Chapter 42

In the darkness of the forest, John's movements were swift and silent, a ghostly figure blending seamlessly with the shadows. With practiced precision, he struck Alex with a swift blow to the back of the neck, rendering the boy unconscious in an instant. Catching Alex's limp body before it could make a sound, John hoisted him over his shoulder with ease, his muscles tense with anticipation.

Navigating through the dense undergrowth, John moved with the agility of a predator stalking its prey. He found a secluded spot concealed by thick foliage, carefully depositing Alex's unconscious form within the shelter of a dense bush. With a final glance, John ascended a nearby tree with the grace of a silent specter, his eyes fixed on the clearing he had just vacated.

Perched high above the forest floor, John's senses were heightened to a razor's edge, every nerve on alert for the slightest sign of danger. The tension in the air was palpable, a coiled spring ready to unleash its pent-up energy at a moment's notice.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as John waited, his entire being though alert was relaxed in anticipation. The darkness of the forest along with his stealth techniques allowed him to go unnoticed, his small form concealed from prying eyes as he watched and waited for the inevitable arrival of the intruders, he had long sensed lurking in the shadows—he was in his element at this moment.

Under the cloak of darkness, the forest seemed to come alive with the steps of hundreds of individuals rushing across the forest floors. Like a relentless tide, they surged forward with a silent determination, their movements coordinated and purposeful despite the weight of their armour. Each footfall echoed softly in the stillness of the night, a subtle cadence that betrayed their presence amidst the dense foliage. John recognized them almost immediately.

The army of individuals moved with a practiced efficiency, their darkened armour blending seamlessly with the shadows as they navigated the forest terrain. Despite the clinking of metal against metal with each step, they moved with a ghostly silence that belied their numbers. Their movements were swift and deliberate, betraying the urgency of their mission as they pressed onward towards their target.

John watched with a steely gaze from his perch in the treetops, his senses honed to a razor's edge as he observed the enemy forces passing below. Despite the sheer number of troops, John remained undetected, hidden from view by the dense canopy above. With a keen eye, he noted the distinctive attire and symbols adorning their armor, confirming his suspicions that these were indeed soldiers of the Byzantine Empire, the sworn enemies of the Dracir Empire.

As the tide of soldiers swept past, John held his breath, willing himself to remain perfectly still as they passed by, their attention focused solely on their objective ahead. In the darkness of the forest, they moved like shadows, their presence a silent harbinger of impending danger as they closed in on the campsite behind him with ruthless efficiency.

Even as the tide of soldiers departed from the vicinity, John remained rooted to his spot, fortunately for him, he was right in doing so for another group of soldiers came immediately rushing towards the area.

Though unlike the hundreds of soldiers hastily rushing towards the empire’s campsite, this small group of soldiers, about thirty or so in number remained in the forest not following after the army of Byzantine troops. Each of them scoured the forest floors with watchful eyes.

“Tsk, Vanguards” remarked 621 internally.

As the vanguards scoured the forest with a meticulous precision, their keen eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of inconsistencies, John remained concealed in his perch high above, even this group failed to see him.

However, the same could not be said for Alex who was still peacefully sleeping within a bush.

With his own meticulous eyes, he watched as two soldiers approached dangerously close to Alex's hiding spot, their movements purposeful as they combed through the undergrowth. This caused John to make a hasty decision.

In a split-second decision, John acted with calculated precision, conjuring two miniature rods of pseudo-iron with a flick of his wrist. With deadly accuracy, he sent the rods hurtling through the air, their trajectories guided by his silent command as they found their mark with lethal efficiency. The soldiers, caught off guard by the sudden attack, had no chance to react as the rods pierced through their skulls, incapacitating them instantly.

The forest was momentarily filled with the sound of the soldiers' bodies hitting the forest floor, a sharp crack that shattered the silence of the night. His mind raced with adrenaline-fueled urgency, knowing that his actions had likely alerted the enemy to their presence.

Sure enough, the vanguards, alerted by the sound of the soldiers' demise, quickly converged on the area, their movements swift and purposeful as they closed in on the source of the disturbance.

In the dead of night, John took the initiative as he became a whirlwind of carnage, his movements a symphony of death as he unleashed his brutal prowess upon the approaching soldiers. With a cold determination in his eyes, he recalled the two miniature rods, guiding them with deadly precision towards their targets. The rods tore through flesh and bone with sickening ease, each impact sending a spray of blood and brain matter into the air.

But John was not content to rely solely on his martial skill. Leaping from his perch with uncanny agility, he descended upon an approaching soldier with a ferocious intensity, his movements a blur of motion as he descended with unmatched agility.

“Enemy att-”, the poor soul tried to say, but his words were cut off short as John snapped his neck with a swift twist.

As the soldier's warning cry died on his lips, John immediately launched himself towards another target, his fists and legs becoming instruments of destruction in his hands. With each strike, he unleashed a torrent of violence, his Qi-infused blows tearing through bodies with horrifying force.

His entire being blurred in and out of darkness as he leaped from soldier to soldier, ruthlessly delivering deathly blows with supreme efficiency as he simultaneously directed the two miniature pseudo-iron rods to pierce flesh.

The soldiers stood no chance against his onslaught, their bodies twisted and contorted in agony as John's blows rained down upon them, killing them with one-hit strikes. The sheer force of his strikes caused helmets to shatter, skulls were absolutely crushed, and limbs were torn asunder in a grisly display of brutality.

As soon as a fist or a leg kick connected to a soldier’s head, a burst of flesh and blood would ensue, some soldiers were even directly decapitated from some of his ruthless strikes causing their heads to splatter off into the distance with a sickening splat.

Amidst the chaos, the soldiers' cries of pain and fear echoed through the night, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as John continued his brutal assault. With each life he snuffed out, the ground became slick with blood, the air thick with the stench of death.

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In mere moments, the area was cleared out and transformed into a scene of utter devastation, the bodies of the vanguards strewn about like discarded puppets. Most of them had a small gaping hole in their foreheads whilst some had missing heads altogether. None had been able to withstand John's ferocity, and now they lay there, broken and lifeless, their blood staining the forest floor.

This was the difference between a cultivator like 621 and a trained soldier with rudimentary means of abilities. Like lowly ants to a mighty tiger, the outcome was obvious—annihilation.

Just as he was finished, 621 heard the distant sounds of battle echoing through the night, he even heard the sound of war horns being sounded. He knew that it came from the direction of the campsite. His senses were heightened to the sounds of that chaos.

Even from his position, he could almost taste the desperation in the air, mingled with the metallic tang of blood and sweat. Despite the carnage unfolding just beyond his sight, John remained detached, his thoughts focused solely on his own circumstances.

With a grimace, he glanced down at his blood-soaked tunic, the fabric clinging to his skin like a second layer of flesh. He shook his head in amusement, futilely attempting to rid himself of the gore that coated his body. The crude sword at his waist seemed to mock him, its blade stained with the blood of his fallen foes despite him not using it once during the carnage.

A stray thought lingered in his mind, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came; it was a thought about the badly equipped recruits just outside the main campsite as he compared them to the tide of Byzantine troops who seemed well equipped. To John, the recruits’ chances of survival seemed slim. But he held no feelings for them, only a detached sense of inevitability.

However, amidst the chaos and death, there was one small sliver of humanity that remained untouched. Alex, still slumbering peacefully in the bush where John had hidden him, was a presence of stark reminder to the death lingering on the forest floors.

With a sigh, John lifted the sleeping boy onto his shoulder once more as he made his way towards the campsite, his movements fluid and practiced. Despite the weight of his burden, he moved with purpose, his eyes still scanning the darkness for any sign of danger.

…

As John emerged from the forest, he was met with a scene straight from the depths of hell itself. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death, the ground littered with the lifeless bodies of fallen soldiers. The once hopeful recruits, clad in their shabby armor, lay scattered across the blood-soaked earth, their dreams of glory shattered by the merciless onslaught of the Byzantine troops.

In the distance, the wooden forts of the Empire's main campsite stood as a last bastion against the relentless tide of raiders. But even from afar, John could see that they were fighting a losing battle, there was just too many of them. Arrows rained down from within the walls, finding their marks amidst the chaos below.

But the attackers showed no mercy, pressing forward with savage determination as they cut down anyone who dared to stand in their path. They were well prepared for this, as they raised their shields against the arrows, some even pulled corpses up as a makeshift shield.

The sound of battle ahead were deafening, the clash of steel against steel mingling with the agonized cries of the damned. Blood flowed like rivers, staining the ground crimson as the massacre unfolded before John's eyes. He had just emerged from a massacre right into another one.

Amidst the chaos, John witnessed scenes of brutality. Recruits, barely more than children, fought desperately for their lives, their faces contorted in fear and agony as they were cut down by the enemy's blades. Some tried to flee, only to be struck down by arrows from their own allies, the indiscriminate rain of death sparing neither friend nor foe.

Each second passing by was another recruit dead, their numbers barely reaching twenty. Some were frozen in fear as they were cut down mercilessly.

In the midst of this madness, John remained a silent observer, unmoved by the suffering around him. He moved further on the outskirts of the battle, ensuring that he wouldn’t encounter the path of retreat. Next, he hid Alex’s body once again before finding a nice vantage point for himself.

It wasn’t long before the Byzantine troops intensified their siege. Soon the air became thick with the acrid scent of smoke and burning debris. Torches flew through the air, their flames leaving trails of destruction in their wake as they crashed into the wooden structures of the campsite. Arrows, this time from the Byzantine side, ablaze with fire, rained down from above, their deadly payloads poised to turn the camp into a fiery inferno.

But the defenders were not so easily overcome. With swift efficiency, they sprang into action, armed with buckets of water and dampened cloths to smother the flames. They moved as one, a well-oiled machine, their movements precise and coordinated as they fought to save their makeshift base from destruction.

However, John could still hear the cries of agony from within the campsite, the screams of unbearable burns was a distinct one, he could even distinguish the familiar scent of burnt flesh.

Despite all that, John's attention was drawn to a mysterious figure within the campsite, their silhouette illuminated by the clouds of Qi that only he could perceive. This individual seemingly moved with an air of calm determination, their hands weaving intricate patterns as they summoned water from thin air to douse the flames with ease.

It was a sight that took 621 by surprise. He had not expected to encounter a cultivator within the campsite in a minor battlefield of small importance, let alone one capable of wielding such useful water arts. Yet there they stood, a solitary figure amidst the chaos, their presence a beacon of hope among the one-sided slaughter.

But even still, the Byzantine troops redoubled their efforts, their determination unyielding despite the obstacles before them. With a relentless ferocity, they continued to hurl themselves against the fortified walls of the campsite, their weapons slashing and hacking at the sturdy wooden defences in a desperate bid to breach the perimeter.

However, it was clear to John that brute force alone would not be enough to overcome the formidable barriers that stood in their way. The Byzantine troops needed a more practical means of breaching, they were missing siege weapons.

It became increasingly apparent to him that the Byzantine’s objective in this backwater area was not to siege the campsite but to kill as many of the Empire’s troops as they can, they were mere raiders in his eyes. Their next course of action only supported his theory.

From his vantage point, he saw several masked Byzantine soldiers taking out pouches from their sides, their contents shrouded in mystery as they ignited them with flames before immediately throwing them over the walls. With a sickening hiss, the pouches burst into flames, releasing a noxious cloud of smoke that billowed forth like a dark miasma, enveloping the campsite in its dark embrace.

John watched as the smoke spread through the air, its fumes seeping into the lungs of the empire's soldiers trapped within the walls. With each breath, they choked and gasped, their bodies wracked with violent convulsions as they struggled to expel the smoke from their bodies.

Some attempted to destroy the mysterious pouches or hurl them back at their attackers, but their efforts were in vain. The smoke’s effects had already taken hold as they began coughing up splotches of blood.

It was poison.

On the other hand, the Byzantine raiders began retreating as soon as they threw over the pouches. Their figures gradually faded from view as they ran with haste seemingly achieving their objectives.

A heavy silence soon settled over the battlefield, broken only by the pained cries of the empire's soldiers trapped within the besieged campsite. The acrid scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the stench of blood and death as it wafted through the night.

John watched from his vantage point, his eyes fixed on the main campsite shrouded in the poisonous cloud of smoke. From this distance, he could see the flickering glow of flames dancing amidst the darkness, casting eerie shadows upon the walls of the fortified enclosure.

It looked like they were fighting poison with fire.

The sounds of struggle echoed faintly through the smoke, the desperate cries of the wounded mingling with the pained shouts of those who fought to defend their comrades and their home.

But even as they battled against the encroaching clouds of poison, they remained rooted inside the campsite, perhaps fearful of the fact that the raiders may return to finish the job if they were to exit the camp.

In that a moment, John felt a twinge of inspiration stirring within him, a fleeting sense of admiration for the Byzantines ruthless strategy, leaving the lives of the empire’s troops hanging by mere thread.

Even now, after they left, there still seemed to be a psychological threat present in their absence. He admired this sense of ingenuity and determination to kill despite their crude abilities; rather he wondered who had orchestrated this clever attack.

And so, with a final glance at the besieged campsite, John turned away, disappearing into the depths of the forest once more. In the distance, the faint glow of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting its pale light upon the scene of devastation below.

But for 621, the dawn brought no solace, only the promise of more bloodshed and death in the days to come.