By midday, a gigantic, luxurious tent, as large as a small villa, had been set up.
The design of the tent was modeled after the dwellings of a nomadic tribe from a distant overseas continent. It was spherical from top to base, with the sides securely fastened to the ground with wooden stakes, sealing the interior like a house. Small windows were open on the top and sides for light and ventilation. This tent had been specially prepared by the Prime minister for the King, who loved novelty. People really felt comfortable inside it, separated from the wind and rain outside, but still could enjoy the feeling of being outdoors. The royal chef prepared the game outside the tent, turning it into delicious dishes and serving it to the king, the guests from various countries, and the nobles, allowing them to taste the food they had hunted themselves.
Griffinhart XVII sat at the highest and most central seat, smiling warmly at the dignitaries and ministers from various nations. He was thoroughly enjoying his escape from the burdens of statecraft and court life, particularly as Roland, the stern military minister, was absent today. But there was another reason for his high spirits: the person sitting beside him.
The person seated next to His Majesty the King was not a minister or a foreign dignitary but the young Duchess Christine.
While the King was in high spirits, the Prime minister's expression was far less cheerful. According to the original plan, that seat was for his niece Anastasia. It was a sensitive position. The King might only saw it as a romantic indulgence, but others saw it as huge significance.
However, the Prime minister wasn't overly concerned. He knew that with careful planning and by ensuring the King spent more time with the "right" people, things could be steered in the desired direction. Young people's passions often burn intensely but fade quickly. The Prime minister, though a shrewd politician, was particularly skilled at the art of service. He knew how to create the right conditions for shaping his master's mood and desires.
"This meat is quite coarse, but the taste is so different. When I bite into it, I recall the moment I brought down the deer. This is the flavor of hard-earned reward," a young nobleman remarked, suddenly struck by a life epiphany as he chewed his food. "It makes me realize how fulfilling the life of a farmer must be. They get to enjoy the fruits of their own labor every day—how enviable!"
Christine, sitting next to the King, said, "But I heard that during the famine a few years ago, many farmers starved to death."
"Starved? Why would they starve?" asked the young, naive King, puzzled. "Didn't they have bread to eat?"
Christine shook her head. "I heard they didn't even have porridge, let alone bread. Some even turned to banditry because they couldn't pay their taxes. They were later deceived by local officials, captured, and executed. It's really tragic."
A nobleman with an air of learnedness shook his head. "Taxes are the duty of every citizen. To turn to banditry and disturb the peace—they deserved to be caught and executed. Those who starved were simply too foolish, and so they deserved their fate. If they had no bread or porridge, they could have eaten meat or drunk milk instead."
This not-quite-a-joke sparked a round of laughter, though some of the younger nobles looked around, unsure of what was so amusing. Griffinhart XVII was among the latter, until Christine whispered something in his ear, prompting the ruler of the empire to awkwardly smile.
Outside the tent, several soldiers stood guard. Hearing the laughter and smelling the aromas from within, they couldn't help but feel a bit restless. One sighed to his companion, "It's hard to imagine that our work as soldiers is to protect a society where fools like that live safer and better than us."
Suddenly, a figure appeared at the edge of the forest, stumbling toward them. As the figure drew closer, they could see it was a young man dressed in ordinary clothes. One of the guards quickly shouted, "Hey, don't you know the King is hunting here? Go away!"
But the man seemed not to hear, continuing to stagger forward. The midday sun was harsh, and his exposed pale skin began to emit faint sizzling sounds and wisps of smoke, like a fried egg on a hot pan. His face twisted in pain as if he were truly being burned by the sun. He rushed into the tent's shadow, seemed on the verge of collapse.
He was a handsome, delicate young man with pale, almost translucent skin, as smooth as a peeled egg. But now, his once perfect skin seemed slightly burned by the sun, and his frail body and pained expression made him appear truly pitiful.
The soldiers, despite their duty, couldn't bring themselves to drive such a wretched soul away. A few of them rushed forward to support him, asking, "What's wrong with you?"
"I'm so hungry..." the young man trembled, his bloodless lips barely moving as he spoke in a weak voice. "No energy, no strength...the sun...it hurts so much..."
One of the guards, concerned, asked, "Do you need something to eat?"
After catching his breath in the shade for a moment, the young man seemed to regain a bit of strength. Smiling faintly, he said, "Thank you." As he smiled, two unusually sharp canine teeth were revealed. "I won't be shy, then..."
Inside the tent, amid the merriment, the people could vaguely hear some strange noises from outside, though none paid it any mind.
With a resounding clang, the sword, not as sturdy as a blade, shattered under Asa's heavy strike as it cleaved into the shield of the warrior in front of him.
Without a second thought, Asa flung the broken sword into the soldier's face. As the soldier screamed, Asa grabbed him and used him as a human shield.
A loud bang followed. The fireball from the intermediate mage exploded against the warrior's chest, sending blood and viscera flying. The fireball's power was considerable. Thankfully, in such chaotic melee combat, large-scale magic could easily harm one's own, so the mage dared not use it.
Even so, a fireball like that would have turned Asa's flesh into a mess of blood and meat. Asa knew he had to take out the mages first. He swung the corpse in his hands to deflect the nearby swords, pushing aside three opponents before leaping off the head of another soldier, using the momentum to lunge toward the nearest mage.
Even as he was airborne, two spears and three halberds thrust toward him from below, while the piercing whistles of three crossbow bolts approached from behind. Asa's sharp senses detected every movement around him. He could distinguish that the crossbow bolts would hit first, followed by the spears, and then the halberds. He could clearly see each opponent's next move, and he already knew how to evade and defend against the incoming attacks.
But suddenly, his body grew heavy, and a wave of strange weakness washed over him. It was the effect of a slow and weakness curse. Suspended in mid-air, he was an easy target for the other two experienced mages. These mages were highly skilled. In group combat, curses were far more effective than direct attacks when dealing with a single opponent.
Asa curled his body, dodging the three crossbow bolts that grazed his back. Grabbing onto two of the spears below, he used them to propel himself back into the air, hurling a massive fireball at the nearest mage.
The mage stared wide-eyed at the giant fireball, which was at least ten times larger than any fireball spell he knew. For a moment, he thought it was some new type of magic. Panicked, he hastily cast his own fireball to meet it.
With a sizzle, the mage's fireball shattered like an egg against a rock, while Asa's fireball continued hurtling toward him with unstoppable force.
Two icy beams of white light shot in from different directions, striking Asa's fireball. Even so, the combined power of the ice spells couldn't entirely extinguish the fireball, which continued toward the mage. A nearby warrior rushed to shield the mage, but the fireball exploded with a thunderous crash, warping the steel shield and sending half of the warrior's arm flying. Though the mage and several nearby soldiers were knocked off their feet by the blast, they had narrowly survived.
Asa did not have time to watch his powerful fireball. As soon as he landed, he was already fending off a flurry of swords, knives, spears, and a flail. He took a blow to the back before grabbing a soldier's arm and using the unfortunate man as both weapon and shield. Within moments, the soldier's body had absorbed countless hits from the surrounding attackers. Asa hurled the battered corpse into the crowd, knocking several opponents down, finally giving himself a moment to dispel the curses afflicting him and cast a healing spell on himself.
Asa had underestimated these foes. The experience and coordination of the three mages, as well as the disciplined attacks of the soldiers, clearly marked them as a well-trained, experienced fighting force disguised as ordinary mercenaries.
At first, Asa thought this ambush would be a minor skirmish like the ones he had faced before—easily dealt with in a few moves. But he had been completely wrong this time. This was no minor interlude; it was deadly serious.
Whether or not his own life was in danger remained uncertain, but it was clear that other lives were at stake.
It was already noon. Whether or not he, the main actor, arrived, the performance there would begin on time. The Marquis, being such a clever man, must have made all the arrangements perfectly.
He had to break through this encirclement. The King and the nobles and ministers from various countries were waiting for him to rescue them. There was also someone else, perhaps even more important, waiting.
In the forest of swords, spears, and slashing blades, Asa finally found an opportunity. He stood firm, gathering magic power in his hands in an instant, and launched a fireball at the few warriors in front of him. At the same time, his body froze for a moment, and a crossbow bolt pierced his shoulder.
There was no choice—this was the maximum evasion he could manage while casting magic. Originally, the bolt should have pierced his right lung. The mixed bowmen among the enemies were definitely elite soldiers; they did not approach recklessly or shoot randomly. Standing far behind the warriors, they waited for the perfect moment to strike, and when they did, it was always lethal.
'Boom!' The two frontmost warriors were instantly blown into pieces of flesh, bones, and blood flying everywhere, while several others behind them lost limbs and were flung away. A large number of the remaining warriors were knocked down in a heap. Asa's full-strength fireball had finally blown a gap in the encirclement. He leaped through, confident that once he broke free, he could lose all his pursuers.
There was still time; these people couldn't possibly chase him all the way to the hunting grounds… His thoughts were cut off as a sudden heaviness and weakness struck him mercilessly.
The shrill sound of three crossbow bolts came from three different directions. He rolled on the ground, his weakened and sluggish body barely avoiding the bolts. As he stood up, dispelling the curse on his body, the warriors behind him had already swarmed forward, surrounding him in a well-practiced formation.
"Trying to run?" Modo, sensing his advantage, shouted gleefully. "Trying to save yourself by reaching the King at the hunting grounds? Don't even dream about it. I told you, I've known what you're up to all along."
"Fk you, you b****!" Asa cursed Modo furiously. It wasn't about seeking the King for salvation; he was trying to save the King, but these words could not be spoken aloud.
"You…!" The pampered son of the Prime minister, clearly unused to deal with insults, was unable to respond to Asa's crude retort. His face flushed with anger, and he finally shrieked to the commander beside him, "Catch him alive! I'll pay a hundred gold coins for him alive. I want to slice the flesh off him, piece by piece, and feed it to the dogs!"
The surrounding soldiers didn't immediately dare to attack. They merely kept Asa encircled in the center. Fear was etched on their faces—the power of Asa's fireball had been terrifying, and none of them wanted to end up like the soldiers who had just been blasted to pieces.
"Commander, attacking a clergyman of the Church without authorization is a capital offense, you know that?" Desperation forced Asa to play an official tone, shouting at the commander, who was likely the leader of this unit. "Order them to let me pass, and I won't hold you accountable."
The commander, surprised that his identity had been recognized, hesitated.
"It's useless," Modo gloated again, feeling triumphant, patting the commander's shoulder. "He's one of ours. You've already attacked, so naturally, the only option now is to kill you. Out here in the wilderness, with no witnesses and a pre-dug grave for your body, who would know we killed you?" The Prime minister's son laughed wildly. "If you want to beg for mercy, then kneel down and eat a pile of s*** from one of the soldiers, and I'll make your death quicker."
Seeing his identity exposed, the commander resolved to kill and silence. He waved his hand, giving the order, "Kill him."
Asa stopped speaking. At this point, words were useless, and he didn't want to say anything more. He began to fight with all his might.
He no longer thought about tactics or magic. He focused entirely on immersing himself in the cold, berserk feeling brought on by his meditative state.
With one punch, he smashed a soldier's head and the flail he was swinging. Grabbing a spear, he yanked its wielder into the crowd, kicking a hole through his chest, then used the spear to skewer three more soldiers. A broadsword almost pierced through his shoulder, but Asa snapped the steel sword in half with his hand, pulling out the part embedded in his body, blood dripping from it, and flung it into the chest of the swordsman who attacked him.
A faint layer of light appeared on his hands. Under this seemingly insignificant glow, steel weapons turned to rotten wood, and human bodies became no sturdier than mud.
The exhilarating clarity from his meditation flowed through his body. Another mage tried to cast a weakening curse, but the surging energy inside Asa washed away the invading magic like a flood, leaving nothing behind. The gravity drag from a slow spell was barely noticeable. His strength and agility seemed to have merged with his heightened focus, every movement hitting its target with precision, crushing bones and muscles, and causing blood to splatter.
He was fully consumed by a bloodthirsty battle frenzy, charging toward his sole target—the commander.
Grabbing a still-living soldier, Asa swung him horizontally, sending three or four others flying, their bones shattering like beans in a frying pan. An arrow pierced his right arm, but he leaped up, hurling his bloodied weapon at the archer, whose body became indistinguishable from the corpse that the weapon embedded into with a sickening noise.
Two fireballs shot toward him from either side. He kicked a soldier into the air, where the man collided with one of the fireballs, exploding into a fiery mix of flesh and flames. Asa caught the other fireball in his hand, crushing it before it could explode. Though he wasn't as skilled as General Grutt in wielding fire magic, the fireball's power was fortunately not too great. A sword cleaved into his shoulder, cutting down to the bone, but he could hear the strange sound of metal against bone, a sound transmitted directly through his flesh. He grabbed a spear, hurling it into a mage, impaling both the mage and two soldiers standing beside him, and then smashed the head of the soldier who had struck him. Meanwhile, a couple of flails tore chunks of flesh from his body, breaking three ribs, and he howled in a frenzy, ramming his head into the nearest soldier's face and, reflexively, biting down, feeling the world turn red and filled with the taste of blood.
He charged ahead, unrelenting. Soldiers flew away from him, limbs and blood scattering in every direction. He felt like a meat grinder, surrounded by mangled flesh and body parts, unable to tell which were his own and which belonged to his enemies.
Finally, fear overcame the soldiers' orders, and they began to retreat.
With a leap, Asa launched himself at the mounted commander. The panicked commander drew his sword and thrust it at Asa. Asa didn't even flinch, grabbing the blade, which snapped like it had struck iron. The shards embedded themselves in the commander's face. With a sickening crunch, the commander's headless body swayed, blood spurting as it toppled from the horse.
"Who's next?" Asa growled, holding the mangled head, glaring at the soldiers like a beast. "Who else wants to die?"
Modo had already turned his horse and fled the moment Asa began his charge. The soldiers, left leaderless, screamed and scattered in panic.
They disappeared even faster than they had arrived, leaving behind only mangled corpses and limbs.
Asa stood in the middle of the carnage, his breathing like that of a wild animal. Slowly, his consciousness returned from the meditation. He suddenly dropped to his knees, kneeling in the blood and flesh, throwing away the head in his hand, now squeezed to the point of resembling a crushed watermelon, and began to vomit.
But he quickly forced himself to stand, still retching, and stumbled over to the commander's horse. Mounting it, he rode off in the direction of the hunting grounds.
There were still thirty miles to go, and Asa whipped the horse desperately, praying that he would make it in time.
Finally, he spat out pieces of flesh, bone, and a tooth that he had unknowingly swallowed during the battle.