Chương 19: Husher’s Sacrifice

All four of us reached Plew by carriage, the scars of our recent ordeals still burning fresh in our minds. The wooden wheels clattered over the roads as I stared into the far distance, haunted by the dangers we had barely escaped. Turning to Galer, I asked the question weighing on my soul: "Will this mission be recorded as nothing but failure? A quest for naught?" Galer's voice carried the weary wisdom of a man who had seen too many such endings in his mercenary life.

"Such things are not rare in our cursed trade. They happen from time to time. When the quest-giver dies before the deed is done, the contract dissolves into dust. It will be counted as naught, at least we got 50%," Husher interjected. Upon reaching Plew, we immediately reported every grim detail to the registry. Their expressions hardened at the mention of the Branga's findings... omens of trouble that never boded well for the surface.

They vowed to send a heavily armed unit to investigate the forsaken, broken castle and its surroundings. With heavy hearts, we retreated to the same familiar tavern, seeking refuge in bowls of thick, hearty stew and the warmth of ale. For two full days we rested, letting our battered bodies mend as much as time allowed. On the third morning, the war bells rang out from the main square, deep, ominous peals that echoed through every street and alley, notifying the summons.

The sound struck me like a ghost from the past, from Rhertia and Lae. By the fourth toll, the shadow of war had once again enveloped us, dark and suffocating, stirring fresh anxiety in my chest. Without a word, the three of us broke into a run toward the gathering crowd. In the square stood our Guild Merc Registry leader, the grizzled veteran Fuixs, beside the Graf of Plew.

The Graf held a bloodied scout's report and read aloud with a voice of iron will:"Sufil, the grandest city in Moesia's vast network and the vital artery of all trade and goods, is under ferocious attack. If Sufil fell, the economic devastation would plunge every connected city back into the abyss from which we had clawed our way out five hundred years ago. The damage would be so devastating that the next recovery point could be a thousand years later.

The Michaelanius Order had already been alerted; their aid units were surely marching toward Plew at this very moment to join the good cause. Intelligence pointed to the notorious SIS Gothian Bandits as the current culprits. By ancient and unbreakable law, every mercenary who lived within these walls, who ate at these tables and profited from this land, is now conscripted to defend the network's lifeblood.

Failure to answer the call would mean the end of the only life we had built, you would end as well on a wanted poster for 10 Osmium, showcasing the earnest danger for deserters. The city of 44, 000 souls would commit 8, 000 disciplined soldiers, led personally by the Graf Vermono,,, a formidable Vestuto user, along with 2, 000 mercenaries already present, all following under the command of Fuixs. Thousands more were converging from every direction, drawn by the urgent summons.

Payment was declared without hesitation: one Osmium coin today, and another when the deed was bloodily done right." Once again, like a cruel twist of fate repeating itself, we prepared for war after barely two days of recovery. Memories of the suffocating undercave, the life in Rhertia, the nightmare assault by Wolke and his army, and now this desperate march in support of Sufil... all collided in my mind. We had scarcely regained our full strength, yet duty left no room for complaint for any of us.

As our combined force marched toward Sufil, the first reconnaissance units returned, only two survivors from the original 25. One man had lost both legs and died in agony shortly after reaching our lines while crawling. Another, with ten arrows protruding from his back like grotesque quills, staggered forward on sheer will alone. In his final, gurgling breaths he warned: "They are prepared for us… They knew everything about our current standings… They have knowledge of the Vestuto… our Graf… Vermono… Be careful…"

Then his eyes glazed over and he collapsed, dead. The chilling accuracy of the enemy's intelligence sent ripples of shock through the ranks. Before we could even process the warning, 10, 000 bandits exploded from the surrounding wooded paths in a coordinated ambush from every direction at once. Chaos swallowed the battlefield. Mercenaries, unbound by rigid formation, reacted with raw individual instinct, which ironically saved the more disciplined units from immediate annihilation.

Steel clashed against steel in a deafening roar. Arrows darkened the sky. Shouts and screams blended into a single savage symphony carried on the wind to whisper its sound. I carved through three bandits in quick succession, my longsword singing as it split armor and bone. Galer unleashed crackling chains of light cuts that fried entire clusters of foes with his golden imbued knives, while Husher's shimmering bubbles trapped and crushed attackers in mid-charge. Yet the sheer weight of numbers took its toll.

One hundred and twenty-two of our soldiers fell in the brutal melee before the bandits suddenly disengaged, melting back into the trees like smoke. Graf Vermono's voice cut through the field of war like thunder: "It is a hit-and-run strategy! Do not pursue! They seek to enrage us, to draw us into their well-prepared traps. Hold the line! Order, respect, and virtue shall triumph over their dirty cunning ways!" We refused to let fury cloud our judgment.

Pressing forward with grim determination, we continued our march toward Sufil. The bandits struck again soon after. This time, thanks to the Graf's swift and decisive commands, our forces maintained tight cohesion. When the enemy charged, we met them as one. Spears and shields formed an unbreakable wall while archers rained death from behind. Galer's light imbued knives cut many bandits into pieces, tearing dozens at a time. My blade danced again in deadly arcs, severing limbs with opening throats.

Husher's bubbles formed protective domes around wounded allies and then detonated among the enemy ranks with devastating force of implosions. The clash was ferocious and prolonged. In the end, we lost only 38 soldiers while the bandits suffered nearly 1, 300 dead, their broken bodies carpeting the blood-soaked ground. Emboldened, our Merc Leader Fuixs unleashed the mercenaries in a wild counter-charge. We struck before the enemy could regroup or launch another ambush.

I joined a unit who opened a small wedge of fighters deep into their flank, slashing and stabbing with primal fury. Galer's light-charged blades cut glowing paths through the horde, killing many. Husher trapped entire squads in imploding bubbles before crushing them into the ground. The bandits, got caught off guard, broke into pieces and fled. We cut down another 1, 900 of their replenished 10, 000-strong force, leaving the path to Sufil littered with their corpses with no more surprises of theirs in our way.

At last we reached the outskirts of Sufil, a scene of pure devastation. Flames roared heavily through once-proud buildings. Towers crumbled in showers of stone and timber. The air was thick with smoke, ash, and the agonized screams of the dying. Bandits swarmed the streets like locusts, raping, pillaging, and slaughtering innocents... including children, for the mere sport of it. Strangely, the massive outer wall remained largely intact, yet the main gate stood wide open, betrayed from within.

At Graf Vermono's roared command, we launched our counteroffensive. The fighting that followed was no mere battle, it was a righteous, bloody massacre. We stormed through the broken gate like a tidal wave of vengeance by our burning spirit. My longsword reaped a harvest of bandit lives, each swing fueled by fury at the horrors I witnessed. Galer unleashed torrents of light charged kicks, that teared the enemies under-torso, cutting them in half along with their armor.

Husher's bubbles rolled through the streets, trapping clusters of looters before imploding with bone-shattering force. Soldiers fought in disciplined ranks, pushing the enemy back street by street. We carved a path toward the main square, saving every civilian we could reach and executing every bandit who stood in our way. The ground ran red with blood. The screams of the guilty mingled with the cries of the saved. In the heart of the square, a horrific sight awaited us.

The Graf of Sufil, Lintrutz, hung lifeless from makeshift gallows, his body swaying gently in the smoke-filled breeze. And there, casually seated on an overturned barrel and puffing on his pipe, as if enjoying a quiet evening, sat Wutta... the monstrous bandit we had fought and humiliated in the broken den not so long ago. He looked up, exhaled a plume of smoke, and smiled with malevolent calm.

"You arrived at the perfect time. I was just cooking up this old fella, want a bite? Oh, where are my manners? Welcome to Sufil... and your ordered doom!" he said with a nasty grin. Before anyone could react, he triggered his Vestuto. Husher's hurried scan revealed an Animo level that had skyrocketed to a staggering 2, 544... an impossible, terrifying surge of power.

With a guttural roar, Wutta transformed and rolled forward like a living avalanche of destruction, crushing ten soldiers and thirty-two mercenaries in a single devastating pass. Recognizing the burning hatred in his eyes, I shouted to Galer and Husher, "Lure him away from the main force! Let the others handle the rest of these dogs!" Then I bellowed at the top of my lungs, "Hey, fatty! Remember me?!"

Wutta froze while in mid-motion, rose to his full monstrous height, and fixed us with eyes blazing with pure, unfiltered rage.

"Yooouuuuu… Guys!" he snarled, voice thick with venom. Demoted and disgraced because of us, his burning desire for revenge on Husher and Galer now saw its chance.

"I will kill you both i lost so much because of youuuuu!." He charged with terrifying speed. We turned and ran, deliberately drawing the beast away from the main battle in the main square, while our comrades continued the desperate fight to reclaim the city, saving lives and slaughtering bandits wherever they could. When we reached a ruined side street far enough from the square, we skidded to a halt and turned to face him.

"This is far enough," I growled, raising my bloodied longsword.

"No more running. Let's end this here and now." Wutta's stopped right before us... his rocky outer form began to melt and reform. What emerged was a new, even more monstrous transformation. His body remained thick and powerfully built, still carrying a heavy layer of fat that rippled with each movement, but now layered with dense, corded muscle and jagged, obsidian-like bone protrusions that gleamed with dark, pulsating energy.

His skin had taken on a tougher, leathery texture, and his eyes burned with feral intelligence and bottomless hatred. He looked both brutish and disturbingly agile simultaneously, a nightmarish blend of bulk and predatory speed. The battle that followed was savage and unrelenting. Husher's iridescent bubbles danced and darted, attempting to trap and crush the monster, but Wutta anticipated every shift and smashed through them with raw power.

Galer unleashed volley after volley of light-charged knife strikes ending with two charged light kicks, each one crackling with lethal energy and scorching deep cuts across Wutta's hide. Yet the damage seemed only to enrage him further. A devastating punch to Galer's stomach folded the man in half, sending his weapons clattering to the ground as he gasped for air and flew into a building wall. I seized the opening, leaping onto Wutta's broad back and slashing relentlessly at him.

My blade bit deep, carving gashes that wept little dark blood. I hammered strike after strike with everything i got until, with a desperate cry, I drove my sword straight through his left eye while jumping on his back in desperation for a bit of damage. Wutta roared in agony and fury, ripping the blade free in a spray of ichor.

"Little runt! You want to die first? Aye, then die now!" He seized my head in a vise-like grip, crushing with monstrous strength while unleashing a brutal combo of punches and elbows that shattered ribs and sent waves of pain through my body. With a final savage kick, he launched me clear through the wall of a nearby building further than Galer, where I crashed in a shower of stone and timber, my vision blurring into darkness. Just as defeat seemed inevitable, Graf Vermono arrived like a storm of divine wrath.

Clad in sleek dark armor crackling with raw lightning, he slammed his fist into the ground. Bolts of pure thunder erupted upward like living whips, lashing and coiling around Wutta's massive frame, electrocuting flesh and cracking bone. The two Vestuto users collided in a cataclysmic duel that shook the surrounding into ruins. Lightning clashed against dark energy in explosive bursts that lit up the smoke-filled square like daylight. Graf Vermono fought with masterful control.

His sleek dark armor crackled with raw lightning as he danced around Wutta's massive form, launching precise thunder whips that lashed across the bandit's leathery hide and left smoking craters. Each strike was calculated, Vermono dodged crushing punches by the narrowest margins, countering with bolts that struck joints and eyes, trying to cripple the monster's overwhelming strength. Yet Wutta's raw power and newfound speed slowly began to overwhelm him.

The monstrous bandit moved like a living avalanche, his obsidian bone protrusions acting as both armor and weapons. Every missed lightning strike only fueled his rage. He roared and swung a tree-trunk-sized arm, forcing Vermono to block with a lightning shield. The impact sent the Graf skidding backward, cracking the stone beneath his feet. Wutta pressed the advantage, charging with terrifying momentum. He grabbed a ruined pillar and hurled it like a spear.

Vermono barely avoided it, but the follow-up punch caught him in the side. Bones cracked audibly. The Graf spat blood and retaliated with a point-blank thunder lance that pierced Wutta's shoulder, drawing a bellow of pain. Dark ichor sprayed across the square. For several brutal minutes they traded blows that leveled nearby buildings. Vermono's lightning chained and arced with precision, burning deep furrows into Wutta's flesh.

But the bandit's sheer mass and monstrous regeneration allowed him to endure what should have been fatal strikes. He landed a devastating backhand that sent Vermono flying into a stone wall, then followed up with a brutal stomp that cratered the ground where the Graf had stood moments earlier. Vermono rose, breathing heavily, one arm hanging limp. Lightning still danced across his armor, but his movements had slowed. Wutta, sensing victory, let out a guttural laugh and charged again, ready to end the fight.

I lay half-buried in rubble, barely conscious. Galer struggled to rise, too broken to continue. Husher appeared spent on the ground, playing possum. Vermono battled valiantly, but Wutta tore into him with increasing savagery, eventually ripping away one of the Graf's arms in a fountain of blood. The Graf fell to his knees, moments from death, as Wutta raised a massive, crushing foot to finish him.

In that instant, Husher surged forward with desperate courage, sacrificing his own safety to unleash his ultimate technique, an imploding bubble of maximum force which he used against Galer in the 1 v 1. The violent explosion slammed both combatants to the blood-soaked ground. Husher survived, barely breathing and badly injured, while Wutta rose again in steaming, white-hot fury.

One arm had been torn away, his legs were shattered and bleeding, yet he staggered forward with murderous intent toward the fallen Husher. Galer staggered to his feet and charged in a slowed, pained rush. I dragged myself from the collapsed wall, using my longsword as a crutch, too far away to reach them in time. Wutta's remaining foot came down with sickening force on Husher's head, crushing it brutally. Blood burst from Husher's eyes, ears, and mouth in a gruesome spray.

Galer and I finally reached the monster, throwing ourselves at him in a desperate attempt to hold him down. Wutta fought like a cornered beast, flailing and roaring, nearly throwing us off. At last, reinforcements... dozens of soldiers, rushed in and unleashed a storm of steel with successful cuts and pierces. Together, we struck the killing blows that finally ended the nightmare that was Wutta.

"We gently lifted Husher's broken body from the bloodied ground. Blood still bubbled from his lips, his face crushed and disfigured, as he whispered his final words with fading strength:""I did… what had to be done… The number one… goes first… to his new path… Never… forget it… who was Num... one" With trembling hands, he reached out and pressed one palm firmly against each of our chests, a final farewell, heart to heart. This time, unlike the cold loss at the castle, hot tears streamed down our faces.

We had lost not merely a comrade, but a true and loyal friend. In that blood-soaked square, with the sounds of battle still raging around us, I swore a solemn oath in my slowly burning heart: every last member of the SIS Bandits would pay for this day with their lives. Their vile existence would be erased from Terrarum, and Husher's sacrifice would never be forgotten.