Chapter 15: 15 I Love You All

Chapter 15: 15. I Love You

The Lyonese are famous for infighting and conspiracy, a trait people attribute to the region's unusual geography, particularly its many excellent fortifications. The northern region is dotted with mounds known to locals as earthworks; these are roughly circular, usually less than thirty meters high, with nearly flat tops and very steep sides. An opening at the summit leads into a complex cave system containing an underground river of potable water. Avignon was built around such an earthwork, with buildings scattered throughout the village and a three-meter-high fence encircling the perimeter, supplemented by a ring of pitfall traps below.

Infighting and conspiracy were matters for the lords; they had nothing to do with Antoine. He was merely a diligent, honest groom whose greatest aspirations were centered around his wife, children, and a warm hearth. He hoped his two sons could serve the nobility—perhaps feeding the lords' fine horses—and ideally earn positions as sergeants or jailers to bring honor to the family name. The most outrageous thing he had ever done was to feast voraciously on food bestowed by the lords during the Thursday festivals; it was the only time during the year he could truly eat his fill. When it came to the tithe, he would play small tricks and use minor schemes to evade or underreport taxes, hoping to save the surplus for his family.

What was the "Nine-Tenths Tithe"?

There was a folk rhyme in Batonia: "Under heaven, all land belongs to the King. To pay the tax is to seek justice. The way of the commoner is toil and bone. Only during festivals can one find rest. Measure the harvest, pay nine parts of ten. Keep one of ten for yourself. Batonia, the Land of Knights. This law loves the people; who would dare not rejoice?"

What a virtue, to show such consideration for the common folk! But it was understandable; after all, the ancestors of the knightly lords had already endured all the hardship when Giles the Unifier established Batonia.

To evade taxes? What kind of unruly peasants were they? What utter irreverence!

Tonight, all the adult males in the village had been mobilized to defend against potential beastman attacks, for the night was exceptionally dark. However, they did not expect beastmen; instead, they were met by a group of well-trained, well-equipped, and death-defying killing machines. From the gatehouse, Antoine saw them clearly: about thirty men, shouting words he did not understand, holding their shields high and forming ranks as they charged directly toward the village entrance. It was only as they neared the gatehouse that the old farmer above realized the danger and frantically rang the bell. A man beside him, holding a torch, was instantly decapitated by a crossbow bolt flying from below.

These men carried no scaling ladders or battering rams, nor did they attempt to climb over the village fence. Instead, they charged directly beneath the gatehouse, acting as if the surrounding pitfall traps did not exist. They formed a human ladder, and several Gloomy Swordsmen used a running start to leap onto the gatehouse and begin the slaughter. Antoine had at least received military training; he had stabbed two Lesser Unicorns and an Orc boy, and two years ago, he had fought in the Battle of Coloni, where he had slain a massive man wielding an axe. Furthermore, his wife and children were in the village; could he endure such an indignity?

Antoine thrust his spear straight at a Gloomy Swordsman who was climbing up behind him. Hearing the sound of the air being pierced, the swordsman twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the strike. The swordsman stared at Antoine in shock, seemingly unable to comprehend why Antoine was fighting without honor. His face then filled with rage; ignoring the old farmer, he used his shield to deflect the spear to the side, swung his sword down in a heavy blow, and followed up with a kick that sent Antoine tumbling down.

Antoine’s body fell from the gatehouse, but his left forearm remained behind on the structure. As he fell, he let out a scream of agony. Fortunately, the gatehouse was not high; driven by sheer willpower and the thought of his family, he gritted his teeth and struggled to his feet, stumbling toward his home. By this time, scattered figures were appearing on the village paths. These were people who had rushed out upon hearing the alarm; some had not even managed to put on clothes. People were running about like headless chickens—some trying to climb the earthworks to reach the caves, others trying to flee through the side gates into the woods. Despair and terror spread through the village.

Alan remembered waking up to a cacophony of bells and shouting. His mother had dragged him and his brother from their beds, screaming at them to get dressed. He had never seen his mother so terrified.

Rubbing his eyes, he asked curiously, "Mother, what's happening?"

His mother said in a trembling voice, "My dear Alan, we are about to begin an adventure. First, we must cross the woods to reach the caves."

A grand adventure? And his mother was leading him and his brother? Was there anything more joyful in this world? At the thought, Alan immediately perked up and laughed happily.

Just as the three of them reached the door, a blood-soaked man burst through, collapsing onto the floor. The mother and children let out hysterical screams. His mother recognized him as her husband and rushed to support him. Antoine struggled to stand, and the family stared in disbelief at his left hand; blood was still spurting from the severed limb. Antoine, his face pale, raised his right hand and delivered a sharp slap to his wife's face, roaring, "Wife, pull yourself together! Take the children through the gap in the fence, run through the village to the caves in the woods. I will see you there soon. I love you!"

Having said this, Antoine pulled his wife into a tight embrace and kissed her fiercely. He grabbed a wood-cutting axe by the door, gave a lingering look at his wife and two sons, turned, and charged out the door into the distant flames.

The fires rose high into the sky, mingling with the sickly green of the Morslib, creating a dreamlike, pale green hue. It felt surreal, like a gemstone—lustrous and clear, yet resembling ghostly fire.

His mother, weeping, grabbed Alan and his brother's hands and ran out the door. Her hands, still stained with blood, were warm and wet, but Alan felt as though his mother were already dead.

The sounds of despair and terror were now close at hand. Alan saw his father's silhouette; his father was wielding a wood-cutting axe in one hand, charging toward the enemy with a howl. His mother pulled him, and when he looked back, his father had already fallen to the ground. What met Alan's eyes was a scene of horrific slaughter.

The fire began to spread toward their location, and thick, rolling smoke enveloped the entire village, emitting a suffocating stench. Shuddering sounds came from all directions: the clanging of weapons, the death rattles of the wounded, and the triumphant laughter of the killers.

To Alan, these sounds were like the howling of hell, and they were about to reach a terrifying, extreme crescendo.

(End of Chapter)