Endless Debt-Chapter 841: Prologue: Blood-Red Night

Rhein Calendar 1217.

Tonight, there is no light, the stars and moonlight are all hidden behind the heavy clouds, the chilling wind sweeps down from above, heading for that hollowed-out mountain, the towering magnificent creation, the cold wind blows through the deep, spiral corridors, brushing against the bodies lying on the ground, causing ripples in the pools of blood.

The air flows through the meticulously carved carvings and rows of copper pipes on the building’s surface; originally, when the wind blew past them, they would resound with a melodious tune, like a grand, solemn overture, immersing the entire enormous structure in a sense of magnificence.

But now, as the fierce wind rushes through, only a strange, shrill sound can be heard within the copper pipes, as if it were the wails and cries of this gigantic being, dying. Inside its massive body, countless people struggle as they perish, their blood converging into its blood, endlessly flowing down the steps, becoming an elongated red carpet.

The cries reverberate within the building, refusing to disperse, once glorious now turned into human hell, roasting every soul trapped here.

The boy cowered in terror inside the cabinet, his body trembling incessantly, and the knife-like fear repeatedly sliced through his nerves. He could hear the screams of every cell in his body, the sound echoing inside the narrow cabinet until it completely tore apart the boy’s eardrums.

Tears crawled across the boy’s face, then he spent a long time guiding himself back to calmness, just as his Swordsmanship teacher had taught him: remain rational, control emotions.

Repeated deep breaths, his trembling body gradually calmed down, the boy wiped away his tears, gently pushed open the cabinet, and through the gap, his flushed face peered at the courtyard outside.

Once a flourishing, noble courtyard has now become a filthy, rundown slaughterhouse, countless bodies piled together, blood gushing from wounds, soaking the carpet extensively, pressing lightly would cause more blood to seep out uncontrollably.

The boy recognized those pale, cold faces; they were all the boy’s blood relatives, just a few days ago they were still caressing the boy’s head, whispering softly to him.

But now they’ve all become corpses, their white, pure long dresses stained red, the collapsed candelabrum ignited the curtains, and the fire climbed and hissed on the walls and ceiling, yet no one came to stop it.

Under the tune of Armageddon, the boy gathered his courage, he cannot die like a coward; that would disgrace his surname, and the blood that flows within him.

The boy muttered to himself, "Just like what was taught in class."

He lowered his body, relying on his agile physique to move silently, crossing over corpse after corpse, in the thick smoke he found that familiar yet shattered face.

"Teacher..."

Seeing the familiar, aged face, the boy couldn’t help but sob once more.

The teacher shouldn’t have come, but the teacher is a stubborn fellow, always fulfilling his duty to protect, no matter being scolded by the father, yet still followed with that annoying stubbornness, clutching his sword closely beside himself.

So he died, in such a tragic manner.

It’s unimaginable to know what kind of terrifying slash it was, with just one hit tearing open a wound through the teacher’s chest, the ribs uniformly broke, fragments punctured the lungs, the spine snapped, and then there was the sliced face.

The boy reached out to touch that face filled with wrinkles, attempting to smooth his furrowed brow, covering his eyes, trying to piece together the teacher’s face that was split in two, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t align the wound.

The crackling fire noise gradually approached, the boy knew he couldn’t stay for long, gave one last look at the teacher, the boy forcefully pried open the teacher’s clenched hand, taking away that blade he used to envy so much.

"Besides you, the most important thing to me is this sword," the teacher’s voice echoed in memory, "It’s proof of the honor I carry."

The boy knew the origin of this sword, it was bestowed by the father to the teacher, in recognition of his contributions to the Empire.

Secret Sword.

The boy remembered the teacher calling the blade like this.

Fire engulfed the courtyard, bodies burned in the fire, oil splintered and cracked under the intense flame, but the boy had already fled the place. He ran along the spiral corridors surrounding the massive building, icy cold fierce wind blew in from the outside, pressing him so that he could hardly lift his head, then he heard the cries coming from below.

The horrific slaughter was still ongoing, that monstrous creature starting from the very top, layer by layer slaughtering downwards, slashing all living things it encountered.

The boy heard cries of despair, stretched screams followed by dull thud sounds, looking down he saw figures being squeezed out of the corridor, some people chose to leap from the corridor in utter despair when cornered, crashing into a fragmented state on the ground, and some were forced to jump by that monstrous creature.

Harper died like this, he was the boy’s brother, the oldest child in the family, the monster pointed a sword at him, commanding loudly.

"Gather your courage, Harper."

The monster advanced one step at a time, Harper looked at it in despair, stepped into the void without a word, plummeting to the ground, becoming a bloody pulp.

The boy didn’t understand why Harper didn’t resist, choosing instead to die this way.

Whenever recalling that scene, intense sorrow and the miserable state of corpses assaulted the boy, making his stomach churn, almost throwing up.