Wearing the “Dustfallen” mask, Allen pulled his captured Noble Longsword out from the corpse of a gang member.
The blade scraped against bone, producing a sound that made one’s teeth ache.
He flicked the blood droplets from the sword, his gaze coldly sweeping across his surroundings.
The battle—or rather, the one-sided massacre—was already over.
A heavy stench of blood and an unnatural silence filled the air.
Dozens of corpses lay strewn across the ground, their blood soaking into the cracks of the stone pavement, casting a dark hue under the sparse moonlight.
This surprise attack had been so clean and efficient, it was almost dull.
At the very start of the fight, the few Thieves’ Guild sentries lurking near the “Forgotten Madonna,” responsible for keeping watch, were silently taken out by former mercenaries from the PMC Lily Guard, who were even more skilled in stealth and assassination.
After that, Allen personally led the main force of the Lily Guard, using the cover of night and the complex terrain to launch a charge against those “lucky” enough to have been assigned to guard the headquarters entrance.
Most of these gang members were burly men with brutish faces, bullies who terrorized the local people on a daily basis—ordinary citizens dared not speak out against them.
They wore crude leather armor and carried a motley assortment of weapons, looking quite intimidating.
However, when faced with the former Empire mercenaries under Werner Kruger—men tempered on true battlefields—they were nothing more than children waving sticks.
At the first encounter, before they could even muster a decent shout, the veterans used ruthless and efficient combat techniques to slaughter them in an instant.
Before these true killing machines, the gangsters were nothing but fish on the chopping block, utterly powerless to resist.
Allen had originally considered using this opportunity to test the Swiss Pike Formation, as trained by the Lily Guard, in real combat.
But after observing for less than ten seconds, he decisively abandoned the idea.
This rabble wasn’t even worthy of having his elite form up—if the formation advanced, the opposition would collapse and flee before they even made contact.
So Allen simply gave the order, “Free attack, make it quick!”
The result was exactly what lay before him.
Hundreds of seemingly fierce gang enforcers collapsed in the face of the Lily Guard’s storm-like assault.
They feared death far more than common people—those who truly dared to fight to the end were usually the hot-blooded youngsters who had just joined and were eager to prove themselves.
Allen had specifically reminded his men, “Try not to hurt the young ones, just knock them out. Their minds haven’t been fully poisoned by gang ideology—they’re highly malleable, and after re-education, could become our new strength.”
Thus, when dealing with these charging youths, the Lily Guard mostly used the flat of their swords, shield bashes, or simply strong punches to put them down.
The shoddy weapons in these cannon-fodder’s hands couldn’t even scratch the Lily Guard’s light armor.
“Young Master Laval, the exterior has been cleared!”
Werner Kruger strode up, his blood-stained two-handed greatsword slung over his shoulder, voice booming.
Tonight he wore a standard Empire greatsword soldier’s garb—the feathered hat cleverly hiding his bald head, the splendid attire making him appear awe-inspiring and imposing.
This former mercenary captain’s combat prowess was truly terrifying.
Allen had seen him face a supposedly fierce sub-leader wielding a broadsword—Werner simply brought his blade down in one powerful, direct chop, cleaving both man and weapon in two!
That visual shock almost instantly shattered the last sliver of resistance among the remaining enemies.
“So boring.” Allen’s tone held a hint of disappointment.
He and Werner were undoubtedly tonight’s MVPs, between the two of them taking most of the kills.
What unnerved Werner most was that Allen hadn’t worn any armor at all tonight, only a casually thrown-on black robe, yet he dared to charge at the front lines. If a stray arrow or an unlucky blow struck him… Werner didn’t even want to imagine the outcome.
Of course, Allen didn’t wear armor mainly to accommodate the peculiar tactics required by his Villain Reincarnation Flow: Power-Up Version Swordsmanship. Since his Future Sight only passively triggered in the face of lethal attacks, he simply made himself a “glass cannon,” so every enemy assault could potentially kill him, thereby frequently activating Future Sight and enabling counterattacks.
This dance on the knife’s edge, a high-risk, high-reward style, could only be pulled off by someone like Allen—someone who’d died a thousand times and grown numb to death itself.
However, tonight, there simply wasn’t an enemy capable of forcing Allen’s Future Sight to activate.
The Dustfallen mask paired with the black robe was so heretical in appearance that it scared many enemies weak in the knees, making them believe a cultist attack was underway.
Combined with Allen’s battle-hardened, almost inhuman skills refined through cycles of reincarnation, he reaped lives like the Grim Reaper himself, quickly sapping all will to fight.
The entire battle, from start to finish, lasted only a few short minutes.
The Lily Guard were entirely unharmed, while the Thieves’ Guild suffered catastrophic losses.
Using the finest professional mercenaries to beat down street thugs was nothing but a dimensional suppression.
But Allen also saw clearly: these former mercenaries, after receiving the Lily Guard’s top-tier pay and benefits, being immersed in modern military doctrine, and undergoing Allen’s strict training with the Infantry Drill Manual, now possessed enough fighting power to crush any contemporary mercenary band—and they’d have nothing to fear even if facing the Kingdom’s regular army.
Pride surged within Allen’s heart.
The weapon of criticism could never replace the criticism of weapons.
Only with a powerful armed force obedient to him could Allen truly carve out his own territory in these troubled times.
In the future, he was destined to clash with the Old Order of the Lorraine Kingdom. This budding army would face even greater and more perilous trials!
“Young Master Laval, the team we placed in ambush along the hidden paths should have started moving upon hearing the signal,” Werner added.
“They’ll be sealing off all escape routes from the Thieves’ Guild headquarters.”
Allen looked up at the cold crescent moon in the night sky.
The moonlight, like flowing water, quietly blanketed the land just stained with blood.
At this moment, beneath this same moon, was there someone tossing and turning, unable to sleep as well?
“Very good. It’s still deep night, most people are sound asleep, and news of the Thieves’ Guild being attacked won’t spread just yet. But…”
Allen instinctively frowned, his suspicious nature stirring a faint unease within.
Things… seemed to be going a little too smoothly?
Something must be wrong…
Hmm, it must be Finn and Hugo’s side that ran into trouble.
So, what kind of difficulty would they encounter?
Cultists!
Those Evil Gods were most likely up to their usual schemes again.
Allen immediately ordered the standard-bearer at his side, who was holding the Ring of Dawn banner:
“Send the signal! Call for Inquisition support!”
Soon, Victor led Anna and the Heretic Inquisition Squad, rushing from a nearby hiding place.
“Allen, comrade, what’s the situation?” Victor’s tone was grave.
“I sense an evil presence,” Allen replied in a low voice.
Anna, standing beside Victor, sniffed the air hard.
Her little face scrunched up as she suddenly said, “The smell… it’s strange. The blood up here is flowing down…”
“Could it be a Blood Ritual?!” Victor’s expression changed instantly. “The heretics have noticed our operation? Damn, our slaughter has only sped up the evil ritual!”
Allen’s guess had been right. He quickly made a decision: “Even if this is a trap set by the Evil God, we have no choice but to jump in now.”
Victor’s face was grave. “Should we request more backup?”
Allen knew all too well the terror of a Blood Ritual.
He nodded. “Request as much support as you can—but they probably won’t arrive in time. Once a Blood Ritual starts, it can’t be stopped midway, or it’ll spawn even more terrifying and uncontrollable monsters!”
“Even if we stop killing, the heretics will just slaughter the Thieves’ Guild people to fulfill the ritual’s requirements. Once it’s done, the sole surviving ritualist will receive the Evil God’s blessing, depending on how well the ritual was performed.”
If all those underground were unwitting sacrifices, judging by the scale of the carnage……
It was very likely that a Pseudo-Mark Knight with power nearing that of a Blood Priest was attempting an ascension ritual.
The original Blood Priest in the Capital was still on the run—if another one emerged… the consequences would be unimaginable!
He must be stopped!
“Bring the battle squad—we’re going down now!” Allen ordered.
“Understood, Allen, comrade.” Victor gestured for the other Inquisition members in the distance to call for backup, then turned to warn Anna sternly, “Anna, remember to give it your all in the fight ahead.”
“Okay! I’ll use all my strength to defeat the bad guys!”
Anna nodded firmly, rare fighting spirit burning in her pure eyes.
Her naturally daft, golden-retriever-like personality gave others the impression of an adorable pup.
But while retrievers were generally gentle and obedient, there was still a streak of hunting fierceness in their genes.
Anna was the same—once an enemy threatened someone she cared about (especially Allen, who always gave her tasty treats), she would show no mercy.
Allen left some Dawn’s Children behind to clean up the battlefield and guard the captives, then, leading the core force, kicked open the door of the “Forgotten Madonna” inn.
However, the scene behind the door was entirely unexpected.
There were no arrows or ambushes as anticipated, no frenzied resistance.
Inside, the lights blazed brightly, a stark contrast to the bloody carnage outside.
The inn’s interior had been cleaned until it was spotless—even more pristine than usual.
It looked nothing like the entrance to a den of evil; on the contrary, it resembled a regular inn about to open for business.
All of the “Forgotten Madonna” staff—from reception, servers, to cooks—stood in neat lines, bowing in unison to Allen.
“Welcome, new master.”
At the head stood the same sharp-eyed bartender Allen had encountered on his first visit here.