Chapter 97: Chapter 80: The Blood Loss Knight and the Lost Horse

Along the way, Baron heard a clamor coming from two different directions. Perching atop a tree, he gazed into the distance.

In one direction was the source of his badge’s vibrations; in the other was an encampment, likely filled with groups of travelers and caravans settling in for the night.

He shot the camp a quick glance, mentally marking it as his resting place for the night, then continued to race toward the source of his badge’s vibrations...

His bloodthirsty instinct, a gift from the Blood Faction, allowed him to smell a thick, unsettling stench of decay carried on the wind, skimming across the ground from a great distance.

Based on the stench, he estimated the death toll was at least fifty, and the source was about five miles away.

The mayor’s map showed that there was a village in that very direction.

’A whole village massacred? But it’s not a Foggy Day, and the sky hasn’t completely darkened. The Beasts aren’t out yet, and Demon Fiends wouldn’t attack a village at this hour.’

’Another sacrifice?’

Baron stopped in his tracks.

He mulled something over.

’According to its description, the badge senses things like Demons and Demon Beasts. If it’s not a Demon Beast, then that means it’s a Demon, right?’

’Did a sacrifice summon a Demon that reeks of decay?’

Back in Old Man Bagins’s home, driven by his curiosity about this Otherworld, Baron had flipped through quite a few secret tomes on Alchemy Ceremonies. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Although he had only given them a cursory glance, he still learned that besides their many functions—such as attack, inscription, defense, blessing, and of course, Alchemy—these ceremonies also included what fantasy novels often called a "Summoning Ceremony."

In essence, nearly all the Church rituals Baron had seen so far were just another type of Summoning Ceremony.

The only difference from his past life was that the "Gods" worshipped by the Churches here—be they dead, sealed, or merely slumbering—had all, at one point, truly existed.

Some Summonings were answered, while others were not. For those that were, the being summoned would typically provide a reward commensurate with the scale of the offering.

As long as the request wasn’t too outrageous and matched the price of the offering, most of these "gifts" were bestowed based on the deity’s core Law—for instance, granting power or sending down a Divine Envoy (a Demon) to represent that power.

Moreover, according to the old Priest, even if an Ancient God died, as long as the Law it represented remained with it and its followers’ faith was strong enough, it would eventually be resurrected by that very Law.

This was why the Prole Continent was home to such a vast and chaotic array of faiths.

Their Gods could actually come back to life.

’A Blood Pool is the go-to opening for a cultist sacrifice. That means the subsequent stench of decay must, to some extent, represent the deity being worshipped... I don’t know which Ancient God’s Law is decay, but my gut tells me it’s not one to be trifled with...’

’Wait a second, why do I even want to get involved in this?’

Baron snapped back to his senses, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin.

From the moment the badge started vibrating, to smelling the stench, to his decision to investigate—it had all happened in the span of a few short breaths.

But given his current, cautious nature, he would never take a risk without knowing the reward.

’Was it the influence of that unknown deity?’

A chill shot through Baron. He immediately turned around and headed back.

’Prole is too terrifying,’ he thought. ’I want to go back to Inner London.’

...

When he returned to the spot where he had left the Little Nun, he found her wiping away tears and praying softly.

Baron glanced around. Seeing that the two bay horses were gone and the Little Nun was covered in dust and scrapes, he instantly understood what had happened.

"A caravan knocked you down, and on top of that, they cut the reins and scared the horses off?"

Although he was furious after hearing the Little Nun’s story, Baron still comforted the young girl, telling her it would be fine. Fude City was close, he said, and there was an encampment nearby where they could spend the night.

"Maybe we’ll even run into that caravan," Baron said sunnily.

...

「The Encampment.」

Bonfires dotted the area.

The porters and grooms formed one circle, the Demon Hunters another, the guarded cargo and horses a third, and the tattered vagrants yet another.

In a corner of the vagrants’ circle, a Knight sat leaning against a tree.

He looked to be in his forties or fifties, with long, curly hair and a scruffy beard. A large, snake-like tangle of Blood Patterns covered his left cheek. A twig dangled from his lips, which he bobbed up and down with a frivolous smirk.

But from his ragged appearance, his rusty Iron Sword, and his worn Iron Armor, it wasn’t hard to tell that he was just a broke Wandering Knight.

Baron and the Little Nun, both covered in dust, arrived. Under the gazes of the Demon Hunters, the porters and grooms, and the lone Wandering Knight, they found a spot in a corner of the vagrants’ circle and sat down.

Baron had actually wanted to sit with the Demon Hunters. He could smell meat cooking in their cauldron and wouldn’t have minded paying for a few pieces to fill his stomach.

The sound of the surrounding vagrants swallowing their saliva and the chorus of their rumbling stomachs only whetted his appetite further.

However, the Little Nun whispered that this group of Demon Hunters was from the very caravan that had cut their horses’ reins earlier that day.

She then grabbed Baron’s arm, pleading with him not to cause a scene for the sake of the many vagrants present.

She added that she still had a Church stipend of over ten Silver Coins at the Blood Church that she hadn’t touched. Once they reached Fude City, she would use it to reimburse Baron for the two lost horses.

Baron, however, refused her offer after recognizing the caravan’s emblem as that of the Iron Thorn Gang.

He simply started a small fire in their corner, broke a loaf of black bread in two, and gave a piece to the Little Nun. He then took out two porcelain bowls, poured in the special mare’s milk from the mayor, and set them by the fire to warm.

The sweet aroma of milk soon filled the air.

The vagrants, who had been drooling over the Demon Hunters’ cauldron, slowly turned their heads toward Baron and the Little Nun. In the firelight, their murky eyes shone with an eerie green glow.