Shadow of the Evil God

Cesar dodged a dagger that struck him across the waist, rolled on the ground, covered in dust, and turned to run. He didn't want to draw his sword or his mace, because the other young man and child of the miner couple had also pushed open the door. The moment the door opened a crack, a flying knife pierced his thigh—just in time for him to roll. If he had been more unlucky, the knife would have surely pierced his forehead.

With the extraordinary agility granted by blood loss, he quickly rushed to the only exit that was not blocked and directly flipped out of the high-rise window.

Yes, this place is on the fourth floor, nearly twenty meters high, and it is almost impossible to survive if you fall from here. But he is not without preparation for jumping off the building.

Captain Cecia was not only a mercenary, but also a faux knight and former noblewoman who had experienced pursuit and escape. She had a habit of staying in high-rise hotels with difficult-to-climb walls and tying a rope to her room window. It was said that this method had saved her life more than once while she was staying in a hotel. While assassins would find it difficult to climb up through the window, she could simply slide down the rope and escape.

He grabbed the rope and quickly dropped down, not caring about the skin on his hands being rubbed and torn, because there were assassins pretending to be miners, couples and children chasing him overhead. If they threw a flying knife down, he would be a corpse with a knife stuck in his forehead when he landed.

At this moment, a gunshot was suddenly heard, which startled him. Then he found out that it was Gou Zi who shot and killed the crossbowman who was hiding outside the military camp in the corridor on the upper floor.

The murder was very well prepared. First, he pretended to be a miner couple with clean backgrounds and sneaked into the military camp. Then he got the identity of a servant and stood outside the corridor waiting with water. As long as the timing was right, he could murder anyone.

However, they have been sneaking into the military camp for a few days, so why did they suddenly take action today?

The only explanation was that he had cooperated so well with the daytime speeches in the square and meticulously arranged the nighttime battle preparations, forcing the hidden spies to act early. Previously, his value lay solely in his status as the earl's heir; otherwise, he was just an incompetent noble scion shoehorned into the army to achieve military success, without the risk of exposure. Now that he had demonstrated his ability and value, the risk was far less than the threat he posed.

Some people pretended to be servants and listened in the corridor, some people stood guard with crossbows outside the military camp, so what else was there?

Chapter 62 Why are you shy?

As Cesar landed awkwardly on the ground, he saw a man guarding the window, blade raised high, looking like he was spearing fish by the river. He didn't care about his bloody palm or his nearly dislocated shoulder, and immediately threw himself to the side, avoiding the stab of the blade. It was a heavy sword, and the blow pierced the grass directly, stirring up a large amount of mud. It would definitely have pierced him through the chest and stuck him in the grass.

Another assassin hid in a blind spot behind the wall. He first turned out from the shadows and threw a flying knife into the right arm where the assassin drew his sword, splashing a large amount of blood. Then he took advantage of the situation and rushed forward.

He drew his sword, but before he could even stand, he had to quickly lower the tip of his sword and thrust it into the ground. With a powerful thrust, a large ball of dirt flew towards the man's face and into his eyes.

The man took a big step back and swung his knife blindly, trying to block the

He rushed forward, but Cesar also rushed forward. He used all four limbs, crouching low to rush under the opponent's blade. He grasped the blade with his right hand in his backhand, without swinging his arm, just using the momentum of the charge to lunge forward, and cut the man's left leg with a deep gash that exposed the bone.

He didn't employ any advanced techniques, relying solely on the agility and reflexes gained from massive blood loss. However, given his exceptional physical abilities but inability to utilize them, the techniques Ceshia taught him were sufficient to handle most situations.

Cesar hadn't seen the ghostly, invisible assassins. These were either disguised spies or bribed local gang members. Their varying qualities proved he wasn't high on the list. But once this night was over, it was hard to predict what would happen next.

Gouzi fired another accurate shot at the assassin behind him, whose leg was broken. The man in the window immediately dared not show his head. Cesar caught a glimpse of the two figures on the fourth floor flashing through the corridor window. One of them pierced her right arm holding the gun, and the other swung his knife and threw her down under the invisible window sill.

He wasn't worried about the Faceless One dying, but if she were in danger, she would need to feign death and then, when the enemy was least prepared, reveal her inhuman visage. This would mean the death of everyone in the corridor who saw her face. Whether it was the clerks, the soldiers who arrived, or the servants who hadn't had time to escape, no matter how they had viewed her or whether they were friendly to her, they would all die.

Cesar could only hope that there weren't too many people around the dog.

Although it is unrealistic to expect a border city to have reliable intelligence and spy organizations, the place of Noien is really leaky everywhere, like a sieve.

The man in the window saw him kneeling on the ground, his left hand broken, a flying knife stuck in his right forearm, covered in dust, blood and dirt, gasping for breath. Then he saw the musketeer on the fourth floor also knocked down, and immediately jumped out of the window.

Another flying knife came, and while Cesar hurriedly dodged sideways, the man, sword in hand, lunged forward with his shoulders and back, his hands thrust forward. The blade came forward like a spear, piercing his chest.

Cesar held the sword in his backhand, the tip of the sword pointing to the ground, and the blade was tilted upward to intercept the thrust, while at the same time he tried his best to block it.

It's no exaggeration to say that even with his greater strength than usual, his palms were numb from the shock, and he almost lost his grip on his weapon. The opponent not only used all his strength but also the inertia of the sprint, but he could only use his half-broken body to block.

Cesar retreated repeatedly, feigning exhaustion during the clash of metal, drawing the opponent forward. When he reached the wall, the man swung his sword into the air without changing his stance. Instead, he used his arms to twist his entire body, the blade tracing a vast arc, passing behind Cesar's head and then diagonally below his knees. With accumulated force, he swung upwards, covering every path Cesar could avoid.

This is a heavy sword. Even if it hits a stone, it can create a big gap. Even if an ordinary person wants to block it, the sword will be chopped into his body.

Fortunately, he doesn't count.

Cesar had already discarded his dented, broken sword and swung his crude mace in what looked like a desperate attempt at resistance, employing only his shoulders and arms. Despite numerous unfavorable circumstances, he suddenly blocked the opponent's heavy sword in the clash of metal, creating a gaping wound. A second blow bent the opponent's sword, which had been used as a shield, creating a sharp arc. The man's eyes widened, and he immediately abandoned his sword and retreated, retreating into the darkness and disappearing.

Ran away?

When I looked out the window of the corridor at the back, it was Gou Zi with blood all over his face holding the gun.

Everything for today was over. Although the skills Seshia had taught him had made him more adept at utilizing his unusual physical abilities, at least enough to withstand the assassin's attacks, feigning defeat and sudden bursts of brute force were no match for a more skilled foe. The mercenary captain hurried over and first applied some battlefield bandages before noticing the heavy sword on the ground, bent at a blunt angle of over 100 degrees.

"Should you be taken to the temple for treatment, Padawan?" she asked, tightening the bandage around his wound to stem the bleeding.

"Better not. Just let Firth do it."

Before Cesar could react, Cecia touched his shoulder and tore a large hole in his clothes that had been cut by the knife, almost tearing it to his chest. He wanted to resist, but found that he could not resist.

"Why are you shy? You don't need to cover your body."

"Maybe it does need to be covered," Cesar said.

As soon as she finished speaking, Cecilia saw blood seeping into Cesar's skin. It was splattered from the man whose right leg he had cut open. She paused, looked down at the bandages in her hand, and found that there were not many left. The soldiers were also on their way, so she decisively took off the cloak she had been wearing and draped it over him, buckling the hood.

"I suggest you find a mask to wear on the battlefield next time," she said as she put the cloak on him, "and cover any areas where blood might splash."

"This is......"

"I don't care about distant things and ancient dogmas." Cecia looked him up and down, then reached out to

He tightened the tie at the neck of his cloak and said, "If there's something I don't want to see happen, we'll talk about it then."

Her hair was usually tied up tightly, but today it was loose, as she had hurried to get here, and it was in a bunch of tangles on her chest and back.

He felt the warmth of her cloak, smelled the scent of her body, breathed in the soft white air of her breath. He had never wanted her so much before, and when he felt her so close, he felt as if his heart were tightened with ropes, and a stream of blood oozed from it, flowing onto his numb and weak fingertips.

Cesar took a shallow breath.

"So you have to stand next to me and watch me all the time?"

"Or maybe I'll chop your head off with a sword from behind." With a rather unkind smile, Ceshia tightened the bandage on his left hand, causing him to wince in pain. "Stop talking inappropriately and take responsibility for the survival of this city. Lately, you're the only one responsible for this place, right?"

"Actually, I don't know how useful the tasks I assigned will be," he said.

"You're more useful than most city defense commanders I've met." She finally put his cloak on him and bandaged his wounds. "Go to your quarters. I'll clean this place and deal with any remaining problems. Even if your injuries heal quickly, you'll have to keep these bandages on for a while."

Cesar nodded and strode through the crowd. As he passed by familiar and unfamiliar ranks of soldiers, the gazes they gave him were filled with meaning. Some of these glances were due to the cloak he wore, a cape he had only seen on mercenary leaders; some were due to the way he walked through the barracks as if he had been stabbed but only slightly injured; and some were due to the bloody ropes stretching from the fourth floor to the first, the heavy swords with terrible dents, and the dead bodies lying on the ground.

Even more absurd rumors would spread throughout the barracks and then throughout Upper Noyen tomorrow. Some would relate to his personal feelings, saying that the Black Sword mercenary leader was young and handsome, and that his concern for the young Borgia subtly went beyond the normal employment relationship. Others would exaggerate his personal prowess, making the next assassination attempt, which was likely to come, extremely difficult to deal with.

Let’s not talk about the first rumor for now, and the second rumor... In order to cover up one’s true situation, one has to accept the spread of some rumors.

Cesar strolled up the stairs, and as he approached Gouzi, who was cleaning his rifle, he unsurprisingly found a group of soldiers lying dead on the ground. Three of them had been killed by assassins' blades, two had their throats slashed by sharp claws, and the two assassins had been pierced through the chest by something sharp and curved—clearly her limbs. Seeing him staring at her, Gouzi blinked innocently.

He sighed and sat down. "Use the soldiers' axes and hammers to smash the wounds on the chests of these two men, and then use the assassin's knife to cut the wounds of these soldiers smooth. Finish the job quickly, I need to go back and rest."

"It won't take long, master," said the dog.

......

When he woke in the middle of the night, Cesar lay naked on the floor, his body covered in acrid blood and sticky medicine. Beneath him lay a strange hieroglyphic circle. Sleepiness tugged at his eyelids, and he spent a long time slowly moving his hands, feeling for any wounds, only to find nothing. Hazy, he thought to himself that he seemed to be healing faster. He lifted his severed left hand and saw a cluster of blood vessels wriggling, struggling, and twisting like earthworms along the broken surface of his fingers.

His face twitched, and he was trying his best not to think about the fact that he was no longer human.

"Huh? You're awake?" Firth leaned over. She was wearing only a bra and drawers, and her whole body was covered in blood as she crawled around on the ground, tracing hieroglyphs. "But you can't move. Do you understand?"

"No, what are you doing? Does treating injuries require such a big fuss?"

Chapter 63: Devouring

"Have you not realized your transformation, Master?" The dog bent over him, looking down at him. "The severed blood vessels in your left hand are proof. You have already entered this cursed realm, and the transformation cannot be stopped. Either let it go and continue to fall, or grab the rope given to you by the path and climb up."

"Is there no way in this world to make people take a step back?"

Gouzi shook her head and smiled happily, as if she had always known the answer and just wanted to tell him.

"Yes," she said with a smile, "Use poison to suppress your vitality, let the flesh and blood and soul beneath your skin rot away bit by bit, and you won't fall again, because then you'll be practically a walking corpse. How can a corpse fall or climb?"

He felt his face darken. "Has anyone done this before?"

"Those who insist on their human identity after being cursed will do this. People call them saints and call it great persistence. Do you want to be a saint, master?" The dog asked with strange curiosity.

"If you want to, you have to give up everything that can satisfy your desires." Firth stared at him. "If you give up your sensual desires and no longer feel pleasure, then you can no longer be tempted, and you can no longer change, just like you can no longer touch the body of your lover after your body is covered with thorns."

"It's despairing," Cesar said.

"We better hurry."

Firth muttered, "You still have work to do, and a few more steps forward will help you better prepare for future dangers."

"I don't know how to cooperate with you."

"You will feel that I am guiding your heart, just listen to me."

She leaned forward, grabbed one of his arms, and held it between her soft breasts.

Before Cesar could experience the subtle sensation, Phils opened her mouth. He thought she was going to bite it, but she took the severed part of his left hand into her mouth. A gentle suck brought a strong tingling sensation, and blood rushed into her throat. After a while, he could actually see the red light of the blood shining through the skin of her throat, as if there was only a translucent film there.

His mind suddenly became hazy. It was a cold night, but he found that the wind in the house had completely stopped, as if the air had solidified, making him feel stuffy.

Cesar stared at the forked red light spreading across her skin, feeling a connection between the blood she swallowed and himself. Because of this connection, he could smell the rich fragrance of her blood and bones, and something inhuman in him was eager to react.

"I am showing you another side of the world, so don't struggle, don't break free from my arms..."

Firth's voice was clearly soft, but he felt that every syllable that emanated from her mouth was like a needle scratching pottery, strangely sharp and piercing. It wasn't just her voice; many sounds became piercing; even the sound of her breath was so harsh that it made his ears bleed. The subtle ambient sounds, previously barely perceptible, became a shrill hiss, drowning him out like a fish surrounded by a leaden ocean.

Her form suddenly dissolved. He could no longer see her, only the feeling of her crouching behind him. One moment, he felt her arms around his neck, the next, her breath on his shoulder. The stable contours of the world around him suddenly disintegrated. The bed, the cabinets, the table, the chairs, the walls stretched outward like a figure under a torch. The far end faded into a veil of darkness, far beyond his sight, while the near end clawed at him, trying to tear his skin.

The entire room became like the depths of a dense forest, filled with crimson sharp branches that blocked the view in every direction, even the sky could not be seen.

In this deep red forest, many slender limbs stretched and flexed, many bloated tentacles twitched and swung, and many bloody mouths tore open; many strange eyeballs rolled around on the blood-colored branches, many hideous blood and bones piled up into mountains, and many bleeding hollow faces crawled in the cracks of the trees, like flat corpse-eaters.

"The only ones around here who have contact with the Outlands are the old guys in the castle, but they're not going to the Scarlet Realm, so we won't meet other fellow travelers... No, there's a woman I don't know there, she's very tall, chained... It's okay, she's chained and can't get close to us. In any case, don't break free from my arms..."

As Fils continued to speak, something suddenly lunged forward, a bloody mist swirling through the stagnant air. A blood-red claw gripped the redwood trunk ahead, its trembling fur rippling like it was moving underwater without a breeze. Cesar saw withered muscles, held to withered bones by distinct tendons, exerting a coordinated force, crushing the darting eyeballs on the trunk.

The beast's claw was slowly approaching him, as if wanting to touch him, but it hovered a few steps away from him, as if it was restrained by something and could not move forward at all.

A distant voice came from behind the intertwined crimson branches. "Where are you from?"

Firth immediately whispered in his ear, "Tell her we accidentally came into contact with the priests and know nothing." She added, "I used our school's method to possess you and sneak in. She can't see me or hear me."

The speaker seemed to be expecting a response, so Cesar delivered the reply that Phils had given him.

"Why are you locked here?" he added.

"I'm not chained here," the man behind the tree said. "I'm trapped in another person's body. It's like being chained to a dead stake. Even if I project my soul, I can't get very far."

"Do you live in the city?" Cesar asked.

"I'm watching you in the military camp outside the city." The other party said jokingly.

"Are you from Sassoulet?" Cesar felt something.

"Not really," she replied.

Cesar then thought of Brother Kallen's story and asked, "So you are a beastman?"

"Part of it." She gave an equally ambiguous answer without sincerity.

"Do the Sasule people allow their tribesmen to inquire about the alien god Analik?" Cesar asked persistently.

"That's not the case," the voice drifted over, pleasant and soothing, each word a soporific quality. "It's just that our kind is born connected to another side of the world, hated and feared. That's why I'm wearing a thick felt coat and wrapping myself in airtight animal skins."

Are the Beastmen born with a connection to the so-called Outer Realm—or the other side of the world? This sounds incredible. Cesar prefers to believe that there are some rare individuals in the Beastmen population who are born this way. In this case, if the Kasar Empire wants to use the Beastmen as military slaves, it can only do so.

It would be better to find those special individuals separately and kill them in advance.

"Be careful with her voice!" Firth whispered in his ear. "Those who go far on this path will lure those who come after them and devour them. You are all born with endless desire."

Indeed, she spoke like poetry, using an unusually gentle voice to mask her sharp, withered claws, as if the wolf, disguised as her grandmother, was luring Little Red Riding Hood closer. Cesar found this unexpected encounter very interesting. It told him that there was also a monster hiding its identity in the Sassuale camp, and that the disappearance of the military wizard might be closely related to her.

From their conversation, it seemed as if she was intentionally revealing her identity in her words. This was odd; it was possible that she was spreading false information to trick him into killing an innocent person, but it was also possible that she was trying to trick him into killing the person who had trapped her.

Would this free her? From some cage that held her captive?

"Anyway," the other said, "I've been in the Crimson Realm for a long time. Since you've only recently projected your soul here, perhaps I can offer some guidance and advice to those who come later. I imagine that as someone exploring the Outlands, you wouldn't be concerned with the disputes of the mundane world, wouldn't you?"

What did he think? He was probably the person in Noien who paid the most attention to this secular dispute. There were few people in the entire Noien who paid more attention than him.

"Partly," Cesar told her an ambiguous lie, adding at the end, "but I'll be concerned about whether I can escape."

"Don't worry, if you walk around this woodland a few more times and explore a little, you won't ask yourself this question. Or maybe you don't know how to explore?"

Phils muttered again, "Don't listen to her! Uh, well, actually I don't know much. You can listen a little and I can tell you if she's lying to you."

"I've always performed rituals according to an ancient scripture," Cesar thought for a moment and said, "A lot of the content is already blurry, but I can tell whether the advice you give is true or false."

"Then let me be more specific with my advice. I need to observe you carefully before I can tell you what method is best for you."

The voice paused, as if waiting for his response. Cesar had no choice but to nod in agreement.

"Keep your head up and stretch your neck," she said.

Cesar made this gesture upon hearing this, but he always felt like a little pig showing his meat to a wolf.

"Very good," the other man gripped the tree trunk, gently stretching out his claws and swiping across the bloody eyeballs. "The lines and texture of this neck are nice, and the bulge in the center of the neck is exactly the kind I love. The difference between you and me is that your skin is too white, but once it's covered in blood, there won't be any difference. Following this attractive human's neck down—you don't seem to accept this adjective?"

Cesar admitted that this was the first time he had been judged by someone; it had never happened before. At first glance, she seemed to be admiring his body contours, but on closer inspection, the admiration was like his admiring a well-braised duck neck, the so-called "covered in blood" being, in his words, "covered in sauce."

"Let's be more blunt," Cesar said. "When you expressed your desire to eat, was I on a chair or on a plate?"

Chapter 64 Wolf Claw

"Does it matter?" The being deep within the tree trunk gave an unexpected answer. "Have you never drunk someone's blood? After that, my friend, when you pierced someone's skin with your teeth, did you never pay attention to their fingers, their forearms, or their necks, thinking of doing something more than just sucking blood? Biting through someone's wrist would be relatively mild, but biting through their thigh would make them scream. Different parts of the body can bring different experiences. Nerves are tangled together to allow us to experience those intense pains. After all this, you don't feel it more. Isn't it a waste?"