Warlock of War: My Ares System

Chapter 519 Cy: The King of Burden, The Savior of The Famished

In one hand, the old man clutched a rusty and well-worn sickle, its curved blade gleaming with the fresh, fragrant residue of cut grass. The tool bore the scars of countless hours spent in the fields, a faithful companion to a man who had wrestled his livelihood from the unforgiving earth. The sickle’s wooden handle was polished from years of use, the grooves worn smooth by the grip of his weathered fingers.

Despite the toil etched into his very being, the old man’s steps were slow but deliberate, carrying with him the scent of freshly cut grass, a fragrance that stood in stark contrast to his own worn appearance. He moved with the weight of time upon his shoulders, a living embodiment of a life well-lived and bitterly remembered.

Clunk

He entered what was left of the house protecting both the boy and girl. The girl’s body was still in tatters due to the sickness, so she had no choice but to meekly let out a pitiful stream of tears while her body continued to fight. It was a horrible sight. Truly depressing.

“You piece of shit! You’ve killed everybody! That was the last of our medicine! We could have traded for something more useful! Do you know how many mouths I have to feed!? DO YOU!? FUCK!”

I guess in this situation… the boy is the bad guy. How pitiful…

I had no right to interfere. Clearly, both have done some bad things with their own objectives set before their morals. And even if I wanted to, I couldn’t cure these sick people. I just wasn’t that type.

“But I guess I can ask for a favor…” I sighed, my hand wrapping around the tattered sickle and shattering it with a solid squeeze.

“WH-WHO ARE YOU!?” The old man yelled at the top of his lungs before falling onto his ass and scooting back until he hit the nearly broken wall. A few pieces of debris dropped on him from above, sending him into an immediate daze.

“M-Mister! Please protect us from him! I beg of you!”

…

I took them, leaving the man behind. I only attended to some of his wounds with basic medicinal knowledge I picked up from the battlefield. But after that, I swiftly left.

Continuously, the landscape was a bleak canvas of charred villages, their skeletal remains reaching out to the gray, ashen sky like mournful specters. The acrid scent of burnt wood and scorched earth permeated the air, a haunting reminder of the destruction that had befallen this forsaken land.

My journey had begun with a solemn purpose: to bring hope and healing to the sickly souls who still clung to life in this unforgiving wasteland. The people I encountered were but shadows of their former selves, their gaunt faces etched with pain and suffering. They moved slowly as if each step were a burden too heavy to bear.

I approached the first group of sickly individuals, their hollow eyes staring blankly into the distance. They were emaciated, their skin pallid and stretched tight over fragile bones. With a soft-spoken voice and a reassuring smile, I offered them a glimmer of hope.

“Come with me,” I softened my expression, “I promise to cure you and your family.”

With every step deeper into the wasteland, the weight of sorrow and desolation pressed harder upon my shoulders. The burnt villages held secrets of lives once lived, now reduced to haunting relics. Charred doorways led to nowhere, and scorched trees stood like solemn sentinels over the ruins, their branches twisted and contorted by the fires of devastation.

As I led the sickly souls forward, their frailty became more apparent. Their faces, etched with lines of pain and suffering, bore the scars of a life marred by tragedy. The sun, barely visible through the thick clouds of smoke, cast a dim, melancholic light upon our path. It was as though time itself had slowed in this forsaken place, and each moment dragged on, heavy with the weight of despair.

The burnt villages were not just remnants of structures; they were echoes of the stories that had unfolded within their walls. Broken toys lay scattered amidst the ashes, mute witnesses to the innocence that had been lost. Crumbling family portraits stared out from blackened walls, their faces frozen in time, forever marked by the tragedy of the wasteland.

Approaching even more of the sickly individuals, I could see the frailty in their bodies and the hopelessness in their eyes. They moved with a weary determination, their steps faltering but resolute. Their clothes, once vibrant and colorful, were now faded and threadbare, worn by the hardships they had endured. In their gaunt faces, I saw the indomitable human spirit that refused to surrender to the abyss.

With each word I spoke, I could feel the emotions in the air – a mixture of fear, longing, and a glimmer of hope. Their hesitance had given way to a fragile trust, a belief that perhaps, against all odds, they could find solace and salvation in this journey. The hands that reached out to me, trembling and worn, were hands that yearned for more than mere survival; they yearned for life to have meaning once again.

As we continued our journey along the edge of the continent, slowly picking up more and more victims, our footsteps resonated with a newfound resolve. The sickly people who followed me, though still frail, had become a community bound by the shared purpose of finding a better future. Our procession, like a solemn pilgrimage, moved forward, carrying with it the collective hope that we could escape this bleak wasteland.

In that desolate expanse of burnt villages and sickly people, our journey was not just a physical one; it was a spiritual quest to reclaim the light that had been extinguished by darkness. And in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, we marched on, united by the belief that together, we could carve a path out of the abyss and into a world where hope and healing awaited.

Despite their frailty, the sickly people who followed me began to regain a glimmer of strength. Their steps grew steadier, and their eyes, though still clouded with pain, began to shine with a spark of determination. And then finally, after what seemed to be a year of walking, a few dropping off along the way, we arrived at our destination.

“You old hag… I hope you don’t make my struggles go to waste.” 𝑶𝚟𝐿xt.𝕔𝑜𝑚

We ventured further along the rugged coast, a sense of anticipation tingling in the air. The sound of crashing waves against the cliffside grew louder, and the salty sea breeze became more invigorating. It was as if nature itself was guiding us toward a hidden secret, a place untouched by time and known only to those who sought its mystical embrace.

The cliff that loomed overhead was a massive, weathered monolith of stone, its surface adorned with moss and hanging vines that seemed to reach out for the sun. The rugged terrain hinted at the cliff’s age as if it had stood watch over the sea for eons, guarding the secret that lay beneath.

As I carefully navigated the rocky path along the base of the cliff, my heart quickened with excitement. I knew that I was drawing closer to the fabled cove of vitality, a place whispered about in hushed tones among the locals. Legends spoke of its miraculous powers, of waters that could restore health and rejuvenate the spirit.

And then, there it was, hidden away from the outside world—a magical cove nestled beneath the towering cliff. The entrance was obscured by a natural archway of stone, overgrown with vibrant, emerald-colored seaweed that swayed gently with the rhythm of the tides. The sight of it was mesmerizing as if I had stumbled upon a portal to another realm.

As we stepped through the archway and into the cove, we were greeted by a breathtaking sight. The waters of the cove shimmered with an otherworldly iridescence, casting a soft, ethereal light that danced across the surface. The sea here seemed to come alive, with a palette of colors ranging from deep cerulean to the palest aquamarine.

Beneath the surface, the ocean floor was a mosaic of vibrant coral reefs and delicate seashells, a testament to the thriving marine life that called this cove home. Fish of every hue and shape darted through the crystal-clear waters, their scales catching the refracted sunlight in a dazzling display of color.

In the heart of the cove, a natural pool formed by a gentle waterfall cascading from the cliff above beckoned with its promise of rejuvenation. The water, infused with the magic of the cove, emitted a soft, soothing glow. Its touch was cool and refreshing, like a gentle caress from the very essence of life itself.

The sickly couldn’t resist the allure of the cove’s vitality. With each step into the pool, they felt a sense of renewal washing over. The water seemed to heal not just the body, but also the spirit, lifting away the weight of time and leaving behind a profound sense of well-being.

“O’ Mermaid Queen, please rid these victims of their suffering.”

“I shall do just that for you,” A voice resonated back at the leader. “But I cannot destroy such suffering. You must take it all upon yourself.”