Chapter 122: The Veil Lifted

William followed the leading figure step by step to the cave entrance.

Fresh soil and rock spread out beneath their feet, fanning out in a sweep that stretched to the mountain's base. The piled stones of the cave entrance and the road vanished, replaced by a shattered ramp; the soil had first been compressed into a density tighter than any road, then collapsed under immense weight, tumbling down the mountainside.

Earth and stone cascaded down, small streams of sand still pouring among the loose rocks, forming a yellow-brown waterfall in which tiny mineral grains refracted the pale light of the frosty sky, shimmering with a hard beauty.

Kraft stepped into the moonlight, bathed in a clear white; floating dust settled around him, like clouds lifting him up the crystal-paved stairs.

His golden hair was tipped with silver, and his sword still bore the marks of battling evil things; he seemed like a non-human thing descended from above, fulfilling a promise to carve a path from hell to the mortal world for the spirits' believers.

Perhaps it was a trick of the mind, but in his dizziness, William sensed a quality he had never seen before flashing across the figure before him. In that moment, the familiar Kraft became someone else, carrying an indescribable sense of strangeness.

Though he had no wings, if an ignorant person were to imagine freely, they would likely mistake him for an angel or something even higher, contained within a human shell.

A strange and unsettling feeling flashed by, but he did not float up or grow a halo; amidst a groan, like a puppet with its strings cut, all power was drained from him, and he fell straight to the ground.

The captain quickly grabbed his shoulder, placing a hand on it to support half of Kraft's body. "Hey, just the last stretch; don't break your nose."

Unlike many who were exhausted, Kraft was struggling to keep his eyes wide open, as if trying to encompass more of the view, breathing hard despite the swirling dust, sniffing the air for scents.

In a state of extreme fatigue, he displayed a pathological craving to understand his surroundings, like a person whose throat is being strangled instinctively expanding their chest to inhale, yet the air taken in could never satisfy the need. William guessed this was some severe aftereffect of "witchcraft," reaching its limit after repeated use and a burst of power, just as physical strength had been depleted.

"How is it? Can you still walk a few steps? Five years ago, I could have carried you down, but now I'm not so sure."

"Terrible." Kraft swayed like a drunk for a moment, found his balance and the feedback from his feet, stepped onto solid ground, and lightened the load on William. "Let's go. I'm not sure if those faces can track us here. If you don't have the ability to fight them while supporting me, then it's best to move faster."

Although they hadn't found the original mountain path again, the collapsed earth had actually made the slope of the first half of the road gentler.

After a difficult descent of about half an hour, Kraft finally regained the ability to move on his own. For him, the more serious issue was mental exhaustion; his physical strength was still preserved, and in the latter part of the journey, he actually had to help William, who was shivering as he went downhill.

Passing through the bustling villagers, they arrived before the only house with light; the body lying crosswise at the door made both their faces quickly turn Heavy and solemn.

"Koop, Yin Feng!?"

Kraft drew his sword and rushed into the house, mentally prepared for heretics holding hostages, or even for the留守 personnel to be found dead with no body.

He didn't think too much about possible conflict. Someone who had yet to kill a single person but was experienced in life-or-death battles was confident that even without spiritual sense assistance, he was not something a few villagers without crossbow support could take down.

If anyone intended to judge the level of a professional using the standards of Koop or William's sailors, he wouldn't mind giving them a practical lesson with a high tuition fee.

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"Hmm... Peter?"

The scene inside was as expected: a mess. Overturned tables, charred traces of lamp oil burned across the floor, and a few bloodstains at the door. Packages had been scattered as if by thieves, and things were hastily sorted and piled together.

Surprisingly, the only one lying on the ground was the local guide, his waist wrapped in a bandage of cotton cloth whose skill level was absolutely below passing grade.

Koop hid behind the door; after seeing who was pointing the sword at him, he sheepishly lowered his flail. "Mr. Kraft, it's good you're back, it's good you're back..."

"Next time you hide, remember not to stand with the light behind you." Commenting on the flaw in this ambush, Kraft sheathed his sword and looked to the other side of the door, where a small figure was putting something behind their back. "And you? What are you holding again? I don't recall teaching Koop to drag little girls into combat."

He reached out his hand; though reluctant, Yin Feng handed over the object she had tried to conceal.

A rust-stained dagger, not the kind of small knife forged by an inexperienced blacksmith with no proper form, distinct from its peers used for cutting miscellaneous items; double-edged and pointed, it looked very suitable for stabbing.

Its appearance here was indeed rare, counting as a valuable object, yet it had not been well maintained. Unless its former owner was both intelligent and mad, it shouldn't be like this.

"Your spoils? I must say, Koop, your first combat performance was excellent. I'm sure Grandfather will like you."

Old Wood absolutely did not support Kraft himself participating in any combat outside of training, but he very much liked young people daring to move their limbs with real swords on the castle training ground, even if most of the time they couldn't win even with one leg tied.

Over time, fewer and fewer people dared to do so; perhaps one day bringing Koop back could fill that gap.

"My spoils." Yin Feng corrected, looking up hopefully as she waited for Kraft to return the dagger to her.

"Oh?" Kraft pinched the blade and handed over the wooden hilt, noticing his hand was a bit sticky; it was semi-dried blood on the rust spots.

"Indeed, without Yin Feng's help, I couldn't have completed this alone." Koop felt deep regret; he wasn't quite sure what level he should have achieved, nor whether this would lower Kraft's assessment of him. However, there was still room for defense.

"But I guarantee there is a reason. The fellow holding this dagger was very strange. The smell on him reminds me of... the time you helped cure my illness." Recalling that scent, he couldn't think of an accurate adjective, so he could only refer to an experience only the two of them understood.

Seeing William who had followed, Koop didn't know whether to speak plainly about that ghostly movement that disappeared and reappeared, deciding to discuss it privately with Kraft. "I think you'll want to see that fellow. Also, we used some of the captain's strong liquor to clean the wounds."

Kraft nodded, raising his assessment of Koop by one notch. "I understand. You did well. This isn't urgent; let's look at your and Peter's wounds first."

It sounded like their wounds came from Yin Feng's "spoils"; the full coverage of rust was clearly a breeding ground for deadly bacteria. For open wounds, cleaning and re-dressing them early is far better than giving a practical demonstration of tetanus bacillus infection dangers a few days later.

"Could it be..." Koop instinctively covered his wound; thinking of that pain comparable to sprinkling salt, he didn't want to experience it a second time.

"No. Clean the wound now, and I'll take responsibility for your life or death; clean it a few days later, and your life or death belongs to the Heavenly Father." Cleaning and dressing wounds is a technical job; absolutely do not trust a novice to perform it properly, especially when the wound is on their own body.

Curiosity made Kraft very eager to see why deep scents would appear on heretics, but this had to wait until he had patiently examined the wounds.

He summoned William to help hold Koop down, carefully using tweezers from the instrument box to pluck out small rust flakes, dirt, and scabs one by one, using up more than half a bottle of strong liquor.

As for Peter, who was still unconscious, the stab wound in his lower back was too deep; with current conditions, after cleaning the surface wounds, there was nothing more to be done. Since no significant shock symptoms had appeared yet and no lumps or hematomas had been touched, the renal arteries and veins likely hadn't been hit, and the position suggested he hadn't struck the abdominal aorta or any other major blood vessel.

As for items like kidney or ureter damage, he had to admit he was powerless; they were difficult to probe. His assessment on this was highly consistent with Koop's: if he didn't die, he might survive.

After finishing all this, Kraft washed his hands and went to the hunched, strange figure dragged outside the door, lifting the hood.

The sunken face made removing the bandages on the face somewhat difficult; they had to be slowly unwound circle by circle. What was puzzling was that the hard objects rubbing beneath the cloth were far more numerous than imagined; both their quantity and volume did not match the impression of facial bones.