In front of the temporary hospital, when the first refugee fled past like a beaten dog, people mocked him. When the second and third refugees scrambled away, people stopped laughing. And when the sixth refugee ran past in a panic, people followed his steps.
Most of the passersby chose to continue fleeing far away, but a small portion hid inside the hospital to seek shelter, believing the Scoia'tael would observe moral convention and not attack a temporary hospital.
Angoulême judged with Eagle Eye, directing the guards to split the flow of people. She blocked several who might have harbored ill intentions, then arranged for those with no color, refugees purely ruled by fear, to rest in the first-floor hall of the hospital.
There was not much wrong with that arrangement. The problem was that the blood-crazed Scoia'tael did not care whether it was a hospital or not.
Having once gone hungry and still dressed in rags even now, the moment they held weapons in their hands, they only wanted to destroy everything before their eyes to satisfy their fanatical brutality.
...
"Push harder! Defend the universe!"
"Take my sword! The Continent's finest blade!"
"White King's holy sword! Blades, follow me!"
"Ah! Demacia!"
Although she could not understand what the Scoia'tael were shouting, the body language of rushing over to hack at one another needed no translation!
Drawing Golden Eagle, Angoulême was like a reef in a rushing current, bearing wave after wave of impact from the guerrillas. Back in Flotsam, she had been quite interested in the curved blades and one-handed swords the elves were good at using, and had often sparred with them. Now, that experience was being put perfectly into practice.
In the pouring thunderstorm, surrounded by large numbers of Scoia'tael in chaotic battle, the dangerous environment soon let Golden Eagle display its power again. Yet it failed to produce the same awe-inspiring effect it had against the Order.
The Void trait guaranteed armor-piercing, but it could not break blades. The Scoia'tael were not wearing armor in the first place, so Golden Eagle's sharpness was not much different from an ordinary steel sword to them.
Fortunately, the effect that enhanced all her abilities still ensured she was swift as an eagle. She instinctively kept swinging her sword and killing until her arms trembled and went numb, until her feet grew tired and weak, until she had once again cut down an entire squad of Squirrels.
By the time the heavy rain stopped, only two city guards remained standing outside the hospital alongside Angoulême.
Before her, corpses were piled like mountains and blood flowed like rivers. Her nose seemed to smell that unbearable stench again, the scent of bloodwater, sweat, excrement, hatred and fury, fear and death.
Then all three of their pupils widened, and they felt despair in their shock. With a loud rush, more than a hundred new guerrillas appeared, surrounding them completely. Unlike the previous waves of ragged Scoia'tael who had only weapons, these people were clearly better armed, and their clothing showed that they had spent a long time in the forest.
And the even deadlier situation was that they gave up on close combat.
Although they did not know how sharp Golden Eagle was, Angoulême's bravery was visible to the naked eye. So they decided to use the bows that the Children of Dol Blathanna were so proud of to express full "respect" toward her.
The sense of danger kept screaming beside her ears. That was the natural reaction to being aimed at by bows and crossbows. "But I can't move anymore," Angoulême thought. "I'm really so tired. Looks like the gatekeeper job isn't that easy either."
The next second, an angry voice shouted loudly, "Spar, Aespar, Spar'le! Shoot, shoot, shoot her dead!"
Arrows fell like a swarm of locusts!
Although the enchanted leather armor could deflect most arrows, the parts it did not cover naturally had no protection.
Relying on instinct, agility, and the power of her armor, she survived the first rain of arrows, but her two city guard companions were shot into hedgehogs.
Struggling with all her strength in this killing ground, she only heard that angry voice roar again and again, "Spar'le!"
Interfered with by several arrows, unable to dodge into cover in time, the girl still did not know what the elves were shouting, but she knew she was about to die.
Leader, I tried very hard to live!
...
"Voe' rle, evellienn! Stop, everyone!" Suddenly, a ringing and powerful voice ordered, "Que's? Caelm, Wedd Dol! What is this? Calm yourselves, Children of Dol Blathanna!"
That somewhat familiar voice stopped the volley of arrows. Then someone Angoulême knew appeared before her eyes. It was Yaevinn of the Scoia'tael guerrillas.
The two looked at each other, both feeling a sense of absurdity. Their last meeting had only been half a month ago. Even though they had parted unhappily then, neither had expected to meet the other on an occasion like this.
Staring at the girl, the elven commander took a deep breath and loudly scolded, "What are you doing here, you fool! What is this building for that makes it worth this?"
Swaying on the verge of collapse, almost turned into a person of blood, Angoulême coughed and laughed bitterly. "Inside is... a hospital... a temporary hospital. And damn if I know what I'm doing here either. Probably... working as the gatekeeper!"
A gray-haired elf with a hooked nose suddenly rushed out from the rear. The moment he opened his mouth, it was that same angry voice from earlier. He pointed at Angoulême, then at the corpses on the ground, continuously roaring at Yaevinn. Even without understanding Elder Speech, one could tell he meant for the commander to immediately loose arrows and deal with the girl blocking the way. Yaevinn stared at him without speaking.
"Tord! I can't let you kill her!" Another newly arrived elf beside them inserted himself into the conversation, and this time, the voice was very familiar to Angoulême.
With braided black hair, beautiful tattooed brows, and a colorful cloth scarf tied around her waist and hanging down above her knees, the female elf holding a sword in one hand was none other than Toruviel.
She stepped forward and slowly, firmly shook her head. "Tord, Yaevinn, you cannot kill her! She is my friend."
"Look how many people she killed, look at the corpses all over the ground!" the angry elf Tord shouted, clenching both fists.
Toruviel remained unmoved. "Your subordinates tried to kill her first. Was she not allowed to fight back? Control your people! What about a hospital is worth revenge? The reason I brought people to participate was to keep my friends from dying before my eyes, and this girl is also my friend!"
Having no reply, Tord turned bitterly toward the commander. "Yaevinn, look! The ones who died here are all our kinsmen and comrades. Please make your decision! And you should know, that bastard Grandet is hiding inside the hospital!"
At the sound of Grandet's name, cold light flashed through Yaevinn's eyes. "Are you certain? Did you see him with your own eyes?"
He knew this human was a creditor to many elves in the slums, and that he had used money to oppress them, committing many unforgivable evils against them. Killing him would give the newly joined companions from the city great comfort in both body and heart.
"I swear. As soon as I entered the city gate, I sent someone to look for him. We followed Grandet the whole way. That bastard changed clothes and hid inside the hospital, thinking no one would be able to find him like that! Help me, Yaevinn. As long as we kill him, I swear I will be loyal to you forever!" As the gray-haired, hooked-nosed elf spoke, his eyes reddened and old tears streamed down his face.
The commander looked at Tord, then at Toruviel, then turned to Angoulême and shouted, "Can you move aside? I promise we will only take one person from inside! I give you my word we won't disturb the hospital."
The damp air after the rain irritated the girl's nose, making her want to sneeze.
The elf's proposal made her hesitate... If they were going to fight to the death, or if they planned to start killing the moment they entered, perhaps she could carry out her conviction to the end. But now... if they were only dragging away one person, it seemed not entirely unacceptable.
Seeing Angoulême's hesitation, Yaevinn raised his voice. "This is the final warning! What you're doing is meaningless. You don't have to do this. Move aside!"
The girl's eyes blurred. She inhaled and was just about to speak when suddenly, an eagle cry swept across the sky. It was a beautiful golden harrier.
The dark clouds split open, and a beam of sunlight poured down. Catherine descended gracefully onto the girl's shoulder.
Everyone noticed the space behind them.
A man was approaching with steady steps.
Passing beside Angoulême, he stood in front of her.
"Your request is quite appropriate. It's simply reasonable and fair. Refusing it would be unbelievably stupid."
Victor smiled as lightly as wind and cloud.
"But I refuse!"
Those mutated eyes, three layers of scarlet pupils were like a deep, quiet pool of blood, with nine black dots rising and sinking within, symbolizing eternal nightmare.
...
The commander and the female elf walked closer to the witcher. The three of them stood at a distance where they could draw swords and hack at each other immediately.
"Help me out here! This is not child's play, this is war! What are you two mixing yourselves into this for? I really don't want to order them to shoot you dead." Yaevinn lowered his voice and gritted his teeth.
Toruviel said nothing, only quietly staring into Victor's eyes. From within them, she could see many intense emotions.
Looking at the commander, the witcher spoke in a low voice, as though suppressing something. "That's right, this is not a game. So... this is my final ultimatum to you!
"Yaevinn, take your people and leave. I can pretend everything never happened. I don't care where you go afterward or what you do. If I don't see it, I can act as if I don't know. There are definitely targets more valuable than this broken hospital!"
Both elves were stunned at the same time. They had known the boy for a while, but neither had ever heard him speak so forcefully, especially when the elven side clearly held the advantage right now.
The commander crossed his arms. "Give me a reason, Victor. You shouldn't be a fool! Just here alone, I have over a hundred elite warriors and fifty or sixty bows. Out of regard for our acquaintance, I haven't ordered an attack. I only want to take one person away. And yet you're giving me an ultimatum?"
Brushing his hair back, the witcher exhaled. "You want a reason, so I'll tell you. Listen carefully. Since the night before last until now, I haven't slept. I walked through the forest back to Vizima, spent a very long time getting here, and ran into a lot of trouble along the way. Right now, I'm very excited, and also very irritated.
"Because of this riot, my home was burned first. Then all kinds of atrocities showed me every variety of how low people can fall, and I could no longer endure it, so I started killing! The people I saved were actually whispering behind my back that I was cruel and vicious!?
"In short, right now there is no right or wrong, and I have no patience for reasoning. Be kind and get lost immediately, or when my reason snaps, I guarantee everyone will have a very unpleasant time!
"That... is the reason you wanted!"
Looking at the impatience covering Victor's face, Toruviel pondered for a moment, then turned back toward the group. After several shouts, more than twenty of the hundred-plus people left the formation. Then they followed the female elf and withdrew outward.
Yaevinn did not stop her actions. He stared deeply at the witcher. "What frightening spirit! In truth, I really want to give the order to kill you. Truly. But my instincts tell me that even if I won, it would be a very painful victory. Not worth the loss."
He turned to leave. "Help me out. There's a man inside named Grandet, the main cause of this conflict. I really want him. Hand him over to me if you can."
After returning to the group, the commander shouted a few times and was about to lead his people away. But that "Tord" blocked the way, cursing and roaring like a madman. No one knew what else he said. Then Yaevinn's saber flashed, and he became the last elf to remain in front of the hospital today.
...
Bang! The hospital doors were pushed open, and Shani ran out from inside. The successive chaotic battles had prevented new wounded from being brought in. After finishing the work at hand, she discovered that the situation outside was wrong and hurried out.
Under the warm sunlight, amid the corpses scattered across the courtyard, Victor was crouching on the ground with his right hand supporting Angoulême's upper body. At a glance, it looked like he was listening to her final words.
Terrified, the senior covered her mouth, tears pouring out like a spring. She ran close, only to see the boy blinking at her with those fully mutated fiery red eyes, secretly signaling to her.
Then she clearly heard Angoulême muttering, "...Leader, listen to me. Whatever you do, don't go into the hospital. Senior is so scary when she works, even scarier than a butcher. Chop, cut, chop, cut, chop, cut, and she keeps telling jokes that aren't funny at all..."
Shani's face immediately darkened, and she felt an urge to hit someone. This child was far too honest. If she did not know how to talk, she could keep her mouth shut!
Covered in blood and filth, her face almost impossible to make out, the girl mumbled in a daze. "Ahh... Leader, I tried very hard to live! I'm so tired now, so sleepy. I really want to close my eyes. I can't move. This is my end. I feel like I'm floating and floating on the clouds... Ohhh... why is it suddenly so dark? I can't see anything anymore... snore snore... huff huff... snnnrrr..."
"That's normal. Of course you can't see anything when you close your eyes. Rest in peace!" After laying the sleeping troupe member flat, the troupe leader rose and looked at his senior.
The red-haired Doctor Shani was as pretty as ever. Her hands and apron were stained with blood like a butcher's, and her face was also smeared with quite a lot of red paint. Her makeup only looked slightly lighter than Angoulême's.
The blond Victor was ordinary and unremarkable. No, with these eyes alone, he would forever be rid of the words ordinary and unremarkable. The iris pattern itself was still fine, but that bright crimson color was truly terrifying.
He walked up to her and smiled. "I'm back!"
Reaching out to touch the area around his mutated eyes, she asked, "Hm, is it really all right to just leave her on the ground like that?"
"She's not injured at all, just exhausted from fighting. Pour some supplements into her and let her sleep, and she'll be lively again. She thought she was about to die and grabbed me to say her last words, so I just listened along. All of this dark history can be used to tease her later."
She rose slightly on tiptoe and leaned closer to examine him. "Honestly, I don't like this color. Can you change it?"
"My emotions are running high right now, so they turned red. Originally, they're sky blue, same as before."
"That's good. I still like them the way they were before."
Their eyes met. They were very close.
The world stopped for one second.
...
Although her body was covered in wounds and drenched with blood, she still stood tall and straight as a pine. "Farewell, Leader... I shall return to Skyrim, to the old lady's side. Do not come closer. When I, Angoulême, return to the heavens, I need no help from others!"
With a low roar of "Uoooooh...," the girl's whole body erupted with bleak, majestic fighting spirit.
As her right fist swung toward the sky, a pillar of light shot upward, breaking through the dark clouds and letting sunlight fall.
"In all my life, I have not the slightest regret!"
Excerpted from, Eastern Dipper Fist, Chapter 219
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