Chapter 85: Severed Hand |
Watching Samuel jump directly over the railing, Falson instinctively raised one hand and reached in Samuel's direction.
But the "Navigator" didn't add much reaction speed. His reflexes weren't much faster than an ordinary person's—by the time he reacted, Samuel had already leaped down.
He quickly stepped forward, gripping the railing and looking down to check below.
Down there was only scorched ground and blazing fire, with absolutely no sign of Samuel.
With Samuel's isolation gone, the thick smoke and waves of heat immediately surged in.
"Cough, cough..." Falson was choked several times. After hesitating for a moment, he too flipped over the not-too-tall second floor and jumped down.
This height wasn't much—even an ordinary person wouldn't necessarily get hurt jumping from it.
Meanwhile, on the other side, Samuel had performed a short-distance teleportation the moment he flipped over and jumped down.
After a brief feeling of weightlessness, the sensation of solid ground underfoot quickly returned.
Strolling through the burning square, Samuel raised one hand, lifted it to eye level, made a gazing motion to block the light from above and around him, and looked into the distance toward the direction where the golden round shield had risen earlier.
That shield still stood there. Golden, glowing, semi-transparent, somewhat illusory.
Earlier, when he was farther away, he couldn't see clearly and had thought it was solid. Now that he was closer, it seemed more like an energy construct.
He could see quite a few townspeople running in that direction, taking shelter behind the golden round shield.
For most people, property was important, but life was still more important.
Samuel walked over there too.
Soon, he spotted an incongruously large figure among the crowd.
A gleaming, golden large figure.
A Sacred Law Knight—the very one Samuel had seen yesterday.
"He came in too, huh."
Samuel rubbed his chin and walked over.
The knight didn't pay attention to Samuel approaching. He was currently looking down at a person covered head to toe in dust, with a face full of soot.
It seemed to be a bard.
Samuel saw his lute, which was a bit damaged from the fire.
The bard, covered in dust and grime, sat slumped against the wall on the ground, his head slightly raised as he looked up at the massive knight in front of him.
A fawning smile appeared on his face:
"Thank you, great knight sir. I'm truly honored to have been saved by you."
"You truly are a knight of mercy, justice, valor, and honor."
"Trust me, I will make sure your greatness is sung throughout all of Liastan."
Though the bard's face was covered in ash and his clothes were tattered and torn from the explosions, he still maintained a pleasant-sounding voice, using a tone similar to singing praise to extol the knight who had just saved them.
But the knight didn't seem to appreciate it. He simply looked down at him.
Samuel suppressed all his presence, moved closer, and observed what was happening from up close.
He crouched down in the middle spot beside the two, turning his head to look left, then turning to look right.
He could smell the scent of entertainment.
"Fight, fight." He incited in a voice no one could hear.
"Do you want to leave this place?" the knight suddenly spoke.
"Oh, not really," the bard answered honestly. "Great knight sir, we can wander anywhere—it's no problem."
"Hmm, but I'll probably leave here soon enough, actually." He glanced at the crumbling walls around him. "I figure no one here will be willing to tip me even a sien for a while."
"Then let me put it differently," the knight's tone remained flat. "Do you want to become a noble?"
"Huh?" The bard was taken aback. "Now look what you're saying, sir. Of course I want to—I've dreamed of it."
"Excellent." The knight nodded.
"Then pray to me," he said. "As long as you're willing to pray to me from the bottom of your heart, I'll take you away from here, let you become a true noble, and let you enjoy riches and glory for days to come."
The bard's eyes went wide, his mouth fell open, and his expression was stunned.
"Oh my, good sir, please don't toy with me," his expression quickly twisted into a bitter smile.
"I'm not lying to you." The knight cut him off. "I swear on my knightly honor."
This made the bard even more shocked.
As a bard who had traveled far and wide, of course he knew how important a knight's honor was to them.
No knight would use their own reputation to toy with a lowborn person.
Even the most degenerate knight wouldn't make such a losing bargain.
An ordinary person's life couldn't compare to those knights' honor.
Around them came looks of envy, shock, and longing.
Blinking rapidly, the bard quickly put on an expression of excitement.
He decisively threw his lute aside, knelt neatly on the ground in full prostration, and pressed his forehead to the ground.
"Great knight sir, I... I pray to you, I pray you save me, I pray you bestow riches and glory upon me."
But the knight shook his head.
"That's not it," he said. "That wasn't a prayer from the bottom of your heart."
The bard lowered his head to look at his own body, then tried to cover for himself: "Oh, the way you put it, sir, there's no one in this world more sincere than me."
"I'm praying to you from the bottom of my heart..."
"Is that so." The knight was noncommittal, and a golden knight's greatsword appeared in his hand.
"Uh... good sir, what exactly do you mean by this?"
The bard's expression froze stiff.
He watched in terror as the golden knight stepped closer, step by step.
"I don't wish to do this," the knight gently pressed the greatsword against his shoulder, the sharpened blade facing downward. The bard felt that if he moved his shoulder even slightly, it would be chopped off.
"Good sir, what exactly do you mean by this?" The bard had given up trying to maintain a sing-song tone of praise, his voice trembling as he asked.
He didn't dare move at all, afraid that the slightest shift would get his shoulder cut off.
The knight was silent for a moment, then explained, "I don't want to hurt you. You just need to pray to me from the bottom of your heart."
"Whether you pray for me to spare you, pray for me to take you out, or pray for me to grant you countless wealth."
"As long as you speak the words, I'll do everything in my power to fulfill them."
The bard was really about to cry.
"I... I really am praying sincerely..."
"What I need is a bow from the heart," the knight emphasized. "A bow from the depths of the soul."
"I... this humble one, this humble one really is sincere..." the bard said meekly. "Please spare this humble one's life, please."
The knight lowered his head; the expression beneath his helmet couldn't be seen.
A few seconds later.
*Swish!*
The bard's arm separated from his body and fell to the ground.
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