The servant carried an oil lamp, walking in the narrow and dark passage that seed to lead to a bottomless abyss.
Fortunately, it was just an illusion.
Soon, by the light of the lamp, he could see a trace of rust and tallic sheen erging in the darkness.
Before he even got close, the servant already slled a pungent bloody scent coming from the rusted iron door's seams, causing his hand holding the lamp to tremble slightly, subconsciously recalling the disaster at Arishe.
The cries of countless people before their deaths seed to echo in his ears.
Squeak, creak—
He tried to knock on the door, but the heavy iron door just slightly touched made a teeth-grating sound as it swung open.
In the darkness that seed to devour even the light, a cold voice suddenly sounded: "What does your master wish to do?"
The speaker was a male voice, deep and slow-paced.
The servant hurriedly bowed his head, suppressing the fear in his heart, and said, "The Crusaders of the Franks are about to besiege the city, my Lord asks you to act to fend off the enemy, and my master will cover up the traces afterwards."
"Not enough."
A cold breeze blew by.
The man draped in a black cloak finally revealed his figure in the servant's eyes: "The power I have gathered is still insufficient; unless you and your master hold another blood sacrifice tonight, by then I will turn them all into corpse puppets to fend off the enemy."
The servant instinctively raised his head, only to see the opponent's face under the lamp's illumination with two hideous fangs, pale as if like a dead man.
"I... I will convey your words to my master."
The man leaned his face closer to the servant, taking a deep breath.
In his pitch-black eyes flashed dangerous light, seemingly forcibly suppressing his hunger.
"Then you must hurry."
Vaguely, the servant heard the sound of the man swallowing saliva, and he quickly said: "I will ask my master right away."
Then he fled as if escaping for his life.
Thump, thump, thump—
Listening to the servant's hurried footsteps, the man sat back down in the chair in the darkness.
Bang—
A tuft of ghostly green flas ignited, illuminating the narrow basent.
Under the man's bottom, he was sitting on a chair made of a white skeleton, lined with blood streaks, as if the flesh between the gaps hadn't been cleaned out, and the chair floated in the air. A giant spinal bone of so unknown creature connected this white bone chair straight down into an unseen blood-red abyss.
Blood streaks, like having life, flowed along the white bones, bit by bit, injecting into the man seated on the white bone chair.
The man took a deep, satisfying breath.
"What a sweet and wonderful taste."
…
The sky gradually darkened.
Adram stood on the Inner Castle's walls, looking at the tents set up relying on the outer city, his eyebrows tightly knitted, saying nothing.
What happened these days made his dissatisfaction with Yasal suppressed to a chanism, one tribe after another was exterminated—not by the heretics, but by Yasal! This old friend whom he increasingly couldn't see clearly.
He was almost devoured by power.
Or is it that his nature is just like this, and all these years, I've been mistaken?
"Sheikh, only the chieftain of the Mo'er Tribe has returned."
Accompanied by hurried footsteps.
A young man in a yellow cloak quickly approached Adram: "Sheikh, this is a golden opportunity to annex the Mo'er Tribe."
Adram was sowhat incredulous: "At this ti, are you still thinking of annexing the Mo'er Tribe?"
"Sheikh, isn't this your longstanding wish?"
Adram paused for a mont, then said: "At this ti, what will you use to support the old, young, and won? Moreover, the Mo'er Tribe suffered greatly due to Yasal's task, would he allow it to happen without intervention?"
"Of course he would!"
The young man lowered his voice, pointing at the tents below: "Sheikh, haven't you noticed anything amiss? Our people, along with Yasal's, are placed in the Inner Castle, while those people are accommodated in the outer castle, even outside the walls, without getting even a drop of water or a grain of food. What does this indicate?"
"From the start, Yasal never cared about them."
Adram's voice contained sarcasm: "You're right, Yasal doesn't care if we annex the Mo'er Tribe, but do you really believe we're any different from them?"
"Of course!"
With an expression of self-confidence, the young man replied: "You and Yasal have been friends for many years."
Adram sneered: "Don't forget, the old man from the Tur Tribe had quite a good relationship with Yasal as well, but I heard their entire clan was slaughtered clean."
The young man dismissed it: "The Sheikh of the Tur Tribe is a stubborn, irascible old relic. Sheikh, no one would genuinely have a good relationship with soone like that; in the past, Yasal was only appeasing them to avoid trouble."
"Moreover, we live in the inner city while they stay outside; this in itself is Yasal's way of showing us respect."
Adram smiled bitterly: "Indeed, he respects us."
All the tribes still possessing strong military force were arranged inside the inner city, while smaller tribes were placed in the outer city, losing all their fighting power and leaving only the old, young, and won, all thrown outside the city, left to fend for themselves.
This counts as what kind of respect?
At this mont, a black silhouette swiftly passed by the city wall.
Adram instinctively pressed his sword at his waist, shouting: "Stop, who goes there?"
"It's , old friend."
The lord Yasal, in a brown robe, with a scimitar at his waist, led ten or more guards forward: "Old friend, go back to rest; if nothing unexpected happens, the Crusaders will arrive tomorrow, and by then, resting will be difficult."
Adram nodded, about to turn and leave, but suddenly stopped, asking: "Yasal, why not evacuate those old, young, and won in advance, let them find their own way?"
Yasal sighed heavily: "If it were possible, why would I forcibly keep them here? You know, they contribute nothing to the defense, but instead consu supplies; however, the Governor of Damietta said no refugee is allowed into his territory; it's his sole condition for sending troops to aid; where else could I evacuate them to? Sending them into the desert is tantamount to sending them to their deaths."
Adram's voice was icy: "Leaving them is no different from sending them to die!"
Yasal was silent for a mont, a voice full of compassion: "There is a difference, of course! Leaving them is to have them fight to the last against the heretics, die in the great holy war, and let each one receive redemption to ascend to the Celestial Kingdom."
Adram hesitated, looking dazedly at Yasal.
Yasal reached out to hold Adram's shoulder: "Brother, I know you've had many misunderstandings about lately, but that's because you've never looked at things from my perspective; I've never been a butcher, believe , brother!"
Adram nodded: "Sorry, I misunderstood you."
Watching Adram's departing back, Yasal sneered, then lowly instructed: "Rember, keep your eyes to yourselves; tonight, whatever happens in the outer castle, must not be spread outside."
Each expressionless Saracen soldier replied: "Yes, master."
He held the city wall, listening to the faint sounds of teeth tearing flesh from a distance, with a trace of disgusted expression on his face: "That damned vampire, appetite growing larger, indeed, the ancestors were right; the cost of using this kind of monster is no different from dealing with demons."
Next early morning.
Facing the dawn, the guard coming to change shifts on the city wall suddenly felt sothing different from usual in the scenery.
He leaned on the wall's edge, peering down.
Everything seed no different, the nomads in the tents wandering aimlessly.
But sohow everything felt off.
He wanted to take a closer look when suddenly he heard a piercing shout.
"Crusader demon! The Crusader demon is coming!"
Soone was shouting in a panic.
User Comments
0 comments from readers