Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 417 - 276: Fight to the Death Without Retreat_2
But at that moment, a chaotic chorus of voices arose from the tunnel. A man scrambled up, only to be instantly shot dead by the Captain and fall back down.
"Who?"
"Kill them!"
"We can’t let them escape!"
The cacophony was enough to suggest there were many people in the tunnel. If they broke out, the few soldiers, weary from a recent battle, would stand no chance of victory. Moreover, the room offered no space for them to arrange a defensive formation.
"Quick, go!" At this, the Captain had only one reaction: they couldn’t let the enemy emerge. He had to hold them back in the tunnel to buy his teammates a sliver of a chance at survival.
No sooner had he spoken than someone reacted even faster.
"Go, I’ll hold them back!"
A soldier shouted, lifting a nearby chair and charging toward the exit. He knew staying meant certain death, but he didn’t hesitate. He would atone for his own mistakes and demonstrate his resolve through death.
The Captain’s expression changed, but he didn’t linger. He turned and ran out. "Go! Quick, go!"
They had just stepped out when a gunshot echoed from behind, but none of them looked back. The others understood they had to deliver the intelligence. They could die, but only after the information was sent.
The soldier showed some quick wit. Instead of rushing recklessly to his death, he threw chairs and anything else within reach into the tunnel entrance. But the room was only so large. The clutter was cleared in a few throws, and figures were already emerging from the tunnel entrance. Seeing this, he opened fire without hesitation.
He had no intention of leaving alive. Killing one meant breaking even; killing two was a gain. Even in death, he would make these bastards lose teeth.
Grabbing his Short Sword, he charged. The tunnel indeed held countless enemies, but it was narrow and obstructed by debris and fallen bodies. Even an army of thousands could only advance one by one.
Those climbing out didn’t have it easy either. As soon as one squeezed out and showed his head, he was met with a sword to the face. But these cultists were ruthless; they immediately used the corpse as a Shield and pushed up from behind.
They weren’t ordinary people and didn’t care about injuries at all. Once the first one charged up, risking death, the soldier lost his biggest advantage.
Yet he didn’t lose his courage. With his Short Sword in hand, he fought with equal ferocity, disregarding his wounds to kill the enemy. "KILL! KILL! KILL!"
I have armor, I can take your hits! But you don’t! No matter how fast your flesh heals, it’s not faster than my sword!
A brutal scene unfolded in that small room. One man alone held them at the tunnel entrance. The soldier’s fearless, death-defying demeanor even struck fear into the cultists. Is he really just an ordinary soldier...?
Lance casually swung his sword, cleaving an oncoming enemy in two. Blood sprayed and organs spilled out.
The last one. Lance scanned his surroundings. Every step of his charge had been paved with blood; there were barely any enemies left standing.
Strange, why are there fewer and fewer of them? Lance raised his hand, using Sacrifice on the surrounding corpses. Dots of Spiritual Essence flowed into his body.
These corpses, having undergone the Flesh Rite, provided more Spiritual Essence than ordinary people. However, to Lance, who had "tasted flesh," it was still far too little.
He had killed hundreds along the way. And that’s "fewer"? Geralt, standing nearby, was so tired he could barely breathe. Hearing this, he almost cursed out loud.
Geralt actually had some confidence in his own strength. He felt somewhat powerless against monsters twisted from Wizards, mainly because his weapons were at a disadvantage. But against humanoid enemies, his sword was second to none, and the Witcher’s special constitution provided him with exceptional stamina.
But fighting his way here, he discovered a terrifying fact: his stamina couldn’t keep up. And he wasn’t even the main fighter! Meanwhile, that Lord could swing a greatsword without the slightest sign of fatigue. It’s truly terrifying!
Among Transcendents, strength was what truly mattered. If Geralt had previously been friendly merely because Lance had saved his life, now he was utterly convinced of Lance’s power.
Junia wasn’t in much better shape. She had only managed to hold on this long because Lance and Geralt had intentionally looked out for her. But now, finally, no more cultists were charging at them.
Even Wang Cai seemed somewhat fatigued, panting with his mouth open, his fur more or less stained with blood.
Lance raised his hand and touched the wolf’s head, using Bless to dispel its fatigue. The wolf’s slightly dim eyes lit up again.
However, Lance’s attention wasn’t on Wang Cai. He looked up towards the town’s most exquisite building: the church.
From the outside, nothing seemed amiss. It had the familiar architectural structure, and the facade featured the stained-glass tiles typically favored by churches. However, the dust accumulated on the glass indicated that something was wrong.
He raised his sword and directly smashed the door lock. Junia’s expression was a bit odd when she saw this, but she said nothing. It wasn’t until Lance pushed the main doors open that she let out an involuntary gasp.
"Oh~" Junia quickly recovered. Raising her mace, she shouted in anger, "This damnable sacrilege!"
Lance, however, didn’t have much of a reaction. The moment the doors opened, he could feel a wave of a bloody stench from within. Sunlight streamed in, allowing him to scan the church hall at a glance.
Actually, it wasn’t much different: still rows of long benches. The only changes were that the Priest’s pulpit on the dais had been removed and replaced with the Ascension Sect’s characteristic sacrificial altar. Around it stood iron candelabra holding half-burnt Blood Candles.
It was impossible to tell how many rituals had been conducted here, but the place definitely exuded a very oppressive atmosphere.
But this wasn’t Lance’s focus. Why had he prioritized storming the church? Besides wanting to attract the attention of those cultists, he also wanted to find the town’s Heretic Priest, and the church was the most likely place for one to be.
For such a key location to be empty now inevitably struck him as odd. Where has everyone gone?
With this thought, Lance strode boldly inside.
The tunnel entrance was lost in less than five or six seconds. Surging cultists used corpses as Shields and charged out, forcing him to fight while retreating. Using the building for cover and the narrow doorway as a chokepoint, he swung his Short Sword, continuously striking down enemies. At the same time, his own body became covered in wounds inflicted by them.
Another claw thrust at him. He wanted to dodge, but whether his adrenaline had worn off or he had lost too much blood, his muscles seemed uncontrollable. He could only watch as the sharp claw approached, along with the cultist’s ferocious face.
In that instant, he felt no fear, only frustration at his own weakness. If only I were a bit stronger, could I have held these people back longer? That way, I could have bought more time for my teammates... Just a little more... even just a little bit...
"KILL!" A shout suddenly exploded beside his ear. A figure leaped past him, charging forward, and a Spear thrust directly into the enemy’s face.
That back... isn’t that the Captain? 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂
The Captain hadn’t actually left; he had just gone out to grab weapons. Hamlet would never abandon his teammates. Go together, die together!
But by now, he couldn’t concern himself with such things, as his last bit of strength had been exhausted.
"Quick, quick, get him out!"
"WOOF!"
"...He’s badly injured. Thirteen wounds all over his body, excessive blood loss..."
A jumble of voices echoed in his mind. He vaguely felt someone dragging him away. But I’m so tired... I’m really so tired...
Even the pain from his wounds couldn’t mask the overwhelming drowsiness. Right now, I just want to sleep...
The message did get out. William was leading a team nearby. Once their numbers increased, they quickly annihilated this group of cultists and rescued the two grievously injured men from inside.
Both men were critically wounded. Their breastplates were pierced in several places, and they looked like they were drenched in blood. But they had indeed held their ground until their teammates arrived with support.
Fortunately, everyone had received first-aid training. They quickly checked the injuries. The medical powder pooled from an entire squad wasn’t enough to completely staunch so many wounds.
Fortunately, more teams continuously arrived as reinforcements. Hamlet would never abandon his teammates.
