I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 438 Reliable but Unreliable
Minicia is trying to do good and bad things at the same time. Toni Rem isn't sure, but the only thing he's sure of is that they're in trouble.

To be honest, Diu Ni Rem really doesn't understand the Miniese people's thinking.

He couldn't understand either the previous indifference towards Suvano or the sudden events that had just occurred.

If you can't figure it out, then so be it. That's how things are anyway.

Now, Rem needs to consider the second thing... Should we send someone around the swamp to check on the situation at Gray Rock Pass?
Or perhaps we could try to help the Minieses?

He didn't like the Minieses, but at least they were human, even if they were just a group of NPCs, and not even NPCs of his own faction.

Compared to the snake, the Miniese, who only know how to play petty tricks and often overdo it, are still an acceptable existence.

But are you sure you want to help them?

Diu Ni Rem walked to the command platform, looked at the map of the Snake Man Swamp, but hesitated after only a short while.

Even helping the Minieses doesn't seem easy.

It's nighttime now, and the dangers of the wilderness are self-evident. Even if players want to go to Grayrock Pass now, they must set off on horseback and can only arrive before dawn.

If they encounter attacks and harassment from snake people along the way, the journey will be extended even further.

"Sigh, forget it, forget it. I'll just issue a notice and tell everyone else about it. They can go if they want, or not if they don't..."

"Dou Ni Rem," he said, then sat down in his chair and logged off to send out a notification.

The situation unfolded like this: well, the players saw a pile of banknotes stained with feces. Although the banknotes could be used after being rinsed with water, the players avoided them because they didn't want to touch feces and the amount of money on the banknotes wasn't large.

Just like the announcement about the Minieses' upcoming battle with the Serpent People at the Gray Rock Pass, most Holy Crusade players only glanced at the email before deleting it.

A few people were interested in going to watch the excitement, but after weighing the options, they regretfully gave up the idea... If they set off on horseback at night and an accident occurred, they would have to lose their precious mount.

It's not worth it. Losing your warhorse just to watch the spectacle is really not worth it.

……

At the entrance to the limestone pass, a solitary wooden watchtower stands in the biting cold wind.

The watchtower was built in a rather rudimentary manner, with several thick wooden stakes driven deep into the frozen ground, and a space barely large enough for two people to fit on top, with drafts coming from all sides.

A dim, yellow lantern hung from the top of the tower, swaying violently in the strong draft, casting wildly dancing shadows, as if it might be swallowed by darkness at any moment.

Sentinel Hack wrapped himself tightly in his thick wool cloak, but felt the chill as cold as a venomous snake, penetrating every inch of his clothing and piercing to his very bones.

Huck stomped his almost frozen feet hard, the wooden planks beneath his feet groaning dully. He could only rub his numb fingers and breathe on them, the white mist instantly torn apart and carried away by the wind.

Tonight it's his turn to work the second half of the night. This godforsaken place, this godforsaken weather, and the General... Hark felt nothing but endless complaints and deep-seated exhaustion.

Hark knew that a large army was gathered inside the pass, but on this forward outpost, he felt like a lone stone forgotten in the wilderness, whose only purpose was to be polished by the cold wind.

The kingdom seems to be on the verge of collapse.

As a low-ranking soldier, Hack had a vague feeling, but he didn't dare to tell a second person what he was thinking. However, he was quite sure that his other comrades sleeping in the same tent must have had similar feelings.

The treatment in the military is deteriorating, and this change is slow and cold, like the wind in this pass, slowly taking away the warmth from your body.

Hack still remembers when he first enlisted last year. Although it wasn't a good time, at least he could eat his fill. There was plenty of black bread, and although the wheat porridge was thin, a big, steaming bowl of it always helped to ward off the chill.

In addition, Huck would occasionally get a little bit of cured meat or salted dried fish, which was like a holiday.

But now?

The bread grew darker and harder, with more and more bran and other unidentifiable impurities mixed in; biting into it hard could break your teeth.

The porridge was so thin you could see your reflection in it, and you couldn't scoop up more than a few grains of wheat with a spoon. My stomach started growling shortly after I drank it, and I felt even worse than if I hadn't drunk any at all.

As for meat? That's something that's already legendary.

The last time I smelled meat was when the general's personal guard passed through their camp; the aroma wafted from their pots, and it was so enticing that it made my heart itch like a cat's claws.

It wasn't just about food. Huck looked down at his old cloak, worn smooth and covered in several ugly patches.

Although it was rough when it was first delivered, it was at least thick and windproof.

And now?

Beneath the patch was an even thinner material, easily penetrated by the cold wind.

My boots are almost worn out; the soles are worn thin, and my toes feel like they're about to touch the cold mud.

I heard that the quartermaster has new equipment, but it is always prioritized for the front lines or transferred elsewhere.

These garrison troops stationed in the fortress probably don't even count as the front line in the eyes of the lords in the capital.
As for military pay, it became a joke. In the past, they could still receive some silver coins on time. Although it wasn't much, they could save up enough to send some home or exchange for small items.

Now?

Silver coins were exhausted, and copper coins were barely being issued either; delays were the norm.

When was the last time salaries were paid?
Haq couldn't remember anymore; the higher-ups always said the national treasury was tight, the war was intense, and to wait a little longer.

What are you waiting for?
Should we wait until the kingdom completely rots away?

Hack was seething with anger, but had nowhere to vent it.

Complaining to the officer?
At best, they'd get a beating; at worst, they'd be accused of undermining morale, which would be even worse.

He could only mutter a few curses under his breath, like the other soldiers, before continuing to endure hunger and cold.

What chilled him even more was the atmosphere that permeated the military camp.

It was no longer the fervor of defending one's homeland, but a repressed, resigned, and even numb despair.

The veterans' eyes were cloudy, while the new recruits' faces showed fear and uncertainty about the future.

The officers were either like General Norton, with a stern, unapproachable face, or they were arrogant and self-absorbed.

Hark once saw a drunken junior officer spitting at them, the ordinary soldiers, and calling them useless fodder.

At that moment, Huck really wanted to pounce on him and strangle him, but he just clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, and then silently walked away.

Nobody wants to fight anymore, because Hak heard that the families of his brothers who died in White Rock City recently have not received any compensation.

Hark looked toward the center of the camp, where lights were relatively concentrated deep in the pass. It was the residence of the generals and high-ranking officers, a stark contrast to the cold darkness of the outer watchtowers and ordinary soldiers' tents.

There must be plenty of food, a warm campfire, and maybe even... wine.

An indescribable emotion welled up in Hack's heart, more biting than the cold wind at the pass.

Hack took a deep breath of the cold air, feeling his lungs ache from the cold.

The wooden planks beneath my feet groaned again, as if they too could not bear the weight of this harsh reality.

He gazed at the darkness outside that was swallowing everything, and for the first time felt that perhaps being swallowed by this darkness was better than slowly rotting away without hope or dignity.

Thinking of this, Huck yawned, his eyelids feeling as heavy as lead. He leaned against the cold wooden pillar, forcing himself to concentrate. His mind wandered to the warm campfire inside the pass, the snoring of his comrades, and the general's stern face... If he were discovered dozing off, the consequences would be unimaginable.

On the edge of this half-dreaming, half-awake chaos, a strange sensation, like a cold needle, suddenly pierced his hearing, which had been numbed by the sound of the wind.

At first it was very faint, almost blending into the sound of the wind.

It felt like something was rubbing together in some extremely distant place?
Huck shook his head violently to shake off his sleepiness and listened intently.

The wind still howled and swirled.

Misheard?
He muttered to himself that it was probably the sound of wind blowing through a crevice in some unusual rock. He tightened his cloak, trying to ignore the slight, insignificant feeling of unease.

However, the sound did not disappear; on the contrary, it became even clearer.

It was no longer just friction, but countless tiny, sticky, and extremely uncomfortable scraping sounds.

rustling... hissing...

It was also mixed with a sticky sound, like a wet, heavy object being dragged across a muddy surface.

The sound did not come from one direction, but rather, like a low tide, it came from the direction of the deep, dark swamp outside the pass, carried by the cold night wind, faint yet continuous.

Shh... shh... hiss... pfft... Hack's hair stood on end instantly!

Sleepiness was completely dispelled by a chilling fear.

This is definitely not just a rumor!

The sound of the wind was dry, howling, and unpredictable.

And this sound... was damp and cold, sticky, with a rhythm unique to biological activity that sent chills down your spine.

It was like countless cold, scaly claws, crawling and dragging across the slippery rocks and icy mud.

The frustrated but dutiful sentry lunged at the lookout point of the watchtower facing the swamp, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, almost shattering his ribs.

He stared wide-eyed, straining to see into the all-consuming darkness.

The lantern's glow struggled futilely in the darkness, illuminating only a small patch of gravel below the watchtower. Further away, thick, inky fog rolled and twisted with the lantern's sway, as if concealing countless shadows ready to devour anyone.

The sound was getting closer and closer!

It was no longer a blurry background sound, but a clear and layered approach.

The rustling sound turned into the screeching of dense scales scraping against the rocks, and the heavy, wet dragging sound seemed to be mixed with some kind of low, short, inhuman hissing breath, like countless venomous snakes flicking their tongues at the same time, converging into a suffocating whisper.

Huck felt a cold liquid flow down his spine, instantly soaking through his lining.

His throat was dry, and he wanted to shout a warning, but he found that fear had choked his vocal cords, and he could only make short, hoarse gasps.

The sentry abruptly grabbed the brass whistle hanging around his neck; the cold metallic touch brought him back to his senses. He mustered all his strength and shoved the whistle into his mouth.

"Beep beep beep..."

This was the last sound Sentinel Hack left in this world. In his final moments of faithfully performing his duty, he looked down and saw a pale spearhead piercing through his chest.

……

Other players are unwilling to go to Gray Rock Pass, or they plan to go there during the day to take a look and see if they can find any bargains.

As the kingdom's judge, he felt responsible for the rampage that ravaged the street, so he formed an investigation team with his friends, who were also judges' attendants, and headed to the Gray Rock Pass.

The four of them first rode horses, and then, as they approached the destination, one of them took charge of watching the horses while the other three walked to their destination.

There are many reasons why other players are reluctant to come to Gray Rock Pass, one of which is that even if they rush as fast as they can, by the time they arrive at their destination, it will be too late.

Just like now.

In the darkest hour before dawn, the stench of blood at the entrance to the limestone pass was so thick it was almost overwhelming, drowning out the stench of decay and the smell of gunpowder unique to the swamp.

He hacked through the street, spat out a mouthful of saliva that tasted of blood and gunpowder, then put on his helmet and wiped away the sticky, filthy blood splattered on the hideous skull mask.

Behind him, two brothers dressed in Death Legion suits were silently pressurizing the flamethrower fuel canisters, the heavy metal canisters hissing softly.

The three of them had just experienced a brief but fierce encounter. Less than a mile outside the pass, on a rocky beach, a small group of snake people, clearly responsible for perimeter security and delaying attacks, ambushed them.

"Damn it, these snakes have gotten smarter; they even know how to ambush!"

The sound of hacking through a street came through the voice changer on the mask, carrying a hoarse, metallic scraping sound and a hint of exhaustion.

He looked down and examined his finely crafted broadsword. The blade was covered in chipped edges and sticky blood, with a few small scales embedded in it.

He shook it forcefully and made an impatient smacking sound.

"Brothers, flamethrowers, clear the way! Don't hold back on fuel, let's charge in and see what's going on inside!"

"Okay, I understand."

"If we die here, will the court reimburse our equipment?"

"Of course... If not, I'll pay for it myself."

"Then I'll be fine."

The two players skillfully lifted the heavy flamethrower barrels, their fingers on the triggers, and a dark blue preheating light gathered at the muzzle.

After preparing, the three formed a triangular assault formation, using machetes to clear a path while two flamethrowers provided support from the left and right, and charged towards the entrance of the pass once again.

The snake-men's obstruction revealed a hint of reluctance. As long as the three-person group did not run in their direction, they would ignore them, only hissing in the distance to create atmosphere, and would not take the initiative to approach the players.

Only the snake-men who stood in front of the street where the madman was hacking away reluctantly went to meet them.

The roar of the flamethrower was particularly terrifying in the deathly silence before dawn. Two blinding white fire dragons roared and tore through the darkness, instantly igniting and engulfing the scattered snake people who tried to stop them and the rocks and withered grass where they were hiding.

The air was filled with the stench of burnt flesh and grease, accompanied by the snake-man's shrill, dying scream.

This is one of the main reasons why the snake people are unwilling to go forward. They have fought too many enemies dressed in black like this in the swamp and know the terrifying power of what they carry on their backs.

Therefore, the snake-men's resistance encountered while hacking through the street was not particularly tenacious, but rather more like a delay.

Soon, they broke through the last remaining obstacle and entered the territory where they could see the gray rock pass.

Then, the sight before them made even the battle-hardened, savage street-slasher and his friends hold their breath and stop in their tracks.

hell.

This word instantly filled the mind of the man who had been slashing down the street.

The faint, bleak morning light struggled to filter through the narrow gap above the pass, sparingly casting a scene far more terrifying than the darkest nightmare.

The solitary wooden watchtower, now resembling a torch twisted and torn by immense force, stood crookedly, most of its structure reduced to charred remains, still emitting wisps of smoke.

Below the watchtower lay piles of corpses, one on top of the other.

It was a mountain of corpses, a mixture of Miniese soldiers' and snake-men's bodies!

Human limbs and remains, along with the twisted and broken snake bodies of snake people, shattered scales, broken bone spurs, and broken weapons and armor... were scattered and piled together like garbage.

Dark red, brown, dark red blood gathered into viscous streams, meandering across the cold rocky ground, seeping into the frozen soil, and condensing into shocking dark red ice crystals.

The narrow passage at the pass was completely blocked.

The pile of corpses was even higher than the horses' backs, stretching deep into the distance as far as the eye could see. Many of the bodies remained in the postures of their final struggles.

Besides the stench of blood and burning flesh, the air was also filled with a strong, nauseating fishy smell, the distinctive odor emitted after a large number of snake-men had died.

Flocks of carrion crows had already descended impatiently, cawing and leaping and pecking at the mountains of corpses and seas of blood, their black wings shimmering in the dim light, like messengers sent from hell.

"Hold……"

The follower behind the man who had hacked through the street, even through his mask, spoke with a dry and shocked voice.

He hacked through the street without making a sound, his eyes, hidden behind the skull mask, calmly scanning the slaughterhouse.

He saw the tattered uniforms of the Miniese soldiers, their rusty, chipped weapons, and their inferior armor, pitted and even melted by the venom of the snake people.

His gaze finally settled on the half-ruined watchtower base.

There, the body of a Minician soldier in a tattered cloak was pinned to a charred wooden stake by several twisted, barbed serpent-like bone spears.

The sentry's head slumped limply to one side, his mouth agape as if still silently screaming. His right hand remained in a grasping position, and a small, blood-stained bronze whistle lay on the ground not far from his hand.

The man who had been hacking through the street lingered for a moment on the bronze whistle. It seemed that this dutiful sentry was still fighting in his last moments.

"It seems the Minieses couldn't withstand the first wave of the snake people."

One player assessed the battle, smacked his lips, and spoke with a smug, self-satisfied tone.

Kuang Chuan slashed down the street and slowly shook his head, but the scene before him said it all.

Regardless of their purpose in coming, the Minisians did not seem prepared to fight the snake people.

"Look around and see if there are any survivors."

"Instead of looking for survivors, I think we should get through the pass as soon as possible... If I remember correctly, there's a Miniese fortress behind the pass. If that thing is breached, the people behind it will be in big trouble."

(End of this chapter)