Chapter 109: Panic-Stricken Flight

A torch was improvised and thrown like a spear, driving straight into the door.

Swift, powerful footsteps followed the flame; metal flipped in hand, the grip seized the blade edge, using the guard and counterweight as a hammerhead to strike down.

This was a technique used on the battlefield: when two fully armored knights in iron met, if no blunt weapon like a mace was available for effective killing, the long sword in hand had to serve as a substitute.

Sufficient skill allowed the user to impart enough speed to the cast-iron guard to dent a helmet without cutting their own palm.

The seemingly harmless blunt end often achieved more effective results than a dangerous blade, manifesting as a crisp sound beneath the helmet's hum after a solid strike, causing severe consequences such as fractures of the frontal and temporal bones accompanied by intradural hemorrhage, extradural hemorrhage, and cerebral contusion and laceration; with current medical means, treatment was out of the question, let alone even examination.

Simply put, this was for dealing with hard targets; when William's saber deflected, the attacker keenly adjusted their move to deliver a targeted killing blow.

Yet the layer beneath that face was also unnatural; even with prior expectation, the feedback received made one suspect hitting some non-living inorganic object, as if contending with rock. The exerted force rebounded upon the user; the sword nearly slipped from finger control, slicing through the thick glove, the cold sharpness licking the palm.

An extremely hard material, seemingly some kind of carapace, not as resilient as metal; the point of impact deformed slightly inward, then rapidly cracked and collapsed outward from that center. Fragments between bone and stone flipped open and rose up, piercing the pale skin, yet no blood flowed; the face truly pulled toward the depression like a curtain, radial wrinkles utterly destroying any association with the image of a "human."

The part always hidden in shadow behind the face was briefly exposed for an instant, phantom-like shrinking back and dissipating, but enough to see what leaked out before vanishing.

A matte surface like formed shadow, solidified by incomprehensible means, grew into arthropod-like structures; William had no doubt it would dissolve into the dark background in the next moment—in fact, that was exactly what it did. Once leaving the area of most intense light, it could no longer be pursued within the shadows. Even when occasionally skimming the edge, it was indistinguishable whether it was the flickering of the torchlight or that carapace creature bearing a familiar face probing with its limbs.

A fierce strike drove it back; the centered Walker face fell back into darkness, and the two sailor faces retracted together. No distinction in sequence, synchronized in an incomprehensible manner, as if parts from a single entity.

Just as William thought he might have a moment to catch his breath, a sudden sharp corner protruded from the edge of the curved shadow, stretching rapidly against the light source, stabbing from a blind spot the vision could not cover.

A lax mind failed to command the body to respond; the sense of danger made the brow itch, pupils contracting to reflect the shadow's tip; only belated thought informed him it was an arthropod limb. As it drew near, one could see fine, dense barbs like steel needles at the end, scraping toward the ear and the edge of the face.

But the person before moved even earlier, turning the target first, changing technique again, gripping the sword hilt, one hand controlling the fuller, driving down like an iron spike, intercepting the reverse-moving shadow that had nearly scraped half of William's face away.

The limb whipped away; the blade carved a long strip of cracked damage upon it, exacting sufficient cost before it retreated into the shadow.

That should be painful enough; the sound of the carapace's sharp shell striking the ground rolled away, chaotic and dense, making it impossible to tell how many limbs it used to move.

"Wake up!" Kraft grabbed William, pulling him away while there was still a chance; even using his full strength, he managed only a few steps. In desperation, he yanked hard at the collar, trying to drag him up from the ground. After a burst of stitching snapping and fabric tearing, a large piece of the right collar was pulled off, yet the man still lay there kicking his legs.

"Get up quickly, or we won't be able to run!"

He wanted to activate his spiritual senses to probe that thing's movements, yet he could not guarantee withdrawing from the cave in the limited time; he could only stay alert to the darkness with his vision while picking up the torch.

"Wait for me! Wait for me!" William wailed, rolling over and crawling away; using hands and feet together for quite a stretch before he managed to stand up from the ground pressed against the cave wall. This was too terrifying; the courage triggered by near-death was lost without a trace once he came to his senses.

For some reason, the expected pursuit did not follow; after the rapid tapping of arthropod limbs on rock, it apparently stabilized its posture.

In the invisible darkness, a deep voice, resonating through a long cavity, sounded from weak to strong. Compressed air advanced gradually within constantly expanding rigid tubes, transforming into a distant vibration suitable for propagation, sounding like a giant horn longer than a chimney, blown by countless people united.

From William's terrified face, Kraft realized this was something far worse than arthropod limbs protruding from the darkness.

"What is that?"

"It's coming, run!" The captain forced his legs to run back the way they came, conscientiously enough to call out to Kraft. But even if he hadn't said it, anyone with normal intelligence would understand they should follow.

The latter's doubt lasted only a short while.

An extremely similar response came from the other end, from their path of arrival. Though that voice was so consistent with the vocalization of the arthropod creature wearing the face, the volume, on a completely different level, was enough to rule out the idea of it being an echo.

Across an unreachable distance, the majestic horn sound was clearly audible, arriving with the cold current and approaching vibrations.

The earlier sound was some kind of imitation, a call; and the thing answering the call was now coming through the cave.

"It's over." William stopped, looking back and forth between the two ends in despair. With matters thus, wasting time to say a few more words didn't matter. "You were right; we shouldn't have come down."

"Do you remember the thing on the rock painting at the village entrance? These caves were not formed naturally. That thing, the thing that made the caves... now it is coming toward us."

"No one will thank you for being a wise ghost; think of something!" Kraft replied offhandedly, sheathing his sword, freeing one hand and tucking it into his sleeve; the meaningless-looking action was quite orderly.

For some reason, William felt he was not very panicked; compared to the calmness of facing death, it seemed more like he had a least-desirable option he was reluctant to choose.

"We definitely can't outrun it." He slumped down, the physical strength for running having been squeezed out as a slender hope; since running was impossible, he might as well die more comfortably.

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But overall, he had still gained something; he still had a little time for last prayers.

William emptied his money pouch and found the double-winged ring amulet he had taken off upon arrival at the bottom. "Almighty Lord, I have sinned. All because of my own greed and stubborn insistence on acting alone, I have implicated my crew, who were harmed by the evil beasts of the heathens. Dr. Kraft and I have ended up in such a state."

"But Dr. Kraft came to save lives; though not a believer, I earnestly beg that the gates of the kingdom be opened for him..."

"I hope the last thing you think of isn't praying to some damn Heavenly Father! I haven't seen that thing; now we can only rely on you to figure something out!" The amplitude grew larger and larger; Kraft threw away the torch, rushed to William's side, and grabbed his hand; the distance between the two closed until they could fit inside a single bucket.

"I apologize to You for his earlier blasphemous act of misusing Your holy name..."

Kraft was nearly laughed into anger by William; this prayer was quite thorough, not forgetting to include himself. "Damn it! Can't I personally come to hell to pull you out, isn't that better than the Heavenly Father?"

A wave of dizziness and nausea interrupted the captain's last-minute fawning on the Heavenly Father; a sensation of weightlessness struck, senses in disarray.

As Kraft tightened something within his sleeve before William's eyes, he heard the burn of sour reflux, tasted the rumbling crawling vibration. Amidst various tangled, chaotic sensations, only one was most obvious—falling.