Chapter 125 — The Ordeal of Sir Byron
Blade of Dawn · Page 1 of 3
Hearing the full-throated cursing from inside the mill, Gao Yang thought to himself that it was just as he had expected, then led the others forward at a quick pace.
The mill's door was pushed open, and sunlight poured into the dim space at once. Between the bright band of light and the shadow of the straw heap, Sir Byron lay sprawled against the wall, still bellowing at the top of his lungs: "If you were my squire, I'd kick your stupid head in! You brainless little brat! Do you have a death wish? You—Your Grace?!"
Sir Byron finally adjusted to the sudden light. He tilted his head toward the doorway, where a tall figure stood silhouetted against the brightness. Then the tall figure stepped inside, followed by three more.
The mute child was the last to trail in.
"You're in fine spirits, I see," Gao Yang greeted the knight lying in the straw. "We'd been wondering whether you were alive or dead, and here you are with the energy to curse loudly enough to be heard from dozens of meters outside."
As he spoke, he walked forward, but halfway there Byron shouted, "Your Grace, stay back! I've been cursed by the cultists' foul arts! I don't know whether this thing can spread!"
Gao Yang's brow furrowed. Of course he could guess, and see, that something was wrong with Sir Byron—otherwise the man wouldn't be lying here cursing—but only after his eyes adjusted somewhat to the mill's gloom did he make out the strangeness in the middle-aged knight's appearance.
A blackish-green tracery crept along Byron's skin, by now likely covering more than half his body. The fine lines were visible on his exposed arms, his hands, and his neck, and some had even reached the edges of his eye sockets, looking like veins risen to the surface.
Beyond that, his body bore any number of wounds, including half his face swollen.
Sir Philip drew a sharp breath. "Damn it... what happened here?"
"I found the cultist, but he found me too," Byron said, tugging at the corner of his mouth while his body stayed utterly rigid—evidently only his head could still move. "The details would take long to tell. To put it briefly, I lost the fight... Your Grace, are you here to investigate the cultists as well? How did you know something had gone wrong here?"
"A serf turned into a living bomb at the wharf—the work of the Congregation of the End of All Things," Gao Yang said. "And when no word came back from you, we knew something had happened here. Lie still for now; there may be a way to save you."
"Don't waste your effort. The Shadowmancer cultist is formidable. I can feel his foul art not only corroding my flesh but eating at my mind. Even now I see seven or eight afterimages of each of you..."
Pi Yun stepped out from behind Gao Yang, striding toward Byron with an easy swagger and a sneer. "Stop imagining things. The afterimages are because your eyes got beaten swollen—it's nothing but a simple neural curse."
As he spoke, the old druid crouched beside the middle-aged knight and began examining how far the curse's power had spread. Watching from behind, Gao Yang let out a breath of relief. "So he can be saved?"
"However wildly the End of All Things has grown, it sprouted from druidism," Pi Yun said, pulling incense and ritual wooden carvings from the pack at his side. "Its curses especially—for almost every one you can find a corresponding druidic rite of exorcism. Frankly, if I faced the one who cast this spell, I doubt I'd be his match, but dealing with the curse he left behind is another matter. Seems whoever did this holds you in low regard, Sir Knight."
Byron paused at that, a weathered look in his eyes, and sighed softly. "The fellow probably started looking down on me when he sent me flying..."
From the look of him, he was certainly going to be fine.