Mystery: The Stranger

Chapter 11 Knights

Horse hooves pounded the muddy country lanes, splashing up mud splattered with decaying leaves and dampness. The outline of Rye Village gradually became clear under the leaden sky, and a low growl could be heard from afar, like a wild beast tearing flesh, or some inhuman creature venting its violence.

Snow rode on a black horse, the wind lifting a corner of his cloak to reveal a black lining embroidered with an inverted cross underneath.

He didn't urge his horse forward, but simply reined it in, his gaze sweeping over the village ahead. Twenty guard knights were already arrayed in a wedge formation, their longswords and spears gleaming with a faint silver-gray light—an extraordinary power bestowed upon them by the Mystic through a prayer ritual, enabling even ordinary people to inflict substantial damage on abyssal creatures.

These knights were all seasoned warriors, their armor covered with scratches of varying depths—medals left from past campaigns against bandits and beasts. Now, their eyes were sharp, their breathing steady, and they maintained their formation in perfect unison, awaiting their lord's command.

"Clear the area as planned, leave no survivors." Snow's tone was cold and authoritative. He raised his hand, and the Baron's twisted power quietly spread. The knights felt a surge of heat flowing through their limbs and bones, their hands gripping their weapons became more steady, and their vision became clearer. Even the shadows lurking behind the thatched hut a hundred meters away could not be hidden.

This is Snow's "distortion" of his own side—distorting "fighting spirit" into "excitement," and "combat will" into "decisiveness," pushing the combat power of ordinary knights to the limit.

The knights responded in unison, their voices echoing through the forest. The wedge formation, like a sharp dagger, pierced the outer perimeter of Rye Village.

The first to pounce was a mutant covered in sticky black fur, with the limbs of a wolf and the head of a raven. Its beak dripped with dark green venom, and its stench could be smelled from a great distance.

The leading knight showed no fear. As he dodged the attack, his spear pierced the aberration's eye socket with pinpoint accuracy. A silver-gray aura erupted instantly, and the aberration let out a shrill scream. Its body rapidly dissolved in the light, turning into a pool of black viscous liquid that emitted a pungent sulfurous smell.

More monsters poured out from the depths of the village. Some were deformed humans with multiple arms, some were canine beasts with snake tails, and some were just writhing lumps of flesh covered with eyes that shimmered red.

These are all low-level demons and aberrations summoned by Xalatas from the abyss. They are not particularly powerful, but they are numerous and fearless.

Since Snow had basically wiped out the previous Lost Ones, and the map doesn't automatically spawn monsters, in order to build up the Lord's reputation through this campaign, they had to send Xalatas ahead to pull some cannon fodder out of the abyss to fill the gaps.

Fortunately, this common tactic was actually quite familiar to both Snow and Saratas.

It was the same in the Alliance before. If the Alliance didn't have to face the threat of dark forces, then the survival environment of shadow priests would be very bad, like rats crossing the street. Only when they encountered a difficult problem would you be regarded as an expert.

Schemers always need to appear as aiders to protect themselves and disguise themselves.

Snow sat on his horse, watching the increasingly tense battlefield. His fingers tapped lightly on the saddle, and his distortion ability was activated again—the monsters at the forefront suddenly staggered, as if they had sunk into an invisible quagmire, and their movements became extremely slow.

The attacks, originally aimed at the knight's vitals, inexplicably veered off course, either striking the gaps in the armor or missing completely, leaving only a shallow white mark.

His gaze pierced through the layers of fighting figures and landed on the altar in the center of the village. That place, which should have been dedicated to the fallen God, now housed a scarlet figure.

Xalatas wore a backless black dress, the hem trailing on the stained stone slabs. She rested her elbows on the edge of the altar, her chin on her hand, a playful smile on her lips. Occasionally, she would flick her fingertips, and suddenly a monster would go berserk, charging recklessly at the knight's spear.

She manipulated these abyssal creations like playing chess pieces, deliberately sending them to their deaths in batches. This gave the knights a real sense of "cleansing" while maximizing the depletion of these mortal warriors' physical and mental strength.

It's clear that even in small settings, she still has a lot of fun, but she never tires of manipulating and playing with people's hearts.

Seemingly sensing Snow's gaze, Saratas turned to look at Snow, her scarlet tongue licking her lips in a seductive smile, for she symbolized Snow's malice. When Snow's emotions darkened, Saratas seemed to feel... his heart pounding.

The knights, of course, couldn't see Xalatas. In their eyes, these monsters were merely mindless beings mutated by the corruption of the abyss. Even with superior equipment and enhanced abilities, the battle was still brutal. One knight was accidentally splashed on the neck by the venom of a serpent-tailed hound. His skin instantly swelled and blistered. He groaned, swung his hand back, and decapitated the serpent-tailed hound, but could no longer hold on. He collapsed to his knees, his body turning black and shriveling at a visible speed, eventually becoming a twisted corpse.

To cover his companion, another knight was surrounded by three multi-armed deformed men. He swung his longswords so tightly that they were impenetrable, but one of the extra arms still managed to grab a gap in his armor and tear off a piece of flesh. Blood gushed out, staining the ground beneath his feet red.

Snow watched all this expressionlessly, his eyes devoid of any emotion. The phantom of Xalatas appeared on his shoulder, its fingertips tracing his cheek, its voice sweet as silk: "Your knights are brave, but alas, they are ultimately mortal."

"Even ordinary people can kill extraordinary ones."

"If they were in Azeroth, with the right guidance, they might all be able to awaken the Holy Light."

Snow responded calmly, his gaze still fixed on the battlefield.

He didn't care about the knights' deaths, but he acknowledged their bravery.

The battle raged for nearly an hour. When the last mutant was beheaded by a longsword, Rye Village finally fell silent, leaving only the nauseating stench of blood and sulfur. The knights, leaning on their weapons, panted heavily, their armor stained with black slime and dark red blood. Many bore wounds, their faces etched with exhaustion, yet they remained standing, their gazes fixed on Snow with reverence.

"Form ranks and rest where you are." Snow urged his horse forward, his voice transmitted to each knight through his distortion ability, carrying a calming power. "The wounded should bandage themselves, and the bodies of the fallen should be carried to the altar in the center of the village."