Arknights: The Scarlet Devil of Terra — Chapter 93

Chapter 93: Encountering a Big Shot on the Road

“Do not be afraid. The invading enemies have all been eliminated by our hands, so the caravan is no longer in immediate danger. Please calm your people and instruct them to rest. We cannot let this night terror delay tomorrow’s departure.”

Ch’en’s words carried the heavy, stabilizing authority of the L.G.D. The person in charge of the merchant caravan recognized the senior officer’s tone, and hearing her absolute certainty finally allowed the man to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.

“It is entirely thanks to your vigilance, Officer Ch’en. If not for you and your elite operators, with that many Ursus bandits prowling the dark, our entire caravan would have been doomed before midnight.”

“It is fine. Since the threat is neutralized, we will return to our quarters to rest.”

After speaking, Ch’en turned and walked away into the shadows, the silent Shadow Guards melting into the darkness behind her. Only after the imposing Lungmen elites had completely vanished from sight did the caravan leader finally look down at the scattered corpses littering the dirt. A violent shudder wracked his frame before he turned and barked at his nearby subordinates.

“What are you all staring at? Haul these bodies into the ditch. We can hardly drive over a carpet of human remains when we set out at dawn!”

Hearing his sharp command, the guards who had rushed over quickly got to work, dragging the heavy, armored corpses by their boots and tossing them into the tall grass on both sides of the dirt road. Exhausted, covered in grime and sweat, they finally trudged back toward the wagons.

“Boss, if there were enemies swarming the front, why was there absolutely no noise at the back?” someone suddenly asked, breaking the tense silence of their walk back.

Upon hearing this simple question, the caravan leader’s face instantly drained of all color. He hurriedly led a group of his best men to the rear of the convoy, but the night air was dead silent. The scouts stationed at the back reported that they had not noticed a single shadow moving in the brush.

The person in charge stood completely bewildered. Logically speaking, to ambush a merchant caravan as massive as theirs, any competent enemy commander would surely choose to pincer them from the front and back simultaneously. Otherwise, by the time the vanguard charged in, at least half the transport vehicles could simply reverse and escape into the night. But why were there only bodies piled at the front?

Should he send a scouting party into the dark to check the rear path?

The thought had barely formed in his mind when he looked up. A thick, unnatural fog had silently rolled in behind them at some unknown point, swallowing the road they had just traveled in an opaque wall of white. He swallowed hard and shook his head.

After strictly ordering the rear scouts to stay on high alert, the person in charge returned to his private carriage and lay down, his entire body trembling with residual fear. It was not until the next morning, when the sky finally began to brighten without a single arrow or spell breaking the silence, that he finally breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

He had lain down, but he had not slept a single wink. No one knew if another hidden company of Ursus soldiers was waiting in the fog to strike them from behind. He had spent the entire night in a state of suffocating tension, where the slightest rustle of wind through the leaves made him jolt upright, hand gripping his weapon. Through these repeated, panicked awakenings, he had barely managed to hold onto his sanity until dawn.

After forcing down a few dry bites of rations, the convoy engines roared to life and continued forward. Before they had gone far, the morning light revealed the sheer number of corpses tossed by the roadside. Only then did the rest of the caravan members truly realize that last night had been a brush with total annihilation. Enemies had crept right up to their throats, only to be silently slaughtered by someone unknown.

While a deep sense of fortune washed over the merchants, their boots pressed down just a bit harder on the accelerators.

However, misfortune clearly had not entirely spared this foolish convoy that dared to risk crossing an active warzone before the conflict had fully cooled. Before long, the heavy lead vehicle slammed on its brakes, coming to a grinding halt.

The reason was terrifyingly simple. The lead vehicle was equipped with a military-grade scanner designed to detect Originium explosives. Right now, that device was emitting a sharp, piercing warning siren, alerting the entire vanguard that a dense minefield lay buried directly across the road ahead.

Faced with this lethal blockade, the caravan leadership fell into a desperate dilemma. There were currently two paths before them. The first was to turn the massive convoy around and return the way they came. The second was to abandon the main road and take a wide detour. As for the option of forcing their way straight through, it simply did not exist. Having Originium bomb detection equipment was already a luxury; one could not expect a civilian merchant caravan to be equipped with heavy minesweepers capable of safely disarming a military blockade.

Both available options carried catastrophic risks. If they chose to return, no one could guarantee that the road that was safe yesterday would still be safe today, especially after such a massive, noisy convoy had already carved a path through the mud. Their entire risky passage was based on the gamble that neither of the warring armies would expect a civilian caravan to dare such a suicidal move. Going back now meant running straight into the jaws of both sides, who would now be fully alert and prepared. The danger level of retreating was practically a death sentence.

As for taking a detour, the maps indicated there were secondary roads leading toward Lungmen to both the north and the south. But in reality, the only physical route the heavy transport vehicles could take was to the south.

To the north lay a treacherous beast path winding through a dense forest. Leaving aside the logistical nightmare of forcing armored trucks through tight trees, the two armies were currently fighting a fierce, bloody engagement right in the heart of those woods. Even from their current position on the road, one could see thick pillars of black smoke and the bright flashes of Originium arts explosions rising above the tree line. Venturing north would mean driving their civilian trucks directly into the crossfire of a raging battlefield. They did not possess the diplomatic immunity or the armor to pass through a warzone under a neutral flag without being blown to pieces.

So they could only turn south. And to the south lay Kazdel territory.

Even in times of absolute peace, venturing through land controlled by the Sarkaz was an extremely dangerous endeavor for outsiders. To do so during a time of total war was bordering on madness.

None of the paths before them offered anything but the promise of death. After the caravan leader, Ch’en, and several other heads of the convoy debated the maps for over ten minutes, they unanimously decided to turn south and skirt the edges of Kazdel. Although many drivers had deep misgivings, the old merchant saying held true: once the bosses made a decision, the workers just had to grip the wheel and pray. This entire trip had been a life-or-death gamble from the moment they started their engines. Retreat was never truly in their plans.

The massive convoy turned off the main road and drove south, every guard and driver tensely scanning the desolate surroundings. An hour passed without meeting a single Sarkaz patrol. Two hours passed, and still, there was no sign of the enemy.

At this point, the suffocating tension gripping everyone’s hearts began to slowly settle. If their luck held out just a little longer, they should be able to loop back onto a safe main road by evening.

But just as hope began to take root, the lead vehicle suddenly slammed its brakes to a violent halt. Fortunately, the drivers behind had kept their focus razor-sharp, preventing a catastrophic multi-car pileup.

“What is going on?”

Ch’en and the Shadow Guards instantly leaped out of their transport, weapons drawn, and rushed to the very front of the convoy in a few long strides.

There, standing completely still in the middle of the desolate dirt road, was an old man leaning heavily on a long staff. Long, tattered strips of burial cloth fluttered wildly all over his body in the dry wind. Flanking him stood dozens of towering figures gripping massive greatswords, their bodies entirely wrapped in the same decaying cloth from head to toe.

Just looking at these silent figures made a wave of primal trepidation crash over Ch’en. The sheer, suffocating pressure radiating from the old man made it feel as though they had just parked their trucks in front of an irresistible force of nature.

At that exact moment, Flandre Scarlet appeared by Ch’en’s side, her small shoes touching down lightly on the dirt. Seeing the imposing figure blocking the road, the little vampire could not help but speak up.

“Yare yare, Flandre thinks we have really run into an SSR.”

Hearing Flandre’s casual tone, Ch’en took a deep, steadying breath to suppress the cold fear gripping her lungs. “You know him?”

“Sister Ch’en, how much do you know about the Sarkaz Ten Royal Courts?” Flandre asked, her crimson eyes locked onto the old man who had yet to make a single hostile move.

“I know a bit.” Although she did not understand why Flandre was choosing this exact moment to test her geopolitical knowledge, a forcibly calmed Ch’en answered the question. Of course, her forced calm would shatter the moment she heard the true identity of the entity standing before them.

“Then do you know who among the Ten Royal Courts are still actively walking the earth?” Flandre continued to ask, her voice light and airy.

Ch’en was no fool. She stared at the towering, cloth-wrapped figure leaning on the staff, piecing together the visual evidence. A sudden, horrifying thought struck her, and cold sweat began to bead rapidly on her forehead.

“No way… could it be that person!” Looking at the ancient man in the distance, Ch’en swallowed hard, her throat entirely dry. If it really was the living legend she was thinking of, she did not know a single soul in this entire convoy besides Flandre who had even a fraction of a chance of surviving the next five minutes.

“That is right. Standing before us is the Lord of the Nachzehrer Court, one of the Sarkaz Ten Royal Courts, one of the Six Heroes of the Sarkaz, the god of war… the King of Nachzehrers, Nezzsalem.”

As soon as Flandre’s cheerful voice finished the grand introduction, a heavy thud echoed from beside her. Looking back, she saw the leader of the caravan sprawled in the dirt. He had fainted dead away from sheer, overwhelming terror the moment the title reached his ears.

It could not be helped. In the eyes of ordinary Terran citizens, merely crossing paths with a Sarkaz who possessed a formal title was enough to guarantee the brutal end of their entire bloodline. Let alone standing face-to-face with this apex powerhouse, a monster who had lived for untold centuries and had personally waged war against the allied armies of entire nations.

Never mind the fragile merchants; even the elite Shadow Guards felt a crushing sense of powerlessness wash over them after hearing Flandre announce the old man’s identity. With their formidable arts and stealth, they could perhaps hold their ground against the greatsword-wielding royal guards flanking the King. But to challenge Nezzsalem himself, a man who had shaped centuries of history, waded through oceans of blood, and earned the undisputed title of a god of war? They could only hope to throw their lives away to buy Ch’en a few precious seconds to run.

At that moment, perhaps having heard Flandre’s loud introduction, the ancient man slowly raised his head. His gaze pierced through the crowd and locked onto Flandre, recognizing her identity in an instant.

After all, Flandre’s recent chaotic contributions were the primary catalyst for why the Ursus Empire and Kazdel had begun tearing each other apart. Detailed intelligence regarding her terrifying capabilities had naturally ended up on the Regent Theresis’s desk. Nezzsalem had heard the reports that she had appeared in Lungmen, and Theresis had even authorized Duq’arael to hunt her down. However, the little anomaly had suddenly vanished from all surveillance during this period. After losing her trail, the Sanguinarch had naturally suspended his grand plans to march into Lungmen.

Nezzsalem had not expected to simply run into her on a dusty backroad.

As for the heavily armed guards and trembling merchants surrounding her, the Nachzehrer King did not care in the slightest. They were less than dust to him. He kept his ancient eyes fixed solely on Flandre.

“Little one of the Blood Fiends, come back to Kazdel with me.”

“Flandre is not going!” Flandre refused immediately, not even taking a second to think about it.

“Why?” Nezzsalem’s voice was a low, rumbling tremor. He was not angry, merely staring at the small girl, genuinely seeking an answer.

“Does Kazdel have luxury villas hundreds of square meters large? Does it have massive supermarkets? Does it have towering shopping malls? Does it have bright amusement parks? Does it have endless libraries of books to read? Flandre has all of these wonderful things in Lungmen. So if Kazdel cannot provide these things, why should Flandre go with you?”

Flandre spoke with such absolute, righteous conviction that for a brief, surreal moment, the ancient god of war almost felt the child had a valid strategic point.

“Presumptuous!” One of Nezzsalem’s towering royal guards could not tolerate the disrespect. He roared, raising his massive greatsword toward Flandre upon hearing her flippant words.

“What, it is the truth, and you will not even let people say it! Besides, Kazdel is so poor, there is no good food and absolutely no grand banquets. Flandre is still a minor! If Flandre goes to your ruined wasteland and the daily nutrition cannot keep up, what if Flandre stops growing taller!”

Flandre crossed her arms, speaking with absolute certainty as if she were debating a matter of universal law. Beside her, the expressions of Ch’en and the Shadow Guards underwent a bizarre transformation, shifting from their initial paralyzing fear and solemnity to biting their lips, barely able to hold back their inappropriate laughter at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Nezzsalem stood in deep silence for a good long while after listening to the little girl’s demands. Finally, the ancient King slowly raised his hand, waving his staff to signal his royal guards to lower their weapons and clear the road.

“I can feel the genuine affection for Lungmen in your words. I am glad, child, that you have found a place where you belong.”