Chapter 1305 - 1223
"Clang," Hanske’s spear slipped to the ground from his hand.
The crisp sound instantly startled him, making him stand straight up, scared of falling asleep again and getting scolded by the sentinel leader.
But he wasn’t stable on his feet, and sleepiness overcame him again; his eyelids seemed weighted with lead, unwilling to open.
After all, he was only 14 years old, at the age of growth, needing sleep the most.
If he didn’t sleep well at this time, he might, like an infamous Saint’s Grandson, find it hard to grow taller.
Early spring’s drizzle slanted in, hitting the wooden tower wall and leaving dark marks.
Hanske intentionally stuck his head out, letting the rain fall on his face to wake himself a bit.
Last winter, when the lord’s conscription team grabbed him, his sister tearfully stuffed a cloth bundle to him, wrapped with three pieces of bread and a pair of cloth shoes inside.
But the bread in the cloth bundle had long been eaten, and the cloth shoes’ soles were worn through, revealing his red, frozen toes.
He still hadn’t been able to return home.
Whenever this moment arrived, he especially missed that little home, despite his fear of the drunken brother-in-law who beat his sister.
He couldn’t resist but could at least accompany his sister in taking the beatings.
Now that he’s not at home, his sister had to endure the beatings alone; would she be hurt worse?
Breathing out a puff of white steam in the rain mist, he pressed the cross to his chest, closed his eyes, and prayed silently.
Oh Saint Master, when will the empire’s turmoil end? When will the Earthly Heaven that the Holy Sect speaks of arrive?
"Snap!"
A sharp whip crack pulled Hanske out of his prayers.
His right cheek burned with pain, tears welling up instantly.
Staggering back, he looked up, seeing a knight in plate armor standing before him.
His armor dripped with rain, the plume drooping, his expression unhappy.
"You little bastard! Dare to fall asleep?" The knight raised the horsewhip and lashed Hanske’s left cheek, "Didn’t you see the smoke from the east? Go light the signal fire to alert Fishing City!"
Covering his face, Hanske was too pained to speak, blood trickling down through his fingers, dripping onto the small wooden cross his sister gave him.
Not daring to retort, he quickly picked up the spear on the ground, stumbling to climb to the top of the watchtower.
Rain strands like fog; even at such a height, he couldn’t see the smoke the knight mentioned.
Having hastily lit the signal fire, he finally took in a choking breath.
Seeing the fire lit, the knight cursed a few more times before leaving.
Descending from the watchtower, amidst the other sentinels’ panicked whispers, Hanske plopped down to sit on the ground.
Earlier, he acted out of fear without thinking. But now, with the knight gone, only fear and dread remained.
What if the Holy Alliance comes? What would he do?
Would he be taken to the Trinity Education Team? Would he be forcefully paired with female beastmen for breeding?
Hanske didn’t know what female beastmen looked like, only that he feared them.
He immediately thought of returning home, running back to Pine Needle Village to find his sister.
But he knew he couldn’t; if he ran, the lord’s men would capture his sister to bear his penalty.
And as for his brother-in-law, certainly, he wouldn’t care.
"Damn this world..." Hanske couldn’t cry, only burying his bloodied face in his knees.
Having learned this news, the soldiers beneath the watchtower were no better off.
Three boy soldiers, only a few years older than him, crouched in the corner, grumbling softly.
Two veteran soldiers leaned against a tree smoking, their eyes listlessly staring at the rainy sky.
By evening, the water and grain transport soldier arrived on a donkey, bringing new news.
Lord Matiel announced deploying troops for a proactive strike, intending to personally lead the campaign.
Though this had nothing to do with these soldiers responsible for guard duty at the posts.
The next morning, Hanske was awoken by the sound of hooves.
Covered with a found burlap sack, he dozed by the fireplace, huddled in the corner of the watchtower.
Sleeping soundly, yet suddenly being kicked awake, the dry grass inside the sack scattered all over.
Looking up, he saw a dozen cavalrymen encircling the watchtower, each wearing leather armor, curved swords hanging at their waists.
They were mercenary cavalry; Hanske had long heard their names.
"We are the lord’s cavalry, get some bread and clean water!" The bushy-bearded cavalryman dismounted and seized Hanske’s collar, lifting him up, "What villages are nearby? Tell us everything; no hiding."
Hanske’s face was still in pain; hearing the mercenary’s question, his heart involuntarily skipped a beat.
"To the east is Oak Village, to the west is Streamside Village..."
He deliberately paused, not mentioning Pine Needle Village.
There was his sister, the budding wheat seedlings, and the old sheep at home; he couldn’t let these cavalry go there.
The army was like that, like locusts, he couldn’t let his home suffer.
The bearded cavalry raised an eyebrow and tossed Hanske aside, "Very well, if it’s wrong, I’ll come back to settle accounts with you."
Hanske asked softly, "How many troops does the Holy Alliance Army have? Can you win?
"We can, it’s just a small group that accidentally wandered in."
"How do you know it’s a small group..."
"Nonsense!" The bearded cavalry glared at him, "The Holy Alliance hasn’t declared war; isn’t it obvious it’s a small group that wandered in? Hey, why am I explaining this to a kid!"
Having said that, he waved to the other cavalry, "Let’s go! To Oak Village!"
The cavalry rode away, the muddy water splashed on Hanske, covering him.
He ran to the top floor of the watchtower, looking towards Pine Needle Village, but could only see a gray mist of rain.
There mustn’t be any trouble; Hanske had never felt so anxious.
Unknowingly, it was evening, the spring rain stopped, and faint starlight appeared at the horizon.
Standing atop the watchtower, Hanske, who was dozing, suddenly heard the sound of hooves.
It was the group of cavalry, but unlike the daylight, each was in ragged clothes, carrying wounds, some even with gunshot wounds.
Clearly, in the battle with the Holy Alliance, the lord had been defeated, thoroughly defeated, not even lasting a day.
Hanske hurried to meet them, but before he could speak, the bearded cavalry, with his clothes stained red, whipped his back with a riding crop.
"Crack!"
The whip tore through his coarse fabric, and Hanske stumbled, falling into the mud.
Before he could get up, pain shot across his face again,
The cavalry kicked Hanske, rolling him twice on the ground, he curled up, tears and snot covering his face.
"You little bastard! Still dare to lie?" The bearded cavalry squatted down, grabbed Hanske’s hair and lifted him up, "When we went to Creek Village, someone said Pine Needle Village is closer! You deliberately didn’t report it; are you trying to collude?"
Hanske’s mind went blank.
Has Pine Needle Village been discovered? Will his sister be in danger? Will the Holy Alliance army take action against Pine Needle Village?
He wanted to argue, but his throat felt blocked, only emitting "uh uh" sounds.
"Tie him up!"
After rewarding him with two slaps, the bearded cavalry threw him to the ground.
Two cavalrymen found a rope, lifted Hanske, and tied him to the old locust tree beside the watchtower.
Early spring locust tree branches just sprouted tender buds, brushing his face, a bit itchy.
But he wasn’t in the mood to care, as the whip rained down on his body and face, blood flowed with a fiery sting.
"Stop it," a tall, thin cavalryman advised, "The lord’s peasants, if they make trouble..."
The bearded cavalry spat, put away the whip, muddy water dripping from it to the ground, "Not reporting when informed, this is what he deserves!
Leave him, wait for the Holy Alliance people to come — let him taste the Trinity Education Team!"
The cavalrymen carried the stolen goods away, the sound of hooves gradually disappearing into the night.
None of the soldiers under the watchtower dared speak, let alone untie Hanske; they silently packed their belongings and left.
The night in early spring was still too cold, the wind made him shiver, tears flowed down his cheeks, like little ice pellets.
Hanske suddenly cried, not because of pain, nor because of fear of the dark.
When he was little, on nights like this after the spring rain had stopped, his sister would sit by the bed, telling him stories.
At first, she recounted the story of the Saint Master slaying the Evil God, then the story of Saint Son Horn fighting the demon.
But now, he could no longer hear them.
The sobs were suppressed in the throat, turning into muffled whimpers.
He wanted to struggle, but the ropes were tied too tightly, his wrists had red impressions, he could only let the darkness envelop him.
Darkness, increasingly profound darkness.
He didn’t know how long it had passed, just as Hanske was about to lose consciousness, a ray of light suddenly appeared in the darkness — it was a torch.
"Look, there’s a watchtower ahead!" a crisp voice sounded, the light of the torch revealing the hem of his black-gray uniform, "Seems like someone is tied to the tree!"
"Come on, let’s check it out!" Another voice, steadier, containing a bit of surprise.
The light from the torch grew brighter, shining on Hanske’s face.
He squinted and saw several soldiers wearing the Holy Alliance uniform approaching, leading was a priest.
"Still a child!" The priest hurried over, carefully examining the whip marks on him, "Oh dear... Who did this? Quick, get him down, medic!"