Chapter 36: The Messenger’s Perilous Journey

After three days of arduous travel, the messenger dispatched by the village finally arrived at his intended destination.

The villagers often spoke of him, saying, “This tall, slender man runs swifter than any steed when he gives his all!”

Yet, only the man himself knew the truth: while his bursts of speed might momentarily rival a horse, his stamina paled in comparison.

The distance from the village to his objective was considerable. Had he not diverted a portion of the travel funds gathered by the village chief and others to purchase a horse, this invaluable “mode of transport” beneath him, he would have collapsed from exhaustion long ago.

“Is this truly near the border? *Huff, huff, huff.* I pray I haven’t come to the wrong place.”

The man, having maintained his riding posture for so long, exhaled more ragged breaths than the beast he rode. The horse, uncherished since its purchase, had been forced to exert itself relentlessly, having received no permission from its master to cease.

The swift shadow galloped across the plains, carrying its master onward without pause. From the man’s vantage point, the colossal military encampment ahead was already faintly discernible.

Unaccustomed to such sights, the man didn’t overthink it, simply approaching his objective in a straight line.

Before he could even begin to relax, anticipating the completion of his mission, a dark shadow shot forth from the distance. The shadow passed in a flash; before the man could blink, his body was sent hurtling forward.

“Huh?”

The man looked down, realizing the horse was toppling sideways. From its gaping maw, copious amounts of bloody foam spewed forth. A single arrow, true to its mark, had pierced its forehead, striking the vital spot.

The man knew that in the next instant, he would crash violently to the ground. Unexpectedly, two human-like shadows darted towards him.

The two figures, closing in on the man in a pincer movement, each wielded a thick chain. The moment they drew near, they acted decisively. The two chains shot out, crossing each other, and just before striking the man, they looped around his arms. Thus, the chains coiled, roughly binding themselves around the target’s wrists.

With synchronized precision, the two men then advanced several steps in opposite directions. In this manner, just as the man was about to hit the ground, he found himself suspended, one arm yanked by each stranger. He hung in mid-air, unable to descend, his legs flailing in a futile struggle to find purchase.

In his desperation, driven by a primal will to survive, the man frantically scanned his surroundings. He noticed that both men who held him wore full armor, presenting the typical demeanor of knights.

A realization dawned on the man. “Esteemed knights, I am no suspicious character! Truly, I am not…”

Such a flimsy defense, who would possibly heed it? The two knights simply escorted the man back to the military encampment.

According to the customary procedure for apprehending “suspected spies,” the man was to be beheaded before dinner, with no need for any “trial proceedings.”

However, the man’s luck proved rather good; this day was unlike any other. A significant figure had arrived at the encampment that day, one who would alter the man’s fate.

The man dimly sensed the danger, and an inevitable clamor of shouts erupted from him. It was precisely his utterly grating cries that drew the important figure closer.

“Who have you captured? Let me see them!”

The newcomer possessed a towering physique, bronzed skin, and thick, rebellious eyebrows that arched slightly upward, immediately marking him as no ordinary, honest man.

Instinctively, the man showed profound deference to this individual, even more so than to the knights who had apprehended him.

The man was no fool; he could discern that the armor worn by the other party was of superior quality. While the patrolling soldiers in the camp were all clad in sturdy armor, none could compare to the magnificent set worn by the towering figure before him.

His first reaction was to conclude that this person was likely a high-ranking individual, perhaps even capable of saving him.

At once, the man cast aside all dignity and shame, spewing forth a torrent of pleas for mercy. Such abject humility genuinely piqued the other’s interest.

“If it’s a ‘dog,’ this is the first time I’ve seen one that barks so profusely… What crime have you committed?”

Regarding the reason for the arrest, the soldier responsible for the execution stepped forward to speak: “Reporting to Your Majes—”

“Hm?”

The corners of the towering man’s mouth twitched upward. The soldier immediately realized his blunder and hastily corrected himself: “Reporting, General, he is a spy captured by our scouts. I was about to execute him according to established protocol.”

“An injustice, an injustice! I am no spy!”

After comparing these two starkly different accounts, whose words would the towering man believe? While he wouldn’t jump to conclusions, he was inclined to believe the one who appeared utterly terrified.

The reason was simple: no spy in the world was such a consistent imbecile, inside and out! If someone were to deploy such a fool to gather intelligence, it would only indicate that his superior was equally useless.

Yet, throughout his career, some of the adversaries the towering man had encountered were indeed irredeemably foolish! A useless superior dispatching an imbecilic spy. Such a possibility was not entirely out of the question!

After a brief moment of contemplation, the man made a decision: he would judge the prisoner’s trustworthiness based on his reply. “Tell me: where do you hail from? I hope for an interesting answer.”

These words were a lifeline. The man instantly wanted to explain his purpose, but then, recalling the village chief’s instructions, he swiftly added another question: “Sirs, I beg your pardon, but is this the border of any one of the ‘Seven Kingdoms’?”

“Ah? ‘Seven Kingdoms’? What jest is this? We are…”

“Precisely! Our identity is just as you suspect. Continue.”

The messenger from the village, a man, was now held down by the soldier, his head pressed, his entire body sprawled across the execution grounds. Despite his fierce reluctance, the man’s mouth involuntarily gaped open in pain, tasting the earth beneath him.

The taste was like rust, and a wave of nausea spread from his mouth to his stomach. Inevitably, it was the taste of blood. Whether fresh or dried, the palpable aura of death it carried sent a chill down the man’s spine.

His subsequent answer would determine his fate. If luck favored him, he would live; if not, he would nourish the soil, for the ground seemed in dire need of a fresh coat of paint.

Under the prerequisite of being completely subdued, the man laboriously lifted his neck. In a posture that threatened to snap his neck, he faced the man presumed to be the general and recounted the village chief’s words in their entirety.

At the end, he added another plea: “Everything this humble one has said is true, not a single word is a lie!”