Chapter 72: Fierce Battle on a Rainy Night
In the rainy night, within the corridor, the flickering flas of standing braziers, stirred by a cold gust of wind, cast nacing, claw-like shadows on the grey walls. The rain pitter-pattered, a relentless drumming that chilled the air. Splashed blood, dark and viscous, quickly spread and dyed the puddles on the ground a grim crimson.
A decapitated head, its eyes wide and vacant, having rolled through the mud, still bore a look of faint disbelief.
In the courtyard, the assassins who had been besieging the defending sergeants and squires all turned their heads at the sound. Clad in dark, practical leather that blended with the shadows, their faces were obscured by wet hoods, making them seem like phantoms born of the storm.
Watching this scene, they exchanged urgent words amongst themselves; the language they spoke sounded sowhat like Kurdish, likely Persian.
From the guttural, hurried exchange, Lothar could vaguely make out a few limited words like "formidable," "important person," and "quickly."
Many corpses already lay on the ground, their red and white surcoats, the proud colors of the Royal Knights, now sullied with mud and blood. The sound of the rain had masked the sounds of slaughter, the desperate cries and the clash of steel swallowed by the storm. Nearby guards had either been redeployed or assassinated; this battle, it seed, had already been raging for a long ti.
Following another burst of urgent conversation from the assassins, three of them near the corridor imdiately broke off and charged towards Lothar, Hans, and Banu in a triangular formation, their blades glinting in the firelight. The others pressed their attack on the defending sergeants and squires with renewed, vicious vigor.
Lothar said in a low voice, "They want to take us out one by one. Then we shall strive to take ’them’ out one by one."
Hans and Banu nodded. But Banu’s footsteps involuntarily drew a little closer to Lothar. In battle, killing enemies was never Banu’s primary task. Even if Lothar demanded it, her most important duty remained ensuring Lothar’s safety. This was her responsibility as Lothars’s shield!
Lothar didn’t notice this; all his attention was focused on the opponent before him. This was a middle-aged man, shaven, indistinguishable in appearance from any Saracen slave accompanying a Frankish noble.
Only his eyes, like stagnant pools of dead water, were devoid of life.
His speed was incredible. In the blink of an eye, he was upon Lothar, the short sword in his hand striking like a venomous snake from an extrely tricky angle towards Lothar’s abdon.
But Lothar imdiately spotted his opponent’s flaw. Using the length of his knightly sword to attack the enemy’s short reach, he forced his opponent to abandon the attack and dodge first.
These assassins were lucky to have infiltrated at all; they couldn’t possibly carry long weapons, nor were they accustod to using them.
A whistling sound cut through the air. A sharp sleeve arrow shot out from the assassin’s robe sleeve. Lothar easily dodged it with a tilt of his head.
But when he turned back, the assassin had already stepped into a puddle not far in front of Lothar, splashing dirty water towards his face, montarily obscuring his vision.
Then—a sharp edge glinted! The short sword pierced the rain curtain, stabbing towards Lothar’s chest.
’Clang—’ Swords clashed. With the enemy so close, he had no thought of attacking to defend; he swung his sword and parried the blow.
Hashashin were renowned for being fierce and fearless of death. Lothar’s arming sword swept aside the assassin’s short sword and, its montum unchecked, hacked towards the assassin’s sword arm.
But the assassin completely ignored it, his other hand once again unleashing a sleeve arrow, forcing Lothar to abandon his attack and dodge to the side.
Anyone facing such a death-defying opponent would lose so of their courage. Lothar was no different; he had no desire to trade injuries with a death warrior and could only give up this hard-won opportunity for a kill.
Not far from Lothar, another assassin, while attacking, was sent flying by a blow from Banu’s shield. Several of his attacks were easily neutralized by Banu, so he too ceased his futile efforts.
anwhile, Hans had already dealt with his opponent.
An assassin, split open down the middle, his blood and viscera spilling onto the ground in a grueso ss, lay there, exuding a pungent, bloody stench.
Hans’s face showed so astonishnt; he had never imagined that a single potion could elevate his swordsmanship to such an unbelievable degree. All the experience accumulated from tirelessly hacking at wooden posts day and night in the Knightly Order was now fully integrated. Such exquisite swordplay was simply beyond his opponent’s ability to match.
The assassins exchanged glances, a rare look of gravity appearing on their usually impassive faces.
"Grand Master! Their target is the Crown Prince! You must stop them!" a squire with a dark complexion and typical Saracen features cried out in broken French.
’The Crown Prince? Baldwin V? Princess Sibylla’s son with her forr husband?’
Lothar almost imdiately realized the gravity of the situation. The current struggle for the throne revolving around Princess Sibylla was, in reality, more about who could beco the Crown Prince’s stepfather.
Because the Crown Prince was still young and unable to rule personally, once Baldwin IV passed away, the Crown Prince’s stepfather would gain the legitimate position of "Regent."
In the nearly ten years before the Crown Prince matured and could rule in his own right, the Regent would be equivalent to the King. If news of the Crown Prince’s death spread while Baldwin IV was already on his deathbed, the conflict between the Nobles’ Party and the Queen Mother’s Party would imdiately escalate to an irreconcilable point, because it would have reached the stage where true intentions are revealed and a desperate fight is necessary.
The King’s Party, which had always espoused neutrality, would by no ans be spared in this struggle, unless Baron Godfrey explicitly stated he would not fulfill Baldwin IV’s wish to marry Sibylla to Balian. The Crusader states, already only united in appearance, would lose all possibility of coming together.
"The guards are about to break! We must finish them quickly! Banu, don’t worry about my safety! Don’t forget I have your and Fringilla’s shared talents; they can’t kill that easily!" Lothar reminded her.
The next mont, the assassins, almost in unison, reached into their robes, took out wooden vials, and gulped down the liquid within.
Blue veins bulged on their skin, their muscles swelled, and their previously impassive faces instantly filled with a dense, baleful aura—the aura of those willing to perish together with the enemy.
Their presence surged. The guards, already struggling, imdiately found it hard to withstand the onslaught. If not for the advantage of their armor and weapons, they would have long since been cut down by the assassins.
One assassin, even after having an arm severed, continued to fight silently, as if he had completely abandoned all sense of pain.
’Is it a magical potion?’ Whether in speed or strength, these assassins were now significantly enhanced.
Just then, three more assassins charged towards them. It was clear that this ti, they were fighting to the death, to buy ti for their companions.
’Screeech—’ Lothar’s arming sword tore a large gash across his opponent’s chest. Blood seeped from between the torn linen, but the assassin, without any hesitation, lunged at Lothar again. If it were anyone else, they would surely be terrified by such a ferocious enemy.
But crimson light erupted from Lothar’s eyes! A Spirit power as high as sixteen points, and the resulting surge of magical energy, burst forth. Bloodfall, at full power, caused the strength in his arms to increase severalfold in a short period.
’Clang—’ Steel shattered! Lothar’s arming sword cleaved down half the assassin’s face, continued through his throat and half his chest, its montum finally carrying it into the ground.
He didn’t want to control the enemy’s blood and unleash a full combo like Fringilla’s; his magical power was limited, and after already expending so for Bloodfall, he simply couldn’t cast other spells like Blood Spear.
In the rain, Banu’s black hair flew, a dense, bone-chilling aura swirling around her. Her shield, spinning like a chainsaw, struck several tis, calculating the enemy’s attack angles.
The next ti an enemy rushed her, she turned her shield sideways, using its edge like a blade, and split the assassin blocking her path in two down the middle.
Hans, this ti, dealt with his opponent with much more ease. His exquisite swordsmanship allowed him to effortlessly suppress the fearless assassin. His superior base attributes gave him an overwhelming advantage in all aspects, leading to an easy victory.
By now, the remaining assassins had just broken through the first line of defense.
"Kill them! No need to leave any alive!"
The Hashashin were fearless of death; trying to extract information about their mastermind from them was a complete dream.
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