Kingdom Come: Deliverance, but Warhammer 40k

Henry hadn't gone far when he heard the sound of metal clashing from around the corner of the long corridor ahead.

"Get out of here!"

Roars erupted, accompanied by the wails of the dying.

The voice that was being heard belonged to the young nobleman from before.

Unexpectedly, this unlucky guy found himself in danger again right after they separated.

Henry gripped his machete tightly and quickened his pace, rushing into a spacious banquet hall following the sound.

An overturned oak table lay across the center, the floor littered with shards of porcelain and silver wine vessels, and several headless corpses dressed in burqas lay in the corner.

At the other end of the banquet hall, a young nobleman was locked in a fierce struggle.

He was surrounded by three fully armed family guards.

They wore the standard chainmail of the Carlos family, their double-headed eagle emblems on their chests stained with blood, and their faces were covered with twisted, dark red runes, making them look like a pack of wild dogs that had caught the scent of blood.

It's hard to imagine how long these cultists had been lurking within the Carlos family, even among the guards.

No wonder the castle collapsed so quickly.

The young nobleman brandished his longsword repeatedly, his movements precise and controlled, clearly indicating that he had received instruction from a renowned master.

But the traitorous guards on the other side were equally skilled in combat. One held up a round iron shield to block his front, another held a short sword and circled around him to find blind spots in his vision, and the last one held a long-handled warhammer upside down with both hands, completely blocking his retreat.

It was less of a battle and more of a hunt.

They slowly drive the victims into a corner.

Fools who have turned to chaos attempt to appease the demons above them by sacrificing the lives of the noble.

The demons also bestowed upon them the knowledge of how to torture their own kind.

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The longsword had just been thrust out when it was met head-on by the iron-clad round shield.

The young nobleman took two steps back, his weapon nearly slipping from his grasp. A guard flanking him seized the opportunity, slashing his blade and sending sparks flying across his breastplate. He gritted his teeth and retreated, but a gash was still cut into his shoulder.

Seeing his opponent bleeding.

The rebel soldier with his shield let out a strange cry and crushed the enemy, shield and all. The young nobleman parried with his longsword held across his chest, but it was no match for the force of the blow. He staggered backward, crashing heavily onto the overturned table. His longsword was knocked away and clattered into a crack in the brickwork some distance away.

The warhammer was raised high, about to smash down on the unsuspecting head.

"asshole!"

Henry disregarded everything else, cursed loudly, rushed out of the cover, and stabbed at the last guard with a machete.

The man had no idea he was being attacked from behind. He had just turned around when he was bumped right into.

The two fell to the ground together; the knife pierced the opponent's body, but it did not take his life.

Henry, on the contrary, lost his grip on the hilt and the knife slipped from his hand.

Two have fallen.

Elbow strikes, knee strikes, and punches.

All the moves have degenerated into the shoddy fighting of street thugs.

The traitorous guard, with his superior experience, quickly turned the tables and gained the upper hand, drawing a dagger from his waist and thrusting it downwards. Henry desperately turned his head, the tip of the blade grazing his ear and embedding itself in the carpet.

If it had been just a fraction more off, his head would have exploded.

Henry was so frightened that he broke out in a cold sweat.

At that moment, another guard caught up.

[Desperate Measures] Activate

The rule of having more players than players has been applied again.

Henry grabbed the other man's wrists, which were holding the knife, with both hands.

He gritted his teeth and slammed his forehead into the man's face. A sharp crack echoed as the rebel cried out in pain, his grip on the knife giving way. Henry snatched the dagger and instinctively thrust it upwards.

The blade pierced flesh, but the guard froze, and warm liquid dripped onto Henry's cheek.

Pushing the corpse aside, Henry stood up, dagger in hand. The young nobleman nearby, using the same opportunity, also escaped, retrieved his longsword, and swiftly pierced the chest of the warhammer guard.

But the crazed enemy didn't fall. Instead, he gripped the blade tightly with both arms and burst into hysterical laughter: "A dying struggle! Young master, you will eventually—"

The broken silver candlestick whistled through the air and struck the back of his head.

The man didn't even have time to say his last words before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground.

Henry threw away the dented candlestick base in his hand and exhaled a breath of stale air.

The banquet hall returned to calm.

The two men were each leaning on broken furniture, looking more disheveled than the other.

Henry's face was covered in blood, and it was impossible to tell whether it was his own or that of an enemy.

"I'm starting to think..." He casually grabbed a tablecloth to wipe his face, "that coming back to join in the fun was just a waste of time."

Just as the young nobleman was about to reply, a sudden change occurred.

boom!

A terrifying explosion erupted from the castle's outer walls. The entire banquet hall began to shake violently, and large cracks spread rapidly across the ceiling like a spiderweb. Chandeliers fell, and flying shards of glass scratched the two men's skin.

The area beneath the young nobleman's feet suddenly collapsed, causing him to lose his balance and fall.

The rubble beside him, carrying the corpses of several cultists, plummeted into the dark depths below.

Henry lunged forward and lay prone on the edge of the cliff, barely managing to grab the other man's wrist.

Beside them, tableware and bowls fell into the bottomless abyss from where the two were clasped, into a pitch-black void below. The young nobleman hung suspended in mid-air, his face deathly pale.

"You can't catch it!"

"Enough with the nonsense!" Henry felt like his arm was about to dislocate. "Get your other hand on top of me right now!"

"I don't want to fall down with you either!"

Henry was, after all, the blacksmith's son. Even without the added advantage of talent, he was still a strong young man. The two of them dragged and pulled him back from the edge of the collapse to the safe ground.

After a long while, his heartbeat finally calmed down. The young nobleman propped himself up on the ground and sat up, looking at the deep pit in front of him, his tone complicated.

Thank you.

"My name is Henry."

Henry sat amidst the mess, casually tucking the cultist's dagger into his back pocket.

"I can't keep calling you 'noble sir'."

The man opposite him glanced at him and gave a solemn response.

"Simon."

"Simon Carlos".

"Alright, my dear young master Simon."

Henry straightened his clothes and stood up, feeling a slight pain in his lower back.

"What's next? The guards have defected, and your family has been severely corrupted."

He gestured with his lip towards the outside.

"And the guards outside won't hold out for long either."

"You saw it too."

"There is a Chaos Knight there. As the Knight falls, more Chaos Knights will rise from the colossus's corpse."

"This place can't hold on any longer."

Simon gripped the hilt of his sword, still somewhat unwilling.

"My uncle is the most outstanding knight pilot in the Carlos family; he was born for the mechanical throne."

"He will deal with that blasphemous monster."

This statement sounded rather unconvincing, as if he were trying to find a reason to convince himself.

After a moment, Simon added a sentence.

"I have to clean up the trouble behind him."

Henry raised an eyebrow.

"So, you already have someone in mind who could be a traitor?"

Simon didn't respond, turning his gaze away to the night sky illuminated by the firelight.

On a land where the stars can no longer be seen, demons are stirring.

After a long while, he finally brought the topic back.

"We need to get weapons first, real weapons of war."

"Henry, can you help me out?"

Henry let out a long sigh.

"I'll risk my life to accompany you."

"I only ask that if we survive, the kind and benevolent young master Simon will do me the honor of attending my wedding with the miller's daughter from Whitehead Village."

"The townspeople will be completely astonished when that happens."

Simon was stunned.

"A gentleman? What does that mean?"

"A local dialect term from Baitouwo Town, used to praise someone."

Henry made up a story on the spot and kicked it away first.

"I won't say anything more. You can give me directions, and I'll go first?"

Thank you.

The two left the banquet hall, which was in complete disarray, one after the other, and made their way toward the castle's armory.

It was surprisingly quiet along the way.

After walking around, they didn't encounter a single living enemy.

The quieter it was, the more chilling the atmosphere became.

Corpses were everywhere.

Guards in chainmail, servants in cloth robes, and cultists covered in runes lay scattered about.

Some were lying across the middle of the road, some were crouching at the doorway, and a few were huddled in a corner with weapons in their arms.

The blood seeped along the cracks in the stone bricks, turning into dark, black lumps.

There must have been at least a hundred people who died along the way.

Strangely, the cultists who killed these people seemed to have vanished into thin air, disappearing without a trace.

"Do you know where the cultists might be hiding in the castle?"

Henry leaned closer to Simon and asked.

Simon's face looked very unpleasant.

"I don't know, but it's best to never run into them."

The two continued walking down the passage.

Finally, a thick iron door appeared at the end of the corridor.

The door lock had long been forcibly broken.

Half of the door panel hung crookedly on the hinge, almost falling off.

We've arrived at the armory.

Simon led the way inside.

It had already been looted once.

Rows of weapon racks were overturned and haphazardly placed, and most of the usable weapons had been swept away.

The ground was littered with scrap metal that had been discarded.

Broken spears, chipped swords, and rusty old chainmail were piled up haphazardly in several heaps.

It was obvious that the group of believers had visited the place before them.

Simon bent down and rummaged through the junk for anything still usable.

Henry, carrying a knife, wandered aimlessly around the storeroom.

He stopped after walking a few steps.

In the most inconspicuous corner of the armory, there was a breastplate.

The design is ordinary.

But it was armor he made himself.