Michmond, hit directly by the knife that had been thrown hard enough to make it travel a dozen meters, received the impact directly with his throat and stumbled backward a few steps. He instinctively reached up to touch the area where he had been struck.

Michmond faintly realized he had been hit by a dagger. But it was a faint realization as if hidden by fog. But the fog scattered, and the realization hit him like a runaway bull, and panic gripped his head as tightly as a vice.

Michmond’s heart began beating so hard it hurt. His stomach twisted, and it felt as if he would puke. Cold sweat covered Michmond’s palms, back, forehead, and armpits. He couldn’t think clearly. He couldn’t even think about thinking clearly.

The fact that he had a knife lodged in his throat was the only thing filling his mind. And it didn’t stop at filling it. His mind was flooded, and he drowned in that thought. With his brain not responding, his body reacted on reflex.

Since there was a foreign object in Michmond’s body, and it was causing him pain and distress, the most logical solution that his body could find and use was simply to get rid of the foreign object.

Michmond’s hands gripped the handle of the knife. Driven by panic and fueled by adrenaline, his hands gripped so hard they completely whitened.

“No! Don’t-!”

One of the guards, who realized what Michmond was doing, shouted.

Although the dagger was fatal, they were in the middle of the town. If they could find a healer before it was too late, they might be able to save Michmond. But that relied on the knife staying put and stopping the bleeding. Even then, it would be a long shot, but it was also their only shot.

However, Michmond’s heart was beating so loudly, and his mind was so overrun with panic that the guard’s shout didn’t register. The guard’s words had about as much effect on Michmond as a sneeze would have on the waves of an ocean.

Michmond’s hands yanked the knife out of his throat.

The hunting knife, whose blade was almost long enough to reach Michmond’s neck, came out drenched in blood.

The knife wasn’t the only thing that left Michmond’s throat as a fountain of blood quickly followed.

Michmond clasped his throat in a desperate attempt to keep his blood inside. But the warm, almost scaldingly hot, and sticky blood pulsed out of his throat relentlessly.

Michmond sank to his knees as the blood loss and shock robbed him of his balance.

After Michmond dipped his knees in the puddle of blood quickly forming, the previous feeling of nausea was no longer a feeling as his churning stomach pumped up the partly digested remains of Michmond’s breakfast.

The lumps of indiscernible food and stomach juices mixed with the red blood leaped out of the hole in Michmond’s neck and mouth.

The scene of the dying Michmond puking through a quickly widening hole in his throat was so sickening that one of the slightly newer guards, who hadn’t experienced as much shit as the others and wasn’t as stoic, joined Michmond.

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But the guard forgot to raise his visor, and the vomit stayed inside his helmet. Some of it slipped out through the slit or slid down to his suit. But most of it plastered his face and the insides of his helmet.

The knight hurried to unclasp his helmet and throw it off before kneeling on the ground and hurling his guts even harder than before.

Seeing Michmond and what happened to him was sickening in its own way. But puking in his own face made it impossible for the knight’s stomach to stop churning up vomit.

The stench of blood and puke quickly filled the scene, and even the hardboiled knights had to look away for a second to compose themselves before making an attempt at trying to save Michmond.

The young noble was doomed no matter what. But if the knights came back with a dead Michmond without any blood on their hands, the knights’ fate would probably be cut short.

The knights around Michmond, save the one on the ground puking, did their best. One took off their armor to use the undershirt as a makeshift bandage. In the long term, such a sweat-soaked and dirty shirt would lead to an infection. But Michmond was dead no matter what, so it didn’t matter.

The knights around Talia and the one on the stage were looking toward Michmond’s guards, waiting for a report on what had happened to Michmond. After all, their top priority was Michmond’s safety. If there was something they could do to save him, they would disregard a trio of troublemakers and thieves in the blink of an eye.

However, Ritzy, Talia, and Gerhart didn’t have to wait for the knights before they could move.

Gerhart thought fast and pushed the stunned knight in front of him to the ground. He didn’t have time to tie him up, especially now that the sound had alerted the other knights. But simply getting up with a heavy metal armor would be enough of a delay.

Gerhart grabbed the heavy axe with both hands. His sinewy forearms, upper arms, shoulders, and upper back were visibly strained by his efforts. But only because he yanked it off the ground and spun while holding the axe at the end of its shaft.

The Gerhart tornado stopped spinning after two laps since that was when Gerhart had built up enough speed and power to launch the heavy axe into the crowd of knights still swarming Talia.

They had started turning around when Gerhart pushed down the other knight, but they weren’t prepared for the axe. The knights tried to move away, but if they couldn’t they were hit by the axe.

The heavy head and sharp blade cut through the metal armor, and the thick shaft was weighty enough to overpower the resistance the knight’s bodies put up.

The axe knocked several of the knights to the ground and freed up the space around Talia.

Gerhart dashed over and pulled Talia up on the stage before supporting her as they started running in the other direction.

“Thanks, Gerhart.”

“I’ll accept that bone as repayment.”

“Just drop me off here.”

“I’ll just take it when you’re asleep, then.”

“I’ve beaten you once in my sleep. I can do it again.”

“I’ll ask Rit for help.”

“You wouldn’t go that far!”

“Try me.”

Gerhart helped Talia get down from the stage as they began running, Gerhart half-carrying Talia.

“Where’s Ritzy?”

“He took off as soon as Michmond got hit.”

“Rat bastard.”

“Rat bastard indeed.”

“It was a nice throw, though.”

“I could have done better.”

“Shame about your knife, though.”

“Wasn’t mine.”

“Ritzy’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Pfft- Fuck. Don’t make me laugh again. That shit hurts.”

Talia clutched her bleeding stomach and glared at Gerhart as they hurried through the backstreets of the town in an attempt to lose the knights chasing them.