Chapter 495: Chapter 495: Bessm County
Bessem County, Gravel Town.
In Old Bill’s nearly fifty years of mory, the days were like the old oak tree by the field, ring by ring, stable and repetitive.
His world wasn’t big, just centered around the stone-built farmhouse, radiating out to the patch of black land he cultivated, at most reaching the nearby stream to fetch water or going to town once a month to exchange so grain for salt and thread.
This land was owned by a noble lord nad Viscount Barton.
The viscount’s castle was far on the other side of the hills; Old Bill had hardly seen it in his lifeti.
The taxes weren’t light, but in good years after paying the rent, the family could barely make ends et, occasionally having a bowl of bean soup with salted at at the table.
This was all the happiness he could imagine.
His greatest pride was his youngest son Tom.
That boy wasn’t like him who only tampered with soil, he was even noticed by a retired old soldier in the village as having a hint of knight talent, and now he was receiving training in the town’s guard, becoming an honorable Knight Attendant.
Every ti Tom ca ho wearing that slightly oversized leather armor, swinging his longsword with a whoosh and a shout, Old Bill’s wrinkled face would blossom into a smile, feeling that all the hardships were worth it.
Tom’s future should be in the bright castle, wearing shiny armor, not like him, trapped in the soil for a lifeti.
He even secretly saved a few copper coins, dreaming of one day being able to buy Tom a real iron armor.
This morning, as dawn was breaking, Old Bill, as usual, carried a hoe to his wheat field.
The morning mist hadn’t yet dissipated, dampening his old straw sandals.
The wheat seedlings in the field were growing well, lush and green, bringing a sense of reassurance.
He planned that once this season’s wheat was harvested, maybe he could buy so new cloth to make clothes for his wife.
Just as he bent over to weed, a strange rustling sound ca, not like wind blowing through the wheat, but rather... like many, many feet crawling over dry leaves.
Old Bill straightened up, puzzled, looking towards the direction of the sound, which was at the edge of the village, near the forest.
Only to see the originally thick bushes at the forest’s edge shaking violently.
"Is it a herd of wild boars?" he muttered, gripping his hoe tightly, knowing wild boars could devastate crops.
Though wild boars were a rare source of at, it wasn’t sothing an old farr could deal with alone.
Moreover, even if he did manage to kill a wild boar, it would ultimately end up being given to the noble lord.
To Old Bill, seeing a wild boar was absolutely not a fortunate event.
However, what surged out of the bushes, although indeed not a wild boar, was a nightmare a thousand tis more terrifying than wild boars.
It was a moving swath of dark purple.
Countless grotesque creatures, like a flood bursting its banks, erged from the woods, ones he had never seen before.
So resembled ants magnified countless tis, with mandibles closing and opening, crazily gnawing on everything green along their path.
So looked like standing beetles, with forelimbs gleaming with bone blades, while others had bloated bodies, dripping corrosive mucus, leaving vegetation instantly withered and blackened, even the soil smoked green as they passed.
Their cold exoskeletons reflected eerie light in the morning sun, compound eyes devoid of any emotion, only pure desire for destruction and consumption.
"De... Demon!" Old Bill was scared out of his wits, his hoe fell to the ground with a clatter.
He lived most of his life, the most dreadful stories he heard were about wolf packs in the mountains, never had he seen such nightmare-like scenes.
The speed of the Insect Race was extrely fast, almost reaching the nearest farmland within a few breaths.
Old Bill watched with wide eyes as his neighbor Hans’ painstakingly planted potato field was ravaged by those giant ants, turning into nothingness as if plowed over.
The couple of chickens Hans kept by the field clucked twice in panic, only to be quickly caught by a few swift Bone Blade creatures, flashes of blades, and they beca scattered feathers and flesh.
"Run! Run!" The village was finally echoing with the shrill sound of alarms and cries.
Old Bill gave himself a jolt, turned, and ran towards the village, his legs weakened by fear.
His mind was filled with only one thought: "Tom! Tom is in town!"
He stumbled back to the village, only to find it in complete chaos.
People were crying, clutching their children, carrying pitiful bits of food, scurrying around like headless flies.
Those dark purple monsters were already flooding into the village from several directions, wooden houses smoked and burned in the acid spitting.
n’s roars, won’s screams, children’s wails, mixed with the Insect Race’s spine-chilling crawling and screeching, composed a symphony of doomsday.
Old Bill saw the village blacksmith, that strong man able to break wood posts barehanded, swinging his large forge hamr, smashing it at a Bone Blade monster with a roar.
The hamr hit the exoskeleton, making a dull sound, leaving only a white imprint.
In the next mont, another monster pounced from the side, a bone blade easily piercing his leather apron...
Despair, like a cold river, instantly drowned Old Bill.
Old Bill crouched under his ho’s shaky wall, watching the tide-like dark purple, watching them devour fields, demolish houses, slaughter life, his clouded eyes full of fear and bewildernt.
He couldn’t see whether blaze rose from Viscount Barton Castle on the other side of the hills; he only knew that his ho he labored for a lifeti, the future he pinned all hopes on for his son Tom, and this land where his ancestors lived, were being rcilessly engulfed and obliterated by this silent and efficient purple tide.
Disaster had never been so tangible, nor so hopeless.
Old Bill curled up under the broken wall, the acrid smoke sll and a never-before-slled rancid stench almost suffocated him.
Crying and spine-chilling chewing noises ca from all directions, he held his wife’s mouth tightly, preventing her from screaming in extre terror and attracting those purple demons.
His cloudy eyes desperately stared at the path leading to the town, which was his only hope, his sole expectation, his son, Tom.
The place where Old Bill and his wife hid wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. The village was this small, and so many monsters would soon search every inch here.
They understood this very well, but there was no alternative, nowhere to escape, awaiting death seed like the only fate.
Just as a mucus-dripping acid-spitting insect seed to have caught their scent, turning its direction, its bloated body contracting and expanding, preparing to spray acid at their hiding spot.
"Hey! Monster! Look over here!"
A familiar, slightly youthful bright shout ca from the street corner, it was the voice Old Bill missed day and night.
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