Chapter 310

Chapter 310: Piercing

Yu Sheng lay half-crushed against a pillar, feeling his blood and life draining away by the second. The artificial saintess pinned him like a slab of dead iron, utterly motionless.

A low, chaotic grinding came from within her metal body—like some crucial part spinning uselessly after a catastrophic failure. At the same time, thick liquid seeped from the seams of her shell. It was almost like blood plasma: hot and corrosive, metallic-shined, mixed through with a suspicious dark red.

Yu Sheng gritted his teeth and shoved. With trembling hands, he finally pulled the two blades that had pierced him out of his body, but he still didn’t have the strength to push her dead weight off him.

“Hey… you’re really dead?”

He stared at the iron doll, still not quite believing it.

He had fought this terrifying, stubborn enemy so many times that he’d almost convinced himself she couldn’t be killed. Yet now she had fallen right in front of him, silent and heavy, as if she would never move again.

Yu Sheng shook his head, dizzy. Broken fragments he’d “read” from her mind through their blood link flickered behind his eyes. The more he tried to piece them together, the more confused he became.

After resting in place for a moment, he let out a quiet sigh.

Dead was dead. There was nothing to be done. He would probably die soon as well, and after this death, everything here would almost be over.

With that thought, he forced his arms up again and tried to shove the artificial saintess’s “corpse” off his body.

Flesh braced metal. Blood mixed with that strange “mud.”

Then a blurry voice surfaced in his mind, as if drifting up from the depths of a distant memory—

“…You’re going to become a lord. When that happens, remember to come home and take a look…”

Yu Sheng froze.

Before he could even figure out what he’d heard, he realized his fingers had touched the dark red “plasma” leaking beside the artificial saintess’s pale face.

A conversation with the dead?

His breath caught.

It worked on the artificial saintess, too?

Before he could think it through, his vision swayed. Then, with a sudden plunge, a world of black, white, and gray filled his view.

But unlike the previous times he’d used that ability, what he saw wasn’t the holy sarcophagus chamber at all. The monochrome world expanded violently, and an utterly unfamiliar scene flooded over reality and rushed into his sight, as if he’d fallen into a dream that was almost real.

Endless wheat fields.

Vast wilderness. Rolling mountains in the distance. A river quietly cutting through the open land. Peaceful, quiet villages scattered across the wilds.

Behind him came the crack of a stick whipping through the air—very close.

Yu Sheng turned in surprise. The scene around him rippled like misted water, shifting again and again. A huge tree stood behind him now, and in front of it was a wooden post. A little girl who looked only eight or nine stood before the post, swinging a stick with fierce concentration, using the post as a target to hone her “swordsmanship.”

There were many other figures too—tall, short, fat, thin, boys and girls a bit older—crowded around the tree. They watched her swing the stick. Some counted to egg her on, some cheered, and some shouted that it was time to go home and eat.

Yu Sheng frowned and took a step forward on instinct, but the tree suddenly vanished. A thin layer of smoke drifted past, and on a small road across the wilds, a knight in a surcoat rode hard through a village path.

“Border wars are fierce!”

“Demons are pressing harder!”

“The Holy One calls for more brave and upright warriors to accept baptism and receive glory!”

The knight shouted from horseback. His ornate surcoat and the imposing armor beneath it were dazzling.

The messenger rode between villages, delivering the Holy One’s teachings and bringing the Holy One’s blessings.

The land was barren, but the Holy One could make even barren ground grow enough wheat to feed everyone. Knowledge was precious, but the village church taught every child to read and write for free.

Yu Sheng walked through scene after scene, like passing through layered illusions.

The eight- or nine-year-old girl grew to eleven or twelve. The rough practice stick became a proper wooden sword—still wood, but shaped with a neat grip and guard. Her father used an old knife to carve it bit by bit under an oil lamp and gave it to her as a birthday gift.

Her two brothers were deeply jealous, but they lacked the “chosen” talent. Jealousy was all they could have.

A neighbor’s eldest son was chosen and became a glorious knight. He followed the messenger to the capital. They said he would be sent very, very far away and wouldn’t return for a long time. When he left, he wore splendid armor that gleamed like gold—so exquisite and imposing it made people’s eyes blur.

“Being a knight means you can send two hundred francs home every year—that’s worth five strong laborers,” the mother said as she calculated under the oil lamp. She had studied at the church when she was young, but without further talent she’d become only a farm woman who could read and write. “You don’t just have knight talent. You also have saintess talent. If you’re chosen for holy office, you can send eight hundred francs home every year…”

The father hated her cold math, and they argued, though it was hard to tell what they were truly arguing about.

The twelve-year-old girl simply practiced “swordsmanship” diligently every day. She sparred with the neighbor’s brother and sister, or studied church teachings together with them.

The wheat ripened through several harvests. The messenger came a few times.

Yu Sheng crossed a thin fog and saw a luxurious carriage stopped on open ground. The villagers lowered their heads in awe, and in the sky not far away, a majestic creation of steel floated silently.

Another batch of gifted youths were taken away. Most had the talent to become knights. There were also two girls said to be able to become saintesses.

The messenger came and went.

Bards came and went, too.

The bards were more interesting than the messenger. They brought stories from far away—the kinds of stories young men loved to hear.

Stories about demons beyond the border. About a great holy crusade. About battles to uphold justice and protect the kingdom. The Holy One led armies to resist those mad, dark, chaotic creatures beyond the civilized world. High walls were built, encircling one “kingdom world” after another, and because of that shelter, the wheat fields could ripen again and again, and peace could exist between the wildlands.

The wooden sword became an iron practice sword, and then a real steel sword.

At sixteen, the girl began patrolling the wilds with the village brother and sister. They hunted beasts that might threaten the village, and weak monsters that, for some reason, always crawled out of certain “nests.”

At last, the messenger came again.

“This one, this one, and this batch here—you’re all ready. Come with us. You’ve been blessed.”

So the girl and the brother and sister climbed onto the carriage together.

She carried the sword her father had paid dearly to have forged, and two new sets of clothes her mother had sewn by hand.

“…You’re going to become a lord. When that happens, remember to come home and take a look…”

The mother leaned against the carriage, holding her hand as she spoke.

“You don’t have to send all the money back. Take care of yourself first. Your parents have harvests back home, and your two brothers are already the pillars of the family.”

She said it again.

Then the carriage set off.

After leaving the wilderness, the carriage was replaced by a larger wagon driven by magic.

The ride was comfortable. The cushions were soft, and there was a kindly old messenger who told the newly departed boys and girls especially interesting little stories about faraway places.

Yu Sheng stood in the swaying cabin, watching the boys and girls sit around the lamplight, watching them talk excitedly about the future, glory, and home, watching the fog rise and then fade away.

“This is the sword my dad paid to have made. I’m good at swordsmanship!” The girl, already proud as a budding expert, stood before a grand building like a palace and spoke to the messenger waiting at the door. “I also know herbs, and math!”

“Very good,” the messenger said to her. “Put your sword in this box first, and these two sets of clothes.

“During the promotion ritual, you can’t bring too many personal items. Don’t worry. When you return, they’ll be handed back to you. Your swordsmanship will be useful.”

Then the boys and girls went in. They entered the lavish palace, walked down a long corridor, and the messenger guided them gently, laying them on ritual platforms. Half-awake, they heard the messenger give instructions—

“This batch—send to the conversion room.”

“These few—send to the regeneration room.”

“These few… take them away.”

“This one has excellent talent—send to the extraction room. High success rate.”

It felt like something that had happened many years ago.

The girl became a saintess. The hometown brother and sister became knights. Together they formed a team that others envied—just like the bards said in their stories. By day they went to the battlefield and fought heretical abominations bravely, defending justice and the people. By night they returned to a holy sanctuary, where endless glory and blessings awaited them.

After that, every day was glory.

After that, every day was glory.

Nothing but glory.

Glory…

Glo%$#!

Fog rose like smoke, and then everything suddenly fell into darkness. In the black-white-gray world came a howl, and a sharp alarm, as if rooted deep in some underlying system—

“Mind barrier critical!”

“Cognition shroud: piercing!”

“Warning. Mind barrier critical!”

“Shut down immediately…”

The sound was unbearably irritating. Yu Sheng waved a hand in the dark, and the noise cut off at once.

He looked around and saw only deep darkness—no exit, only chaotic mist drifting in his sight.

Then, slowly, a beam of light appeared in the fog.

A figure stood in that light.

A dashing lady in bright armor stood not far away, long blond hair over her shoulders, a sharp sword in hand—the last gift her father had ever given her.

She stared blankly at Yu Sheng, then lowered her head to look at her own body.

Black metal rapidly covered the bright armor. The sword shattered without a sound. Her fingers turned into razor blades.

Cognition shroud piercing. Conflicts of memory and logic, on the edge of madness, surged like a tide. She lifted her head and seemed to reach a hand toward him—

Was she asking for help?

Or was it only a final, unconscious grasp at something before her body collapsed?

Yu Sheng didn’t know.

The darkness shattered, and the dead woman’s last memories vanished into eternal peace.