Hart Valentine Dies At

Chapter 38: Hart Valentine Dies

Hart had already driven his carriage out of the Imperial Capital's downtown area. He hadn't chosen the main road, but instead a country path.

In this era, all roads were basically dirt roads. With so much rain these past few days, the roads were a muddy mess. The numerous carriages traveling to and from the Imperial Capital had created ruts, making the path bumpy and uneven.

It was faster to travel on these smaller paths. The chill of winter hadn't completely receded yet. Hart buttoned up his coat, pulled his collar up high, and tucked his hands as much as possible into his sleeves while gripping the reins. But even so, the chill of the night still penetrated his clothes and seeped into his bones.

The quiet, desolate wilderness at night always made one uneasy.

The public order in this era wasn't exactly good. Encountering bandits on the street wasn't a rare occurrence.

But he had no choice but to travel at night. If he wanted to return to his hometown, he would need to travel by sea, but the latest ship departed around five in the evening.

If he went during the day, he would have missed the ship by the time he arrived. He would have to stay at the port for a night, but with all his belongings, there was absolutely nowhere safe to put them. By morning, they would likely be gone.

So, he had to travel at night. By the time he reached the port, it would be daytime, and he could catch the ship.

Moreover, he had to travel at night anyway. Rather than travel at night later on, it was better to travel at night now. After all, they were close to the Imperial Capital. No matter how bad the public order was, bandits would be somewhat restrained and wouldn't dare to kill randomly.

As Hart's thoughts raced, he heard rustling sounds from the hedges on both sides. In the moonlight, he could see the leaves shaking, but it definitely wasn't the wind.

Hart's heart suddenly tightened. He didn't dare to breathe, and could only let the horse slowly proceed on the small path.

The surroundings were silent, only the rumbling sound of the carriage wheels rolling over the uneven dirt road. His heart pounded with the carriage's movement.

Suddenly, a dark shadow darted out from the hedges. Hart's breath hitched.

But after he got a clear look, he realized it was just a slightly larger rabbit.

Hart's taut nerves relaxed, and he then mocked himself in his heart for being too sensitive.

He looked up and ahead again. At that moment, two cold gun muzzles were quietly aimed at him.

Hart's expression didn't change. He let out a soft breath. Although he had been afraid of encountering bandits on the road, now that it had actually happened, he felt much calmer. After all, he had rehearsed this scenario many times in his mind.

He steadily controlled the carriage to a slow stop. The two men pointing guns at him cautiously approached. Their faces were covered with cloth, making it impossible to see their features. However, they were thin, one tall and one short.

They seemed quite young, as the hands holding the guns were trembling slightly, appearing unpracticed. A hint of timidity showed in their eyes.

Seeing this, Hart felt a bit more confident. These two young men were probably not professional bandits, but people who couldn't make a living and chose to rob. Such people usually only sought money, not lives.

The two bandits slowly approached Hart's carriage. When they reached him, the taller one, the leader, spoke in a deliberately gruff voice.

"Hand over all your money, and I'll spare your life!"

Hart reached into his pocket and threw out a money bag he had prepared. His substantial cash assets had been taken by his wife and children. The cash he carried was carefully calculated.

It wasn't so much that he would feel the pinch, nor so little that it would anger the bandits.

The shorter one took the money bag. He opened it and looked inside, appearing very pleased.

"Brother! So much money. People from the Imperial Capital are indeed different."

His voice sounded even younger, perhaps only in his teens.

The taller one also glanced at the money bag, but quickly looked away. The gun was still aimed at Hart, his eyes vigilant.

He pointed his gun at something behind Hart.

"What's in there?"

"Just some miscellaneous items. Nothing valuable."

The taller one glanced at the shorter one. The shorter one stepped forward and began trying to untie the horse's reins, clearly wanting the two horses.

Hart was about to remind them that the horses weren't very obedient to strangers when he heard a loud neigh. The horse reared its head to the side, directly knocking the shorter bandit to the ground.

But if it were only that, it wouldn't be a major problem. The most critical issue was that the bandit's mask slipped, and Hart got a clear look at his face.

In Britannia, serious crimes were generally punished by hanging. Highway robbery was considered one of the serious crimes, so those who committed highway robbery were basically desperate outlaws.

If Hart had a high probability of surviving before, from this moment on, he was certainly doomed.

After a brief silence, Hart reacted. He immediately reached under the seat, where he had a flintlock pistol hidden.

"BANG!!!"

A spark shot out into the dark night.

The two horses, startled, neighed and the carriage bolted forward.

The taller one looked at the carriage gradually pulling away, then at the shorter one lying on the ground. His hand tightly gripped the flintlock pistol, its muzzle still emitting faint wisps of smoke.

The two exchanged a look, and each could see the fear and panic in the other's eyes.

This was their first time killing someone.

However, they didn't speak. The taller one pulled up the shorter one, and the two of them fled the scene quickly, like startled rabbits.

The carriage, laden with goods, ran for several kilometers before stopping. Hart slumped against the seat, losing consciousness. His feet were tangled in the reins, otherwise, he would have been thrown off by the jolting earlier.

Some of the clothing on his left arm was stained red with blood, and some blood dripped down his arm.

After an unknown amount of time, Hart slowly opened his eyes. Enduring the intense pain, he got up from his seat and leaned against the cargo. He tried his best to open his eyes and look around, then looked at his carriage.

He looked at his blood-soaked hands with some confusion.

"I'm not dead?"

"No, you are dead."

The voice that suddenly echoed in his ears startled him, and he whipped his head around, coming face-to-face with a white, bone-like mask.

A chilling cold shot up from his tailbone straight to his forehead.

This being, neither human nor ghost, was clad in a hooded black robe that swayed gently in the cold night wind. Black dust and smoke swirled around the hem of his garment, and in his right hand, he clutched a massive scythe radiating a cold gleam.

Seeing this classic depiction, Hart knew exactly what kind of entity stood before him.

He trembled, wanting to flee, but his feet were tangled in reins, preventing him from moving.

He frantically reached down to untangle himself, while the Grim Reaper beside him watched him silently, unmoving.

Perhaps due to his panic, the reins wouldn't come undone no matter how he tried. After a moment, he finally realized he couldn't escape, and despair began to consume him.

He looked at the Grim Reaper, tears welling in his eyes, and said with a trembling voice, "I still have a wife and a young child."

"Many who die are in the same situation," the Grim Reaper said patiently. "But these are the rules, and no one can defy them."

Hart's fingers trembled uncontrollably. He raised his hand, grabbed his hair, and then began to weep.

After an unknown amount of time, Hart's emotions gradually calmed. He looked up at the Grim Reaper.

"When will you take me?"

"The moment you completely die," the Grim Reaper replied. "Your lungs have been pierced; you cannot live."

Lungs pierced?

Hart confusedly raised his hand to touch his chest, then looked at the only wound he had: his arm had been grazed by a bullet, which hadn't even lodged itself in his flesh.

"Lord Grim Reaper," Hart said, a hint of confusion in his voice, "Did you make a mistake? There's no wound on my chest, I only have a graze."

The Grim Reaper seemed to realize that Hart was far too energetic for someone whose lungs had been pierced. Humans with such injuries couldn't converse with him like this.

Beneath his mask, he frowned slightly and continued to ask, "Is your name Hart Valentine?"

Hart nodded.

"Are there any others nearby traveling with you and sharing the same name?" the Grim Reaper inquired.

Hart shook his head. "While my name isn't that uncommon, it's unlikely to be that coincidental."

"Then it's settled, time to go, Hart Valentine."

With that, he raised his scythe, seemingly impatient, and prepared to take Hart away directly.

"Wait! Wait!" Hart cried out in terror, his voice loud. "There must be some mistake!"

"The Book of the Dead does not make mistakes," the Grim Reaper stated impassively.

As he spoke, he raised his hand, and the Book of the Dead appeared. The book then opened rapidly, like a bird spreading its wings, revealing characters only he could understand.

He looked at the text and began to read aloud.

"Hart Valentine, died at..."

His expression suddenly froze. His pupils contracted into tiny points as he looked at Hart before him in disbelief.