Chapter 95

Chapter 95

***

"Vicious bastards."

Rickart remarked, standing with his back to the encampment, which was still in turmoil from the night raid. He was looking down at something—the remains of the man whose body had exploded.

"It seems the Cult has a Necromancer. Just like during the five-man Ehrenberg job."

Although they hadn't fought one directly, Rickart and Bori-bori had witnessed the gruesome traces and atrocities left behind by a Necromancer.

This was why magic casters left such a foul taste in one's mouth. There was a valid reason people despised them, and Rickart and Bori-bori were no exceptions.

"It's not a Necromancer. It's a Curse Warlock."

It was Daisy's voice. When Rickart and Bori-bori turned around, they saw her standing alongside Ice. She was wearing ordinary, shabby clothes instead of her white mourning dress, her long blonde hair cascading down.

"You can't go, Ricky."

Daisy said. Rickart stared intently at her.

"Then where am I supposed to go?"

"Let's run far away together."

"Where is far away?"

"Just far away."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not running away. You don't have to follow me either."

'Even though you ran away yesterday,' Bori-bori thought to himself, but he decided not to point it out at the moment.

"Ehrenberg, assemble!"

"They're telling us to assemble!"

"Assemble! Assemble!"

Shouts calling for assembly echoed from the encampment. Without another word, Rickart and Bori-bori brushed past Daisy and headed toward the gathering point.

When everyone had gathered in front of Bolka's tent, Bolka emerged, stepped onto a wooden crate, and began to speak. Rickart listened to his friend and superior while holding Marie by the waist.

"As you all know, some fucked-up shit happened yesterday. But the Commander says he's satisfied with our response. And what else did he say? Ah, right. Did you see those motherfuckers playing crude tricks with a magic caster? Hey, fuck, I honestly know you guys couldn't care less about the Cult or the Emperor. Honestly, same here. But isn't this crossing a line? These guys are pure cultists, devil worshippers. Is it right to let bastards like them live?"

It was a very Bolka-esque speech. It felt like he was just talking to a friend. Consequently, chuckles could be heard here and there, including from Rickart.

"Hey, stop laughing. I'm being serious. Anyway, our goal is simple. Kill every single bastard inside that temple or whatever it is. Don't show mercy, whether they're kids or women. We don't need any prisoners. But he did say not to carelessly touch the items inside. Don't go setting fires either. The rewards are already known—you'll get money or land, so he said to listen closely while he's asking nicely. Uh, and..."

Bolka squinted at the piece of paper in his hand. He wasn't illiterate, but his handwriting was so atrocious he seemed to be struggling to read his own notes.

Eventually, the adventurer acting as Bolka's adjutant whispered from the side.

"The sword. The Holy Sword."

"Ah, right. Our operation is to push straight through from the east into the center of the temple; they say there's a Holy Sword in the center. Guess it’s super important to those cultists. So, we either smash it to pieces or steal it. We'll seize the convent area first, but kill anyone you see. They aren't real nuns anyway. Got it? Anyone not innerstand?"

One of the adventurers sitting down raised his hand. Bolka pointed at him with his chin.

"You mentioned dividing into squads, what happened to that?"

"Scrapped that idea. They decided it's better for the clans who usually work together to stick together. However, the entire force is divided into four main divisions pushing in from four directions. We're in charge of the east."

It seemed they were keeping things as simple as possible. It felt like the right call, and Rickart had no objections either.

"We aren't joining up with another guild or anything?"

"Doesn't apply to us. That would just be uncomfortable. And."

This time, Bolka jutted his chin toward Rickart and Marie. Everyone immediately understood and nodded in agreement.

With a Sword Master, Rickart, Bori-bori, and Ice on their side, providing them with additional troops could actually be a waste of resources.

And just as Bolka said, it was better to go into an operation with people who were already familiar with each other.

If you awkwardly grouped up with strangers, teamwork could falter, and if conflicts arose while teamwork was compromised, even simple tasks would fail.

"Lastly, when it comes to combat, listen to Ricky. Unconditionally. Got it?"

Everyone nodded without a hint of dissatisfaction, showing they understood perfectly. That wasn't simply because Rickart was famous; it was because they had experienced it firsthand.

They knew from experience that Rickart's judgment, execution, and problem-solving abilities were always the correct answers.

"That's unnecessary pressure."

Rickart muttered quietly. He was accustomed to solo missions or small-scale operations with a few friends; being responsible for the lives of so many people was a first even for him.

"I'll protect you."

Marie whispered.

"Ricky, you wanna say a few words?"

Bolka asked. Rickart smiled and shook his head.

"Alright. Then the operation begins in three days. You might think it's a bit early, but the ones who arrived first have already been eating and playing here for over ten days. Plus, we need to ride the momentum from successfully repelling that night raid. Everyone, prep your personal gear, and cut back on the booze. Dismissed."

Bolka waved his hand dismissively, and the adventurers scattered in small groups. Having participated in various assignments and being quite seasoned in combat, none of them looked overly tense.

Still, a total annihilation operation. He could understand the reasoning, but it left Rickart feeling somewhat uneasy.

A sudden question crossed his mind: How did things end up this way? Gods, or demons. He was getting slightly fed up with people who only saw what they wanted to see.

Whether it was the Judgment Cult or the Imperial Family, to them, Rickart from his past life might have merely been an excuse. An excuse to justify whatever they were doing.

Rickart pulled Marie closer and hugged her. It seemed to offer a small measure of comfort.

Once the operation was finalized, the heavy drinking and partying died down significantly. The adventurers steadied their minds and meticulously maintained their weapons.

Some adventurers, having grown fond of their companions for the night, even confessed to prostitutes, promising to marry them if they met again.

Time flew by, and three days later, Rickart and the adventurers set out at dawn. They naturally had no siege equipment; ladders were the extent of it.

However, Daisy had tagged along as well. As they drew closer to the temple, she and Ice became noticeably anxious.

After walking for five or six hours without a break, a flatland fortress situated in the middle of a sprawling plain came into view. A few figures could be seen standing atop the walls, but upon spotting the approaching adventurers, they quickly hid.

What kind of defensive force could a cult possibly have? The fortress was quite imposing, but there were genuinely no soldiers guarding the ramparts.

Rickart followed Bolka toward the eastern wall. The side door Daisy had escaped through was already closed and tightly blocked with a pile of rocks.

It didn't matter, though. Even when they set up their ladders and climbed, there were no enemy soldiers to stop them.

There were few clouds, and the sunlight was bright. The cool breeze inexplicably felt desolate. Upon actually arriving at the Cult's temple, a strange sense of incongruity washed over them.

As everyone hesitated to be the first to move, Rickart strapped a heater shield to his left arm and climbed the ladder first. Reaching the top of the wall and peering inside, he saw residential buildings and various auxiliary facilities.

Rickart motioned for the vanguard, including Bolka, Marie, and Bori-bori, to come up. Then, he issued his orders.

"Open the gate, and carefully check over there and over there to see if there's anyone inside. Well, they told us to kill anyone we see, so if there is, kill them, and let's secure this area first. After that, we push toward the center, but if things go south, we fall back here. This is our rally point."

"Got it."

They were perfectly in sync now, so Bolka nodded immediately. He descended the stairs to the inner side of the wall, cut the ropes, and threw open the gates. The forty adventurers flooded inside.

Bolka divided them into squads by clan and ordered them to search the buildings. Rickart kept a sharp eye on their surroundings, constantly scanning for potential ambushes.

Daisy was fraught with worry that her sister-like nuns might be harmed. Fortunately or unfortunately, they weren't here. It was completely empty.

"Why is there no one here? It doesn't look like they fled."

"Maybe they're preparing for a final last stand deeper inside."

"Daisy, do you know the layout here?"

Rickart asked.

"I don't know. The nuns almost never leave this area. I was the only one who occasionally wandered outside."

"What about Ice?"

"This is my first time in the convent area too, so I don't know. The Paladin training grounds are near the south gate."

The large, rectangular flatland fortress appeared to be divided into compartments. High walls blocked their path, meaning they had to pass through another gate-like structure to reach the center.

Regardless, it was far too quiet. Had they given up, or were they preparing for a final stand just as Marie had suggested?

Rickart took his time to thoroughly inspect the surroundings. He even climbed back up the outer wall to check if enemies were hiding outside, and to see if there was any way to contact the other infiltration teams.

However, owing to the bizarre design of the fortress, unless one walked along the entire perimeter of the wall to their side, it was impossible to see them from afar.

"Leave about ten people here and let's breach the door. Make absolutely sure to keep an eye on the outside from the walls."

"Got it, Ricky."

At Rickart's instruction, the adventurers brought over a heavy, log-like battering ram. Four men lined up on each side and pounded the door. However, it seemed it hadn't even been locked, as it simply swung wide open.

A pitch-black indoor corridor stretched out before them.

It was broad daylight outside, yet the corridor was suffocatingly dark. Sunlight illuminated the entrance, but deeper inside, it was as black as a demon's throat. It was incredibly ominous.

"Bring the sandbags."

Rickart ordered. When the adventurers handed over the prepared sandbags, Rickart began tossing the heavy sacks down the corridor. He was checking for traps.

Sure enough, upon tossing the third or fourth sandbag, sharp spear blades violently shot up from the floor with a loud SHING!

"Vicious bastards..."

Bori-bori muttered. Having never seen such an elaborate trap before, he found it chilling. Mainly because of the insidious malice inherent in the concept of a trap.

Confirming the presence of traps, adventurers wielding two-handed war hammers stepped up. They slowly advanced, meticulously smashing the floor and walls as they went.

The walls were adorned with intricately carved gargoyles and monsters, almost bordering on works of art. It was fascinating that people claiming to worship God would construct something like this.

Since they were essentially tapping every single stone before crossing, their progress was naturally slow. But for the sake of safety, it had to be done.

As if each adventurer had a specific role, they rotated in and out as the hammer wielders smashed their way forward, while others mounted torches on the walls.

Then, about halfway down the corridor, they discovered a door leading into a room.

Rickart ordered the adventurers to step back, pressed himself against the wall, and quietly listened.

He was checking for any signs of movement inside. The reason he didn't stand directly in front of the door was the risk of someone suddenly thrusting a spear through it from the other side.

Once his sharp senses confirmed the presence of enemies, Rickart mercilessly kicked the door. With a loud CRACK!, the hinges shattered in a single blow, and the door flew open.

"Gasp!"

But when the interior was revealed, he involuntarily gasped for air. Wondering what it was, Bori-bori, Bolka, Ice, Marie, and the other adventurers peeked inside. And just like Rickart, they were utterly horrified.

"Gasp!"

"Fuck!"

It was impossible not to swear. Because the room was a human experimentation laboratory.

Gruesome sights, things they hadn't even witnessed in their worst nightmares, unfolded before their eyes. Even without any physical attack, it was difficult to maintain one's sanity.

Bizarre schematics were painted on the walls in blood, body parts that hadn't yet been discarded were piled in a heap in the corner, and horrifying torture devices, crusted with dried blood and hair, lay strewn across a desk.

Maggots swarmed everywhere, and the stench—a nauseating mixture of chemicals, filth, and rotting corpses—was absolutely indescribable.

Due to the nature of their profession, adventurers frequently encountered gruesome scenes, making them somewhat desensitized to gore. However, this was different.

Unless they were completely unhinged lunatics, even rough adventurers and mercenaries had lines they didn't cross. For instance, even if they enjoyed plundering, they generally didn't mess with monasteries, nor did they murder babies or pregnant women.

But this went far, far beyond any acceptable limit. If they were committing acts like this, how exactly was one supposed to differentiate between humans and demons?

"They are holy martyrs."

Suddenly, someone spoke from further down the pitch-black corridor. Everyone's head snapped in that direction. A person wearing a tall, pointed hood with only eye holes cut out was staring at them.

"I know a bunch of dogshit when I hear it."

Rickart growled, grinding his teeth in fury. His eyes burned with an intensity that looked like it could shoot lasers capable of piercing the opponent.

"Whether you understand or not, His resurrection is imminent."

With that, he turned and attempted to vanish into the darkness.

"Kill that son of a bitch!"

Bolka roared.

The first to react were the crossbowmen. They fired a volley from their pre-loaded crossbows.

THWIP! THWIP-THWIP! THWIP!

A couple of bolts embedded themselves in his back, but astonishingly, he calmly continued walking. As the adventurers prepared to rush forward and catch him, Rickart stopped them.

"Don't go!"

The adventurers looked back at him, puzzled.

"The traps haven't all been cleared yet. He might be luring us."

Even in his fury, he remained incredibly cool-headed.

Unable to suppress his rage, Bolka issued an order to his men.

"Hey, bring the torches. Burn it all down."

"The Commander said no setting fires."

"Fuck that, I'll take responsibility, so just burn it all down."

Truthfully, the adventurers had wanted to do the same, so they poured oil into the human experimentation lab without hesitation and set it ablaze.

What in the world were they experimenting on? That wicked curiosity fleetingly crossed everyone's minds.

But soon, as if to purify such thoughts, the flames roared fiercely. With no place to escape, thick smoke billowed out into the corridor.

At that moment, Cultists armed with bows and crossbows emerged from the darkness of the corridor. With practiced movements, they swiftly took up positions and unleashed a volley of fire.

Startled, Rickart plastered himself against the wall to reduce his profile and raised his shield.

"Everyone against the walls!"

But those who failed to dodge in time were struck by arrows. Fortunately, there weren't many casualties, but the sheer darkness and the sudden psychological shock induced a wave of genuine fear.

"Aaagh!"

"Fuck! I'm hit!"

"Shields! Shiiiields!"

"Bring potions!"

The chaotic scene devolved into pandemonium in an instant. However, while prioritizing their safety as much as possible, the adventurers stood their ground and didn't flee.

Yet, coupled with the horrifying sights they'd just witnessed and their current predicament, an insidious fear began to creep in.

Suddenly, an urgent shout rang out from the direction Rickart and the adventurers had originally come from.

"Captain! Captaaaain!"

Bolka's eyes widened with a sense of dread. Rickart's did too.

"What is it!"

"There are enemies outside! It's a Sword Master!"

Rickart instinctively sprinted back, with Marie and Bori-bori following closely behind.

However, the enemy Paladins killed the adventurer who had shouted the warning, and, perhaps having never intended to fight in the first place, slammed the door shut with a resounding BANG! Then, a massive stone slab crashed down, sealing the exit completely.

With the sunlight entirely shut out, an oppressive darkness descended, feeling as heavy as a physical weight. Although the torches provided some light, it remained murky and dim beyond their immediate vicinity.

At this exact moment, everyone shared the exact same thought. We're fucked.

But not Rickart. Just as genuine despair threatened to crush everyone's fighting spirit, Rickart resolutely drew his sword and roared.

"If the back is blocked, we punch through the front! Perfect! Let's fight to the bitter end!"

With that, ignoring traps or anything else, he charged alone straight toward the enemies. The Cultists were in the middle of knocking their next arrows.

"Let's fight to the bitter end!"

Bori-bori and Marie screamed as they followed him. The adventurers, who had just been on the verge of succumbing to fear, responded to the bravery of those leading the charge and practically lost their minds in a craze.

"Let's fight to the bitter endddddd!"

As roughly thirty grown men roared at the top of their lungs, even the darkness seemed to startle and retreat. For that brief moment, no one felt any fear. They surged forward en masse, following right behind Rickart.

Startled by the sudden, ferocious roar, the enemies trying to load their next volley fumbled. Arrows were loosed, but unlike the first disciplined volley, they failed to create a proper barrage, their lethality severely diminished.

Leading the charge, Rickart held his shield out front and literally launched himself, bodily slamming into the enemy ranks.

With a loud THUD, it looked as though he would tumble to the ground alongside the enemies, but he instantly sprang up and swung his sword. It looked like wild flailing, but every single strike possessed methodical precision. Enemies dropped like flies.

He kicked, headbutted, and brought his sword down with full force, slicing cleanly from shoulders to hearts, rending flesh and ribs alike. By the time he forcefully kicked an enemy away to dislodge his blade, his allies arrived and swept the remaining enemies away in a deluge.

Usually, in chaotic melee brawls, fighters struggled to utilize their proper skills, but Rickart was the exact opposite.

Once a chaotic melee ensued, he went absolutely berserk, like a fish in water. Reborn from fighting in the literal muddy trenches of the Eastern Frontier in his past life, this environment was as comfortable as a soft bed to him.

In a flash, the adventurers butchered the enemies. In the blink of an eye, the corridor was transformed into a sea of blood.

By this point, it was hard to tell who the real demons were. Rickart knew the answer very well. He knew exactly how to become a demon in hell.

His lungs throbbed painfully, but it was nothing. In his past life, he had fought while cauterizing his own wounds with red-hot blades, and he had seen fallen comrades with severed limbs burn with fighting spirit until their very last breath.

So he didn’t complain about a minor difficulty breathing. What was a little death, anyway?

Rickart unstrapped the shield bristling with arrows and tossed it to the floor. The reverberating clatter echoed through the corridor, drawing the gazes of his blood-drenched friends and fellow adventurers.

In their eyes, Rickart right now was different from his usual self. He was not the relaxed swordsman casually displaying immense genius. He was much closer to a savage, barbaric warrior. Yet, this was far closer to his true nature.

His eyes looked as if they were literally on fire, and it seemed as though he might unleash a beast-like roar at any second.

Having gazed into the horrific abyss of humanity and faced mortal peril, perhaps the suppressed darkness slumbering deep within Rickart had simply and naturally floated to the surface.

Rickart pulled his cloak up to wipe the blood from his blade and spoke.

"Let's go."

With that, he walked straight into the pitch-black darkness, the throat of the demon. His friends and the adventurers followed closely behind.

Just as Rickart had said, if their backs were blocked, they simply had to punch through the front.