Lance Charge on the Arkship, but No Mount

The man's teeth ground together. Rage seemed ready to spill from his brown eyes. But he had nothing—not even though he could easily snap the neck of the man whipping him. The child curled up in his arms, weeping endlessly as his father was lashed.

The patrolman stared at the man with cold eyes, the whip in his hand never pausing for a moment. He was still beating him not because he bore any grudge against him, but simply because he found it amusing. Under such brutal beatings, an ordinary person would have screamed long ago. Yet the man remained silent, not even trembling.

He watched the battered man with great interest, guessing when he would finally scream and when he would beg for mercy. The colleagues beside him were discussing the same thing. Someone had even placed a wager, betting that the man would be wailing and begging within ten minutes.

The other villagers stood far away, not even daring to look for too long. Their eyes held nothing but numbness. The crisp cracks of every lash tearing through flesh reached their ears without stirring the slightest ripple. What was the point? Anything they did would only bring even fiercer retaliation. Better to pretend they heard nothing and saw nothing. At least then, they could survive—could continue dragging out their miserable lives.

The man wielding the whip was beginning to get bored. He had been whipping this man for fifteen minutes straight, and even his own arm ached unbearably. Yet the blood-covered man, whose clothes had been completely dyed red, still had not let out a single cry. Feeling both annoyed and dissatisfied, he threw down the whip and drew the saber at his waist.

The Ursus Empire's advanced heavy industry had ensured that even patrol units like theirs possessed fairly decent weapons. The long blade in his hand had a sharp edge and excellent balance. No matter how sturdy the man before him was, one swing would easily cleave open his body and kill him.

This bastard is probably still thinking about taking revenge on me someday.

A mocking smile curled across his lips. He raised the blade high and swung it down at the man's neck.

The man clenched his teeth. He knew what was about to happen to him. But he could not resist. If he fought back, the black-skinned dogs around him would execute both him and his son. Even if there was only the faintest shred of hope, he wanted his son to live. His entire body tensed, but he did not move.

Yet the pain of the blade striking him never came. Instead, a thin icy mist filled the air around him, carrying a bone-chilling cold. He raised his head in confusion and discovered that behind him stood nothing but an ice statue holding a sword.

A trace of confusion still remained on the ice statue's face. His entire body had been sealed within a shell of ice, utterly motionless. At some point, a faint layer of icy mist had begun to rise around them. The remaining black-skinned dogs had gathered together, their faces tense.

The silence did not last long. An ice spike shot out from the mist, launching one of the black-skinned dogs off the ground and impaling his entire body upon it. White figures began flashing through the fog, one after another, like ghosts.

Despair began to appear on the patrolmen's faces. Someone was the first to speak that forbidden name.

"Yeti Squad!!"

But whatever they intended to do, it was already too late. The mist engulfed them. White figures flashed past one after another, spraying vivid blood as limbs separated and bodies were torn apart. The bitter cold turned them into ice statues, and sharp swords would shatter them one by one.

The man suddenly came to his senses. He shoved the ice statue behind him over with all his strength. The icy shell cracked apart, and the man inside seemed to still be conscious, staring at him in horror. The man's broad hands seized his head, his thick, powerful arms locking him firmly in place. The Ursus body erupted with tremendous strength. He slammed the man's head against the ground and pressed down hard.

A cracking sound came from the skull as it gave way, followed by several muffled screams. The man gritted his teeth and continued applying force.

Crack!

His palm suddenly sank lower, and a bloodshot eyeball popped out. His hand plunged into a pool of blood. He had crushed the man's head alive against the ground.

He collapsed onto the ground at once. Having barely eaten anything for days, his weakened body could no longer hold up. He lay there gasping, without even the strength to stand. His child came to his side, hugged his arm, and stared fearfully at the ghosts within the mist.

But he no longer cared. He could not do anything now. No matter who these ghosts were, he had no ability to resist them.

The remaining patrolmen were soon slaughtered to the last, becoming frozen wreckage scattered across the ground. The white-clad ghosts formed into orderly ranks.

A tall Yeti Squad warrior walked toward him, a bloodstained longsword in his hand. He reached out and pulled the man to his feet in one motion. The man's son seemed to sense something. He stopped crying and looked curiously at the white-clad warriors.

Seeing his hunger, the warrior rummaged in his clothes, took out a piece of hard bread, and shoved it into his hand. But the man did not immediately eat it. Instead, he blankly watched the white-clad warriors in the distance speaking to the villagers.

"Reunion Movement..."

Oiled cotton cloth rubbed against the sharp spearhead, coating it with a sheen of oil. After wiping it all over, he used a clean piece of cotton cloth to wipe it once more. Once he had finished, the sharp spearhead gleamed like a mirror. Claude did not touch the complicated Originium mechanism beneath it. He did not understand how the thing worked, so he had no way to maintain it.

Claude enjoyed maintaining his weapons. To him, weapon maintenance was not merely preparation for battle. It also calmed his mind, allowing him to consider his current circumstances and make plans for the future. It was a form of self-cultivation as well.

But he was not thinking about the organization's future now, because everything was already proceeding in an orderly fashion. Things were running smoothly, and there was no need to stir up unnecessary trouble. He was simply clearing his mind and considering questions from his past.

Claude was proficient with many kinds of weapons. After all, when his own weapon was damaged, he often had no particular choice and could only use whatever he managed to pick up. But he also had several weapons he kept on hand. Among them, he was best with the spear, while his favorite was the executioner's sword.

Strictly speaking, it was not a proper weapon. It was an instrument of execution used by imperial executioners to behead criminals. This weapon had a broad blade and lacked a traditional pointed tip, which was replaced by a fan-shaped cutting edge.

The reason it was not considered a proper weapon was because its center of gravity was far too close to the front, giving it disastrously poor handling. After all, it had been designed to sever a prisoner's head in one stroke. No true veteran who had spent years on the battlefield would use it as a regular weapon.

But Claude was different. His strength, exceptional even among superhumans, allowed him to easily control this greatsword with its strange balance. And when the executioner's sword split open the tough bodies of beastmen as easily as cracking melons, the unique sensation and sound also made him deeply fond of this immensely powerful weapon.

One tactic he was especially skilled at was leaping from his griffin into the enemy ranks, relying on his heavy armor and battle-tested martial skill. With the griffin's cooperation, he would use the 1.6-meter executioner's sword to turn an entire hundred-man enemy unit into severed limbs and mangled bodies. With his immense strength, he could even cut several enemies in half with a single strike.

Since he could not carry too many weapons on his person, this terrifying greatsword was usually hung from the griffin's saddle and only taken down when needed. He was the only one in the entire legion who used it. If other knights tried to imitate him, their officers would harshly reprimand them. Recklessly wielding a weapon they were not proficient with could easily cost them their lives.

After staying here for so long, Claude suddenly missed that greatsword. But there was certainly no way to make one for him now. There were no qualified craftsmen in the camp at all, only ordinary people with a little technical knowledge maintaining the equipment. And to make such a weapon sturdy and durable was not something an ordinary craftsman could accomplish.

Weaponmaking in this world, especially the forging of cold weapons, was highly advanced. It would be more accurate to say that most people in this world used cold weapons. Claude knew that firearms existed here, but they were basically controlled by a race known as the Sankta. Moreover, these firearms differed from what Claude understood. They were still a type of staff. The user had to rely on their own Originium Arts to activate the mechanisms within the gun and fire bullets, rather than using gunpowder.

Furthermore, the penetration power of the bullets fired by these guns was, in most cases, no match for a powerful crossbow. Especially since most crossbows used by archers in this world had a draw weight of at least a hundred pounds.

Thus, these expensive weapons controlled by the Sankta naturally had not become widespread here.

Claude pondered it. The Reunion Movement was now in desperate need of medicine to suppress Oripathy, as well as a stable source of funding. They did not even have a technically competent craftsman. There were countless things they lacked.

As for a source of funding, he had no solution for the moment. At this stage, they could only rely on looting. But perhaps he could contact other medical institutions in this world and see whether he could secure a stable supply of medicine. With so many Infected, their conditions should not be allowed to worsen any further.

Perhaps he could ask the others later and see whether they knew anything about this.

Claude stood and stretched his body. Looking at the thriving camp, he found that today was once again a day without any unexpected incidents.

At night, the camp's tents stood in orderly rows. Patrol squads, under Claude's meticulous arrangements, monitored the entire camp without leaving any gaps. Claude had already fallen asleep. He always fell asleep quickly; it was a habit he had developed over decades. He was always accustomed to seizing every opportunity to rest.

This was an endless space of darkness, with no end in sight. Claude walked through it. He did not know why he was walking here; he was merely moving on instinct. After an unknown length of time, he finally noticed something different: a small stone house.

Claude walked to the door and was about to raise his hand to knock when his brow suddenly furrowed. Something felt wrong. Why did he have to go inside?

Before he could think further, the door suddenly opened. A slender middle-aged man emerged from within. His face was smooth and completely beardless. His eyes and brows gave off an effeminate, sharp impression. He bore no traits of any race.

The man looked at him with a startled expression, then warmly smiled at him as though Claude were an old friend he had not seen in ages.

A strange feeling suddenly rose in Claude's heart as well, as though this person truly were his old friend. The man abruptly seemed familiar and dear to him. He grabbed Claude's arm and warmly invited him inside to sit for a while. Claude rarely refused an invitation from a friend. He instinctively started to step forward.

Kaschey—or rather, the Immortal Black Snake—could barely suppress the genuine smile spreading across his face. As long as Claude stepped into this house, into this trap he had set within his mind, everything in Claude's memories would be defenseless before him. He would learn all of Claude's secrets.

After taking a few more steps, Claude suddenly stopped. The Black Snake grew anxious. Success was right before him, and he instinctively reached out to push him.

"Psst..."

The sound of a sharp blade piercing flesh suddenly rang out. The Black Snake stared in shock at the longsword that had pierced through his chest.

"How did you...?"

Claude looked at him seriously. After a long moment, he finally spoke.

"All my friends from the past are dead, and I have never remembered having a friend like you among those I know now. You filthy aberration have underestimated me far too much."

The moment he finished speaking, he gripped the hilt with both hands and viciously slashed upward, cutting the man's face in two.

A New Beginning: Ordinary Days (4)

The Ursus Empire ruling this snowy plain was practically taken for granted. But today, at this moment, one small area within the Empire's territory had slipped out of its control. The place was so small and remote that, aside from a few patrol units, it had scarcely attracted the attention of any other part of the Empire.

This region, thick with white birch forests, had now become forbidden ground for the patrolmen. Not a single one dared enter. Naturally, they did not believe that nonsense about safeguarding the Empire's dignity. To them, there had never been much profit to be found here in the first place. There was no reason to risk their lives fighting guerrillas. They could continue plundering elsewhere, so no one was willing to take on such thankless work.

For the villagers here, however, life seemed to have suddenly become much easier. The patrol units that had once come every day to extort them and seize their belongings no longer appeared. Though the harvests here were poor, they could at least barely fill their stomachs. Those who now often came to the village were soldiers calling themselves the Reunion Movement.

At first, discovering that some of these soldiers were Infected frightened them for a long time. Thanks to the Ursus Empire's years of propaganda, the Infected had become, in their minds, something harmful and dangerous—something that was not even the same species as them. They feared these Infected would treat them brutally, perhaps even more cruelly than the patrolmen had.

But no matter how extreme a lie was, it could not outweigh the truth they saw with their own eyes. After several months together, the Ursus Empire's demonization of the Infected could no longer influence them. People were practical. The Infected of the Reunion Movement fed them and improved their lives, so naturally they had no reason to oppose them. When they spent time with those Infected, they seemed like ordinary people, no different from themselves. Though they instinctively kept their distance when interacting with them, and there were strange stones growing from their bodies.

Furthermore, people from the Reunion Movement came every day to speak to them about various things. They treated the villagers kindly and did not talk down to them like the scribes serving the nobles, speaking in words they could not understand. Many of them had once been young people from these very villages. They had joined the Reunion Movement either because they had contracted Oripathy or because they could no longer endure their miserable lives.

They explained many principles in plain, understandable language. Though the ideas sounded novel, the villagers could agree with them from the bottom of their hearts.

It did not take long before Reunion Movement soldiers were welcomed whenever they came here. The villagers understood in their hearts that these soldiers had come to protect them. Whether they were Infected or not, they would not harm them. Once oppressed like livestock, they now actually had grain left over at the end of each year.

Claude was very satisfied with the current situation. The anxiety that had weighed on him finally eased. No matter what, they had taken the first step. He had no way of predicting what would come next, nor could he foresee their future. All he could do was take one step at a time. As a saying from his first life went: "Do good deeds and do not ask what the future holds."

But some matters could no longer be delayed. Just yesterday, ten more Infected had suffered aggravated symptoms, and two had died on the spot as their conditions worsened. Without medicine, even the best doctors could not prolong their lives. And the entire organization had only one person with medical experience: Doctor Kolchev. Finding a way to purchase Oripathy suppressants was now of utmost importance. Otherwise, not only would their non-combat losses greatly increase, but their morale would also suffer a severe blow.

Talulah stood before the conference table and laid out this thorny reality. The people seated around the long table wore grave expressions, but none could think of a good solution. This was not their area of expertise.

"Our funds are also extremely tight. Although we seized quite a bit of wealth that the patrolmen had plundered, it will not sustain the entire organization for long. If we also have to buy expensive Oripathy suppressants, it will be depleted even faster."

As the organization's logistics chief, Alina's delicate brows furrowed as well. She was deeply worried about their situation. On this barren snowy plain, they could not produce anything. Even if they did, they would have no way to trade it elsewhere. The only valuable resource here was Originium, but obtaining Originium required people to mine it. Without proper protective equipment, that would be no different from creating more Infected, something they detested. Even with the wealth they had seized, they were simply consuming their savings without replenishing them.

"How much money do we have left?" Claude, who had been resting his chin on his hand in thought, suddenly asked.

After learning the exact amount, he hesitated slightly, then stood.

"I'll go. I'll buy the medicine and contact a reliable pharmaceutical company while I'm at it to see if we can establish a long-term partnership."

The others exchanged looks, but no one objected. They knew Claude truly was the most suitable person. Not only did he have connections in Kazimierz, he was also more familiar with the situation there.

"But will you be all right going back, Mr. Claude? Didn't you say you offended the Commercial Union there? Won't they target you?" Talulah looked deeply concerned.

"Don't worry. The Commercial Union is no longer capable of causing trouble. Kazimierz is already very different from before."

Claude appeared extremely confident. In his eyes, the Nearl Family and the friends he knew were all very capable people, not to mention the Grand Knight Commander, whose political skill ran deep. With the advantage already in their hands, there was no way they could fail to suppress the Commercial Union. The mobile cities of Kazimierz would no longer be completely controlled by capital as they had been before.

Moreover, eighty percent of the reason Kazimierz's capital had been so arrogant was the powerful Ursus Empire. The campaign knights had not dared to start an internal conflict for fear of giving the Ursus Empire an opening. They had never doubted that the Empire would strike Kazimierz a fatal blow if given the chance.

The Commercial Union understood this as well. Wary of the campaign knights' strength, they also did not dare provoke internal conflict. They knew that if a real fight broke out, they would be easily crushed to dust. Thus, they could only maintain this fragile balance.

So Claude would not encounter any danger by going there now. Besides, with his current strength, there was little there that could threaten him—unless Kazimierz's strongest Silverlance Pegasi surrounded him. But he believed he had a good relationship with the Nearl Family, representatives of Kazimierz's campaign knights. So that possibility was simply absurd.

The meeting continued. Since the most difficult issue had already been resolved, the remaining matters were merely minor ones. They were quickly discussed, and suitable solutions were found.

After the meeting, Claude found Centaurea.

"Do you want to go back and have a look?" Claude did not waste words and asked her directly.

Centaurea answered without hesitation.

"Of course. I have to keep an eye on you. What if you, my boss, run off with all the money?"

"Tomorrow morning at eight. Don't be late. I'll wait for you at the entrance." Claude curled his lips into a smile and swept his cloak behind him.

"All right, all right, stop seeing me off. I'm only leaving for a while. I'll bring the medicine back soon enough."

It was the same off-road vehicle they had arrived in. Sitting inside, Claude continuously waved to those who had come to see him off. Far more people had come than last time. Nearly everyone in the Reunion Movement who had met him was there, a dense crowd filling the open space.

The vehicle gradually drove away, but several Reunion Movement leaders remained where they were instead of returning. They watched the departing vehicle. The person riding in it had truly changed their fates. Before this, they had never dared imagine they could accomplish what they had now. He had become the soul of the Reunion Movement.

"There is so much money in the car. Haven't you ever been tempted, boss? If you ran off with it, they wouldn't be able to do anything to you, would they?"

With a teasing smile at the corner of her lips, Centaurea joked with Claude.

Without even turning his head, Claude answered her.

"Because they trust me, just as I trust them. So they hold no doubts about me. And I believe that deeply as well."

"Oh? And just how much do they trust you?"

"As much as you trust me." A smile appeared on Claude's lips as well.

"When have I ever trusted you? If you hadn't still owed me this month's wages, I wouldn't be going with you." Centaurea turned her head away, but her leg began to shake on its own.

As he drove, Claude took a moment to glance toward the several boxes in the back seat. Apart from the funds necessary to keep the organization running, they contained every last bit of money they had. If he failed this time, the Reunion Movement would struggle to endure what came next.

But he would succeed. He had never doubted it.

Night fell. Their familiar division of duties remained the same, with Claude responsible for keeping watch during the first half of the night. He sat cross-legged before the campfire, his sheathed sword cradled in his arms. Using a dead branch to stir the flames, he looked completely unguarded.

Only he knew that his mind was now taut with tension. He carefully watched for any movement around them. That clear yet bizarre dream had made him realize that strange enemies lurked nearby. He did not know who the man in his dream was, but he knew that person definitely meant him harm. If he had not been so vigilant at the time and the man had succeeded, there was no telling what consequences would have followed.

For two nights straight, Claude had remained in a state of shallow meditation. In that state, he did not truly enter dreams, nor could his body receive real rest. But given his current physique, it was not a major problem. He could keep it up for a long time.

But this could not go on forever. A thief could not be on guard for a thousand days. So tonight, he had made thorough preparations to lure that person out. This time, he had set a trap for him as well.

He had encountered enemies skilled in mental attacks and spiritual invasions before. The elves had been mentioned previously. They were highly skilled in magic of every variety, including spells that attacked a person's mind through dreams.

Toward the end of the war, they had been driven to desperation and had tried nearly every method imaginable. In an attempt to turn the tide, an elven sage in purple robes developed a method that allowed one to invade another's mind and kill them within their mental world, causing brain death.

But this method came at a tremendous cost. An elven mage of at least sage rank had to sacrifice their own life and attack in soul form for it to succeed. Sacrificing the most outstanding talents of their race in such a way was madness, but they had no choice. It was the final madness of a race.

Unfortunately, by then their disadvantage was already beyond the reach of such spells. At first, they had indeed succeeded several times and had even assassinated a legion commander. But the Empire's accompanying mages quickly discovered the problem. Under the Emperor's personal orders, the Empire's tightly organized Mage Association began studying countermeasures.

These minds, the cleverest and most adept at magic in the Empire, soon developed an effective solution. They created a precise rune that even non-mages could use with ease. Its purpose was simple: it allowed a person to use their mental power to set a trap within their own mind and capture souls. Thanks to the Empire's formidable organizational capacity, every soldier could be equipped with this rune within half a month.

Soon, even the Empire's most basic soldiers were equipped with these runes and given basic training. The suicides of thousands of elven sages then became a joke. Their final madness inflicted losses of only a few hundred people upon the Empire. Though they had used despicable methods to assassinate one legion commander, it was a price the Empire could easily bear.

And now, that complex and precise rune glimmered within Claude's armor. If that uninvited guest dared come tonight, if that bastard was still a soul, he would inevitably fall into Claude's grasp. Then, how to deal with him would be entirely up to Claude.

Time passed second by second. The wind outside continued howling against the campfire, blowing up showers of sparks. Nothing had happened yet, but Claude was not impatient in the slightest. Hunting was an enjoyment to him. He liked the feeling of waiting for prey. He continued watching the campfire patiently.

A New Beginning: The Black Snake

Milden Aether-Type Rune 641—this was the name of the complex rune, or rather, its designation. With sufficient clearance, one could use this designation to find it in the Empire Mage Association's magic vault. If necessary, one could also find a mage to teach them how to use it.

For imperial soldiers, all of this was free. As long as they possessed the proper clearance, they could access and learn all the knowledge and skills available at their current level without paying anything. The Empire strongly encouraged soldiers to improve their strength and expand their knowledge.

Layer upon layer of concentric circles, intersected by arcs, straight lines, and angled strokes, formed the rune's intricate pattern. With only a trace of magical power, light would flow through its markings until it filled the entire rune. At that point, it would enter a state of readiness for activation.