Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 325: Rebuild

”My Lord, are you alright? I suddenly heard the battle stop. I came as soon as I could,” the Knight Commander spoke the moment he came into view, his voice carrying the deep concern of a man accustomed to war and loyalty.

”I’m fine, Knight Commander. The Goblin is already dead,” the Baron replied. He paused for a moment, contemplating his next words. A part of him wanted to give the credit to Asher, the young man who had played the true role in ending the goblin’s life, but he hesitated.

He wasn’t certain whether Asher would appreciate the attention such recognition would bring. Besides, it wasn’t hard to imagine the disbelief that would follow once people heard that the Tenth Sun himself had achieved such a feat. Many would call it exaggeration, others would whisper that he only spoke so to earn the favor and good grace of a Wargrave.

The Baron’s eyes shifted subtly toward Asher, searching his expression, yet the young man stood silent and unresponsive, as though lost in a world of his own. Seeing no reaction, the Baron decided against speaking further. His black eyes, sharp and steady, turned toward his Knight Commander. He knew the man’s capabilities well, especially his awakened ability, and so he asked in his usual calm tone, ”How much time remains on your transformation?”

”Over a quarter of an hour, my Lord,” the Knight Commander replied, his voice steady and composed despite the injuries that marred his body.

”That is perfect, then,” the Baron said with a small nod. ”Since we’ve already dealt with the leaders of the Monster Tide, rush toward the territory and bring an end to it. Fifteen minutes should be more than enough.”

”As my Lord commands,” the Knight Commander responded with discipline, his voice like a blade against stone. His gaze flickered briefly toward Asher, a fleeting curiosity crossing his mind as he wondered why the young man stood idle instead of aiding the defenders in the city. But, he did not dwell on the thought for long. His Lord had given an order, and that was all that mattered.

With a single, earth-cracking step, he shot forward, the ground beneath his boots tearing apart from the sheer force of his movement. In the blink of an eye, he crossed the distance between himself and the city walls. The wind screamed around him as his form blurred into a streak of silver and black.

The instant he reached the Astra-forged barrier that shielded the city, he did not slow. Instead, he plunged headfirst into it, his momentum and force shattering the section of the barrier he touched. A burst of energy rippled outward, and then he was through, without resistance, without hesitation.

No sooner had he landed than his enormous broadsword was drawn, gleaming like molten steel under the dim light. Then, he vanished.

To the countless adventurers, knights, mercenaries, guards, and even citizens who still struggled within the city, all that could be seen was a streak of silver light, swift, merciless, and precise. Every time that light appeared, a monster fell. The air trembled with the faint sound of steel cutting through flesh, followed by the dull thuds of bodies collapsing upon the cobblestone streets.

The Knight Commander did not slow. He did not pause. His blade danced with ruthless perfection. Each swing ended a life, each strike was final. There were no wasted movements, no unnecessary destruction, only clean, efficient death.

No explosions tore through the streets, no thunderous bursts of blast shook the air. There was only the haunting rhythm of the sword, the whoosh of its passage, the soft rip of flesh, and the quiet fall of lifeless bodies.

Within mere minutes, every living monster within the city lay dead. Their heads rolled across the blood-stained streets, their bodies cleaved apart, and yet the silence that followed was almost reverent. Not a single beast required two strikes. The difference in strength between the Knight Commander and the monsters was chasmic, so vast that even their monstrous abilities became meaningless.

Drenched in the blood of his enemies, the Knight Commander’s black eyes swept over the city one final time before his figure blurred once again, vanishing from sight. He reappeared moments later, racing toward the outskirts, back to the location where his Lord and Asher remained.

As he neared, he saw Baron Rivelle and Asher seated upon a platform of sand, one the Baron had molded and controlled to serve as a floating vessel gliding gently above the ground. With another burst of speed, the Knight Commander’s massive frame appeared upon the sandy construct.

”I have carried out your orders, my Lord,” the Knight Commander declared, bowing slightly.

”Good,” Baron Rivelle replied, his tone calm and even, his expression unreadable. Within moments, they had already reached the city once more.

Standing atop the tall city wall that miraculously remained standing despite the chaos and carnage around it, Baron Rivelle gazed out over his territory. The sight before him was grim, smoke curling into the dim sky, blood soaking the once-bustling streets, and the scent of death thick in the air. Corpses of both monsters and men littered the ground.

But, the Baron’s expression did not change. He had seen this too many times before. The Monster Tide was a cruel phenomenon, recurring every year or two without pattern or mercy. It came like a storm, sometimes early, sometimes late, but always devastating. He had long learned not to flinch before its aftermath.

Below, the city was a portrait of exhaustion and grief. Warriors and civilians alike lay scattered across the ground, some panting heavily, others sitting silently, tears mixing with blood and ash. A few cheered in relief that it was finally over, while many more wept for the loved ones they had lost.

Baron Rivelle watched them all for a long, quiet moment before releasing a gentle sigh. He had no comforting words to offer, no grand speeches or hollow reassurances. Words would not bring back the dead. Promises would not ease the pain.

He would do what he always did, rebuild.

Though there would be food shortages for several weeks, he had prepared for such times. The stores of rations hidden within his castle, combined with those hoarded by a many citizens, would suffice to sustain the population until normalcy returned.

”My Lord, we should get you treated,” the Knight Commander spoke softly from behind, his voice respectful yet tinged with concern.

Baron Rivelle did not answer immediately. He stood still, his eyes fixed upon the horizon, upon the smoke rising over his ravaged land. He had grown used to the horrors of the Monster Tide, the destruction of buildings, the loss of property, the endless rebuilding, but he had made it a principle never to grow numb to the loss of his people.

These were his people, the guards, the knights, the citizens who trusted him to lead and protect them. Each death weighed upon him, silent yet heavy.

Every year, he compensated their families, not because coin could ever replace life, but because it was at least an acknowledgment of their sacrifice. It was his way of saying their deaths were not meaningless.

As for the adventurers, mercenaries, and other hired forces, the Baron’s sympathy ended at payment. They had come for gold, fully aware of the risks. Their deaths were part of the bargain, a cost written into the nature of their profession.

He would not mourn them.

Why should he grieve the deaths of men and women he owed money to? To him, their demise was merely the completion of a transaction, one less debt to repay. In his mind, that was not tragedy, but efficiency.

And so, as the wind carried away the stench of battle and the cries of the living filled the air once more, Baron Rivelle stood tall upon the wall, his figure cast in shadow against the burning skyline, his thoughts already turning to the next step: rebuilding what had fallen, protecting what remained, and preparing, as always, for the next inevitable tide.