor did he know what to do next on his own. He just ran and ran, because that was the order his captain had given him.
"My dear..."
This time, he didn't pray to the Goddess. Vik gripped his pocket watch.
"Please, give me the cour—"
Puch.
The sound of a blade piercing flesh—a sound he had heard countless times on the battlefield—cut his whisper short.
Vik froze. He looked down to see a dagger buried to the hilt in his stomach, its tip protruding from his front.
Blood soaked through his clothes, staining them crimson.
He swayed, looking as though he might collapse and never get up, just like Polly, Morse, and the Captain.
But...
One step... then another...
Vik continued to shuffle forward.
As his blood spilled and his life force ebbed, he staggered onward.
He could feel the demon following unhurriedly behind him, as if enjoying the spectacle of how long a little bug could struggle.
He could feel the strength leaving his body, his legs becoming too heavy to lift...
But he had to keep running. He had to escape...
Because those were the Captain's orders, and he always listened to the Captain...
Thud.
Finally, he collapsed to the ground. The pocket watch slipped from his hand, landing a few meters ahead.
"Ugh..."
Vik finally broke, tears streaming down his face.
He was still afraid. He was terrified of these brutal demons; his legs still shook at the sight of them...
But... but...
Compared to the demons, he was more afraid of failing his captain’s final order. He was afraid... that he would never see that beautiful sunset again.
"Uuu..."
Vik crawled painfully toward the pocket watch.
With every movement, his consciousness blurred. He couldn't see anything clearly anymore, save for the faint image of a young girl’s face floating before his eyes.
Eventually, even that face grew dim.
He supposed... he really wouldn't see her again.
Vik’s face dragged against the earth, leaving a trail of blood and tears.
His hand reached out, straining, struggling with every fiber of his being. But in the end, it fell limp, stopping less than twenty centimeters from the watch...
"Is this your girlfriend?"
Suddenly.
Vik heard a rich, mellow voice.
The voice was so warm that death itself seemed to recoil.
"She’s very pretty. Very cute," the voice said.
"You..."
Vik’s lips moved feebly. "Are you... a god?"
Only a god would come to greet him after death.
"I beg of you, Lord God."
Tears fell from Vik’s eyes once more. "Please... let her be happy..."
"Hmm?"
The voice sounded puzzled.
Then, with a hint of helpless amusement, the voice laughed:
"I mean, I am a blonde guy, but I don't really do that whole 'widow' trope..."
"Your cute girlfriend—you should be the one to cherish her."
The pocket watch was pressed back into Vik’s palm.
Then, he felt a large hand gently ruffle his hair.
A new magic scroll was activated. A warm current, the very symbol of life, was poured into his body.
Vik finally regained some of his senses and looked up in a daze.
Without him noticing, the world had become incredibly quiet.
The howling wind and swirling sand seemed to have frozen, yielding to the invisible majesty of the man who had appeared.
There were no more low-level demons letting out ill-timed roars. There was blood on the ground—so much blood that it had silently stained the entire camp red.
In that moment, Vik finally saw clearly: the handsome, smiling face and that unmistakable, brilliant golden hair.
Through his blurred, tearful eyes, it was as if a magnificent light was rising from behind the man, dispelling the thousand-year chaos and gloom of the Abyss.
Like... a sun.
"Alright, stop crying. It's okay now."
Muen spoke softly.
"I'm here. Everything is going to be fine."