Book 2, Chapter 65


The Blood Scythe and his forces occupied the entire block, along with the surrounding areas. The most important part, the spring’s mouth, sat right in his courtyard. Besides the taverns nearby, Mark’s only income was through a single casino. However, despite it being prime time there were barely any people here.

Richard mulled over it for a moment, concluding that this definitely wasn’t due to the incident at the arena earlier in the evening. News of that definitely wouldn’t have spread so quickly. It seemed like the business wasn’t going well for some time, which should be why he’d sent Sam to collect a toll outside Camp Bloodstone. With Mark’s personality and the way he handled affairs, it would be a surprise for him to ever improve the casino’s profits.

Bloodstone wasn’t considered particularly big— it took but a few minutes at full gallop for Richard’s army to reach Mark’s base, and although the advancing soldiers alarmed nearly half the camp the attack was so sudden that the half-orcs were barely alerted before Richard and his troops were long gone.

At the entrance to Mark’s base, everyone was just dismounting as the trolls made it over as well. Medium Rare sped up with a wave of Richard’s hand, throwing himself towards the entrance with a bellow. He leapt up as he was about to make contact, ruthlessly smashing his hammer into the gates. A loud rumble sounded out as they gave way, detaching from the frame before flying out into the yard. Smoke and dust rose from the ground.

As he stood before the main entrance, the remnant page of the Book of Holding appeared in Richard’s hand. Five direwolves charged up in the next moment, brutally attacking anything in sight that was moving. Cries and screams of alarm filled the air, turning the entire courtyard into a mess.

The sentries along the wall had been dozing off. The attack was so quick that it was only now that they realised something was amiss. However, two arrows screeched through the darkness and buried into their throats, stopping them from shouting out. Richard calmly stood at the gates and cast Nature’s Beckon, spawning five more wolves that caused even more chaos.

As the pack of ten wolves pounced around in the yard, Richard started to chant the spell for the all-too-familiar fireballs. However, several of his men started to look at him with peculiar expressions.

Magic affected everyone in a melee, including the allies of the caster. However, Richard’s tactic allowed him to cast without restraint. This was not the first time this had happened— an array of delayed fireballs engulfing even his own summons. It was likely that someone unfamiliar with him would suffer disastrous damage if they charged forth, but the reward was as great as the risk.

The target of the fireballs this time was the second floor of Mark’s residence. Three fireballs all landed around the same area, detonating at the same time and turning the Blood Scythe’s cries of surprise into calls for help. Waves of fire engulfed the entire courtyard in a flash, even as tongues of flames spewed out of the windows.

As well-built as Sam was, he trembled as he stared at the scene before him. It wasn’t long before his quivering legs gave way, leaving him to land on his bum.

Richard pointed into the courtyard once the fire died down, and his men threw themselves inside ruthlessly, starting a massacre. Dozens of wind wolves circled out back, leaping over the walls to attack the enemies from behind.

A few minutes later, the battle cries slowly started to fade. Mark’s tall, sturdy silhouette appeared in the courtyard, staring at Richard who was by the gates. Beams of hateful rage shot out of his eyes, and with a scythe in each hand he rushed towards Richard after roaring wildly.

The Blood Scythe staggered with every step he took, his clothes already soaked crimson. Yellow light flashed over him before he could take more than two, a spell from Tiramisu that slowed him to a third of his original pace. Dozens of weapons then stabbed into his body, the Shepherd of Eternal Rest plunging into his back.

Right before he drew his last breath, however, Mark roared and took a few more strides to everyone’s surprise. However, a sacred flame descended upon him from the sky, and he immediately screamed in agony. He staggered aimlessly a few more steps, before collapsing head first into the ground. The weight of his body caused him to slide forward quite a bit, stopping right at Richard’s feet.

A snow-white handkerchief slowly floated down onto Mark’s head, and immediately after Richard stepped down as he grinded his feet on his fallen foe’s skull.

Flowsand happened to walk out of the yard at that moment, witnessing the scene. She whispered into Richard’s ear, assuring him, “There’s no enemies around you now, you don’t have to do this…”

Richard stopped what he was doing, and without even batting an eyelid quietly reached out and pinched her buttcheeks with all his strength.

However, Flowsand didn’t cry out as she spoke calmly, “These are all our men. You don’t need to do this either…”

This started to stifle Richard’s breathing once more, even though he’d just gone back to normal a while ago.

The battle was long over, but the raging fires continued to engulf Mark’s two-storey residence. Olar lugged a huge chest out from amidst the blaze, also carrying about a dozen sacks of all sizes on his person. The elf was extremely sensitive to the scent of wealth. Even the hidden stores of experienced nobles could not escape him, let alone the Blood Scythe who had naught but muscles in his brain.

He walked over to Richard’s side, handing him the chest before kicking Mark, “This fellow is a pauper! He doesn’t have more than 300 coins!”

Richard turned to Gangdor, “How many survivors?”

Shrugging, Gangdor replied, “Most of the survivors are amongst those who ran at first chance. There’s only dead and crippled people in the courtyard, and they couldn’t run if they wanted to. Forget about captives, boss.”

Richard realised the hidden meaning behind Gangdor’s words, finding that there had been a problem with himself. Since he was already at the Bloodstained Lands, there was no need for him to capture enemies and turn them into his soldiers. Gold and slaves would work much better.

Richard agreed with a nod, pointing at Mark’s body, “Alright. Bring him along, We’re heading back!”

Everyone mounted, and Mark’s body was thrown on the back of a horse as well. They made their way back to the inn without a hurry, noticing a wave of heavy and chaotic footsteps in the distance. Half-orc soldiers came out of the corner, stopping Richard in his tracks. These were warriors of Bloodstone, the core force maintaining order in the camp.

They’d actually made it quite quickly, but all they could do was stand in Richard’s path. He’d already finished what he’d set out to do. Before Mark could treat his wounds after escaping to his base, Richard had already taken his troops out to kill him. Of course, this wouldn’t have been possible without Sam’s help, since he knew Mark inside out. Without the fellow leading the way, Richard’s troops would not have acted so quickly, and it would have required more effort to win the battle.

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OMA's Thoughts

Translated By: SY

Edited By: Theo

TLC'ed By: OMA