Chapter 955: Light and Darkness (3/4)

Chapter 955: Light and Darkness (3/4)

And just then, Niyang suddenly coughed and opened his eyes, his scattered pupils gradually regaining a glimmer of clarity.

"Teacher!" Feodor exclaimed in surprise, rushing to the bedside.

But Niyang, as if he hadn't heard, suddenly reached out a hand like a dry twig and firmly grasped his arm.

"Run..."

Feodor was stunned, staring at him in confusion.

"...What?"

Niyang took a deep breath, his gaze at the ceiling tinged with despair, and with all his remaining strength, he spoke word by word.

"Run, as far as you can... none of you... are a match for him."

Feodor tightly gripped his teacher's hand back, leaning in close to his face.

"Who?! Do you mean Raci?!"

The driver coughed at this, signaling that the young man was in Raci's camp.

But the company commander standing nearby acted as if he hadn't heard, looking away as if he knew nothing.

He knew well what had happened in Mammoth City, and the moment he saw Niyang here, he understood everything; without a doubt, his superiors were on their way.

But he chose to hear nothing, stepping outside to light a cigarette.

A trace of sorrow flickered in Niyang's eyes, but he spoke none of the names Feodor expected.

Not even the name of a living man.

"Rowell..."

Janusz had once been Rowell, but his slaughter had only just begun when he was shot dead on the throne.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, forgetting the Celestial Army entirely, forgetting how they had come.

And so a new Rowell arrived, ready to bare his blade and leave heads rolling.

As for the civil war.

When everyone thought it would come, perhaps it wouldn't after all.

In truth, whether it came or not didn't matter...

Better to leave it to future generations to imagine what might have happened if that war that never was had truly erupted.

In the end, it was all the same.

Feodor stared blankly at him, thinking he had misheard, frozen in place.

His lips moved, murmuring to himself.

"Rowell... isn't he dead..."

He knew his teacher had cursed General Rowell for an entire year, even writing the whole of "Red Earth" around him, but he never imagined his hatred ran so deep, to the marrow.

He felt it shouldn't be that way.

The dregs left by that Union officer were indeed hateful, but not to the point of digging up his ancestors.

People often said that even without merit, there was toil, and who could deny that some had survived by eating dirt?

Besides, the teacher himself had said that Sir Kabaha was wrong, and overcorrection was wrong.

But when he tried to ask further, Niyang had already breathed his last.

The most deserving of death, Duke Garava, had half-heartedly swapped his heart after Wuto's demise, while the one who least deserved to die passed in the last second before dawn broke...

Feodor wailed, his eyes red as a child who had lost a loved one.

The driver's eyes also reddened, his hand covering his nose.

He wasn't a soldier, though he had once been half of one, but he never thought that after running himself ragged, this would be the end.

Why?

Why do good men die young!

Why did heaven treat him so unfairly!

Hearing the commotion, the company commander rushed in from outside, followed by Raci, who had just returned from the front, and the local division commander.

This nearly six-foot-tall man hadn't cried when he lost battles, hadn't cried when wounded, and now he didn't either, but his eyes were bloodshot with rage.

"No!!!"

"Damn it, I'm back! Your fight isn't over yet! I won't let you go!"

"Commander! He's dead!" Seeing Raci lunging at the bed to grab Niyang, the division commander behind him, eyes red, held back the emotionally shattered man. "Think about what to do first!"

Finally calming down, Raci stumbled back to the door, suddenly spotting the terrified student, eyes red with fear, and grabbed his shoulders.

"Your teacher is dead—bah! Did the master say anything before he left?!"

Though Feodor had boasted earlier that night about "not fearing death," now that this killer stood before him, his legs went weak with terror.

This man had truly crawled out of a pile of corpses.

Every word he spoke seemed stained with blood, his murderous aura enough to make even the King of Hell shudder.

Perhaps his teacher had been right...

He was soft in everything but his mouth.

But Raci didn't scorn his cowardice, nor did he press him like he had pressed his teacher; he simply waited patiently.

Finally, Feodor, like a frightened little girl, squeezed out a trembling sentence—

"Rowell... my teacher said that we... we are no match for him."

"He also told us to run."

Raci's expression froze, as if he hadn't expected the last words to be these.

Letting go of the young man's thin shoulders, he strode out of the room.

Now like a mad bull, he roared furiously at the overcast sky and morning mist.

"Rowell—"

"Damn you!!!"

On the other side, having taken charge of the prisoners, including Ross and other Veylandts, the commander of the 11th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps, Jokale, led his men day and night to the outskirts of West Sailport.

Those positions that had once been impossible for them to crack now seemed nonexistent.

They rode the Legion's train to Sulak County, where the locals welcomed them as warmly as they had the Veylandts, offering stewed lamb and hot tea.

Looking at the fawning county magistrate, Jokale, irritated, gave all the long-untasted delicacies to his subordinates.

That man named Ross had handed over his sidearm but refused to speak a single word to him.

Jokale knew why—the man didn't truly believe he had lost to him, and Jokale couldn't bring himself to mock him for why the fighting had been so sparse on that hill.

Just before dawn, rows of steel-gray Conquerors appeared on the open plain.

The rumbling tracks startled the dozing soldiers, who scrambled and rolled to find cover, only to see their own banners in the distant formation.

Good heavens, it was their own men!

Yokale, who hadn't slept all night, was stunned for many seconds, until his men under his command told him to calm down.

The group headed south of Sulak County, and a flashy off-road vehicle stopped in front of them.

Two officers got out of the car; one of them, a chiliarch with gleaming boots, saluted him and said with a smile.

"I am the chiliarch of the 101st Myriad of the Kingdom of Boro! This is our commander, General 'Iron General' Grove!"

Yokale's eyes widened, and he muttered under his breath.

"Iron General, what kind of bird crap is that? I'm Silver General, Gold General, Paint General, damn it..."

Grove was also a rough man, but he wasn't angered by the words; instead, he found them amusing and laughed, patting him on the shoulder.

"I've heard so much about you, brother! I'm from the southern front. You know that Gibson guy? He's my defeated foe!"

"Oh, oh, I think I've heard of him..." Yokale nodded in bewilderment. He had actually swiped a few cannons from Gibson, though the Alliance's Skeleton Corps had grabbed them for him, his men had put in some effort.

So that's why that guy disappeared—turns out he was driven south.

Seeing that Yokale knew of Gibson's reputation, Grove laughed heartily.

"Right? Going up against that bastard wasn't easy! At first, he dared to clash with us head-on, but later he holed up in his position and wouldn't come out. I wiped out his nest, and he couldn't take the loss, his mouth as hard as a damn duck's! By the way, where's Isher? I've always wanted to meet him. Why isn't that guy around?"

As he spoke, Grove's face was full of eagerness. He had been a fan of Isher's even before Operation North Wind, but had never had the chance to meet him.

Yokale looked at Grove in confusion, not understanding why this guy would ask such a question.

Didn't you bastards send me to make contact?

So even you, the commander-in-chief, are just a small fry.

"He has to watch out for Rashi..."

A look of disappointment crossed Grove's face, and he nodded wistfully.

"Alright... By the way, brother, what do you think of my gear?"

In the distance, dust rolled in like a tide, and the steel torrent was like a storm sweeping across the plain.

Yokale stared for a long time, wishing he could etch that scene into his eyes, and finally squeezed out a single sentence.

"Holy shit, awesome..."

...

On the other side, on the misty western bank of the Tasan River at dawn.

Isher sat on the position until daybreak, staring at the lights along the Tasan River, thinking all night long.

New Year.

Another New Year...

Watching the migrating crowd, his thoughts suddenly returned to that fateful night.