Chapter 1453: Flames of War

The Death God wandered amidst this magnificent city, leaning upon his scythe as he stood in the shadows of the streets, looking coldly upon the scurrying people, waiting for the moment their allotted fate ran dry; then he would raise his scythe and wrench those pitiful souls from their shattered shells, leading the dead together toward that unknown farther shore.

People fled in terror, many of them not even knowing what had happened; they asked all around, yet no one could give an answer. They could only feel the surge of revulsion rising from within, and those bizarre hallucinations ceaselessly flashing through their minds, as though a nightmare was gnawing at the bedrock of reality, seeking to fuse with it, to drag everyone into a horror made real.

“Keep moving! Don’t stop!”

The Holy Hall Knight held a torch aloft, directing the evacuation of the crowd; the column stretched into a long line that ran all the way to the end of the city.

Seeing this, he could not help but harbor doubt as well—could they truly evacuate everyone? Florence’s population was so vast; even not counting the old and the young, there were still so many adults. They had been evacuating for so long, yet the numbers in the city did not seem to diminish.

Florence was, in the end, lagging behind the times. Though dense rail lines crisscrossed here as well, compared to Ingwig’s capacity for transport, this place was without question far inferior.

Moreover, once they left Florence, where could they flee to?

The trains’ capacity was limited; most would be evacuated outside the city, yet beyond Florence lay the boundless wilderness, and within that wilderness, they had nowhere to hide.

“Hurry up! Don’t stop!”

Nord continued to urge them on. He blinked hard, trying to clear his head a little.

These past few days he had been working at a relentless pace; only when he could no longer hold on would he rest for a few hours, then scramble up in haste and return to his duties.

When the new Pope issued the order, Nord had been in the Seven Hills, carrying out the evacuation. Perhaps because his efficiency was decent, he had been allowed to leave the Seven Hills and was reassigned to Florence to continue the same work.

Whenever he thought of this, Nord felt himself rather fortunate. After his departure, the Seven Hills had immediately entered total lockdown. All he could do was stand here in Florence, watching the flames within the Seven Hills burn without end.

The existence of the Demon Hunting Order was no secret to a small portion of the Holy Hall Knights; Nord happened to be one of those few. More importantly, his seniority ran long—so long that he still remembered that night many years ago.

That night, which people deliberately chose to forget, was so very similar to what was happening now that he could not help but let his thoughts slide toward the worst.

No, things were already bad enough.

Everything of the Night of the Holy Arrival had ended within that very night, yet the current disturbance had lasted for nearly a week and still had not been resolved. Everyone was filled with dread, fleeing again and again.

Then this time… this time, would there again be those swarming monsters?

As he thought thus, a vast terror suddenly seized him. Nord looked about in all directions; the people moving forward now appeared hideous in his eyes. They clutched their cloaks tight against the cold wind; they seemed like pitiable commoners, yet each one of them could at any moment become a bloodthirsty Demon.

He was already standing in Hell; only that, for the moment, this Hell had not yet bared its loathsome, horrific visage.

His breathing grew ragged. Nord tried to cast off these chaotic thoughts, but they only grew more frenzied within his mind—until a flare of fire rose from the other end of the street, followed immediately by the sounds of hacking and slaughter.

Panic seized the crowd. They were like frightened sheep, jostling and crushing one another. Under the erosion’s influence, their minds had been shrouded in terror, and in that instant, it was utterly detonated.

The Soldiers still tried to maintain order, but were soon overwhelmed by the surging mass of people. Some of the Soldiers, as though granted release, laid down their weapons and joined this runaway flight gone completely out of control.

“Come back, you deserters!”

Nord’s expression twisted with fury. Raising the firearm in his hand, he meant to open fire, but the crowd was too dense; he could not find a clear target among them. Then another hand reached out from the side, clasped the barrel, and forced it downward.

“Let them run. Men like that—even if you force them to stay, when they face the Demons, it will be nothing but a death sentence.”

His voice was very soft, tinged with weariness.

Nord tried to shake off his hand, about to say something, when he saw the newcomer’s face—and the sword at his waist.

Few knew of the Demon Hunting Order’s existence, let alone the figure of a Demon Hunter; yet Nord remembered that sword—that strangely shaped blade, forged as though in a single piece, without a Sword Guard. Its body was narrow and keen, like a slender silver spike.

A Demon Hunter.

Nord looked upon Samuel’s face; within those somber pupils, he could faintly see a seething, incandescent white.

He was a Demon Hunter, a mysterious and unfathomable Demon Hunter.

“A Demon Hunter…”

“What is your name?”

Samuel spoke before he could.

“Nor… Nord. You can call me Nord.”

Samuel answered coldly, “Move. Or are you planning to run with them as well?”

He urged the warhorse beneath him forward. Perhaps because he and the Demons shared some distant origin, a hateful miasma wafted from Samuel’s body, making the crowd instinctively shy away from his approach, as though he were some manner of man-shaped monster.