The Blood Moon Season Was Over

The weather was still cold, but the suffocating, bloody feeling in my lungs suddenly lessened.

The stone walls at the forefront, darkened by the red light, first faded from the edges, then piece by piece, slowly revealed their original gray-white color.

The Sacred Flame Domain was no longer suppressed near the city walls as it had been in previous days; the platinum-gold ring of fire was gradually pushing outwards.

The sentries on the front lines spotted it first.

He stood on the arrow tower, his hands, red from the cold, resting on the edge of the tower frame, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

At first, he didn't dare to speak, wondering if he had been staying up too long and his eyes were playing tricks on him.

But the dark red layer on the Gray Fog was indeed receding.

His throat bobbed, and when he uttered his first shout, it was even a little hoarse.

"Refund--!"

That shout rang out, and it hung there all alone in the wind.

He couldn't believe it himself, so he quickly wiped his face, stared at the expanding Sacred Flame Domain, took a deep breath, and shouted it again at the top of his lungs.

"The Blood Moon is receding!"

The people below were taken aback at first.

The sentry on the second arrow tower also looked up, glanced at it a few times, then suddenly froze, before roaring.

The third, the fourth, the fifth----

The sound traveled down the entire defensive line, like stones being thrown into frozen water, first scattered, then becoming increasingly dense.

It was only then that everyone belatedly realized that the heavy feeling in their chests was gradually dissipating.

The faint buzzing in my ears subsided, and the restlessness that had been nagging at me also receded.

For a moment, no one on the entire defensive line had time to talk about anything else.

One by one, they raised their heads, gazing at the receding dark red glow and the re-emerging Sacred Flame fire.

No one dared to cheer immediately; they just stood there, as if afraid that if they uttered a sound, this beautiful scene would shatter.

Until the bronze bell was struck with great force, the deep sound of the bell overwhelmed the lingering stench of blood and smoke, making the long, drawn-out sound of the receding tide of blood seem endless.

That's when the entire defensive line truly broke apart.

This is a celebration for a group of people who have just crawled back from the brink of death, finally able to catch their breath.

Some people ripped off their helmets, grabbed their arms, and slammed them into the mud, splashing mud and water everywhere.

Others held shields riddled with holes and pounded them with their fists, making loud thuds as they roared hoarsely.

Many more people knelt directly on the ground, their hands supporting them in the mud. They laughed at first, then started crying, their snot, tears, and the black ash on their faces mixing together, making them look utterly wretched.

"They survived!"

" By the Most Holy above! We have truly retreated!"

"The Sacred Flame has not been extinguished! Blackpine Fief has not been destroyed!"

"Long live the Lord!"

Long live Lord Shien!

May the Most Holy shine upon the Blackpine Fief!

The sounds were a chaotic jumble: harsh, grating laughter, curses, and sobs.

Nobody cared whether it sounded good or bad, or whether it was impolite. They weren't shouting it out for anyone else to hear; they were just letting out everything that had been stuck in their chests like a Blood Moon Season.

The Convicts fell to his knees with a thud, his forehead hitting the mud. He could only repeat those few Sacred Words over and over, until he could no longer pronounce them clearly, and he could only cry and laugh at the same time.

Several veterans huddled around the campfire, fighting over a half-cleaned liquor jug. They took a swig, cursed, and then burst into laughter.

Someone was laughing when they suddenly hugged their comrade next to them. The hug was so tight that they bumped into each other's shoulder wounds, causing them to wince in pain.

Todd was pushed and stumbled half a step back before regaining his balance.

He lowered his head and looked at his hands by the light of the torch.

Those hands, once holding wine glasses, had delicate skin, but now their fingernails were embedded with indelible black blood, and their tiger's mouths were covered with thick calluses.

The scar on the back of his hand, ripped open by the Ghoul's claws, had hardened and lay there crookedly, like an ugly, blackened centipede.

He stared at it for a couple of breaths, and suddenly everything in his chest welled up.

I felt relieved, terrified, numb, excited, and a strange sense of bewilderment.

Blood Moon Season, it's been too long.

So long that he almost forgot what he originally looked like, and almost forgot what it feels like when a person doesn't have to worry about dying tonight.

Before he could think about it carefully, two comrades with blood-covered faces grabbed him and pulled him close, their faces reeking of alcohol and sweat.

"What are you standing there for? Sing!"

Todd was nearly pulled into the fire, and someone nearby started yelling a war song.

It has no melody, and the lyrics are a mess. One line is about the Sacred Flame and the long wall, and the next line is about wine barrels, women, and chopping off wolf heads.

More people joined in the chaotic response, banging on their shields, stomping their feet, and continuing to yell even when they sang wrong.

As soon as the cork was pulled out, the pungent, spicy aroma of the liquor immediately wafted out.

Some people rushed to pour into the cups, while others didn't even bother to find a cup, and some even poured it directly into their mouths from the edge of the bucket.

Finally, the logistics team brought out the simmering meat broth.

Several large iron pots were lined up along the city wall, with thick soup bubbling away, oil glistening in the firelight, and the aroma overpowering the lingering smell of blood in the air.

At this point, the people gradually quieted down a bit.

Many people took off their boots, which were soaked in blood and mud, and stretched their blistered feet toward the fire pit.

The heat immediately stung their skin like needles, making them gasp and curse, yet they still couldn't bear to pull their feet back.

He scooped up a mouthful of the scalding hot broth, almost bringing tears to his eyes. He wiped his mouth and then burst out laughing.

The laughter grew louder and wilder.

Someone held up a wooden bowl with only half an ear remaining and shouted at the fire, "When the Blood Moon comes again next year, I'll still be standing here!"

Someone nearby immediately kicked him. "Bullshit, I'll kill a Werewolf next year!"

"Wolf my ass! Get your lame leg fixed first!"

The group burst into laughter, and as they laughed, they started banging their bowls together.

The firelight illuminated their blood-stained faces, and also the city wall of Blackpine Fief Territory, which had regained its greyish-white hue.

The Blood Moon hadn't completely faded, and the Gray Fog still lingered, but everyone knew that the most difficult days were over.

Even later, thanks to Shien's strategic maneuvering and the formation of the entire defensive line, their mortality rate gradually decreased.

But it wasn't until this moment, until the bronze bell truly rang out that long tone, until the Sacred Flame Domain pushed outwards again, that they dared to confirm that they had truly survived the entire Blood Moon Season.

These barrels of liquor, bacon, and Old Wheat soup were all provided with Shien's prior approval.

The Blood Moon Season has receded, but the Long Night is not truly safe yet. The outer defenses need to be cleared, the piles of corpses need to be burned, the Workshop need to be replenished, the wounded need to be cared for, and the collapsed fortifications and horse-changing points all need to be re-checked.

There are so many things to do, like mane on a horse, but I won't rush them tonight.

Let them catch their breath, eat something hot, drink something strong, and release the coldness and blood that have been trapped in their bones for the past seventy-three days.

Shien stood on the tower for a while before turning his head and calmly speaking to the clerk behind him, "Prepare to offer sacrifices to the Sacred Flame."

The wind in the main square of the Inner Fortress was a few degrees colder than outside the city walls.

Everyone in Blackpine Fief who was still able to stand was summoned to the Sacred Flame Altar.

Around the square, only a ring of braziers was lit, their platinum flames swaying gently in the cold wind, illuminating faces covered with Blood Scab, soot, and wounds.

Between the braziers were rows and rows of relics.

--

Black bone spurs, which had not yet been removed, were still embedded in the broken Ironwood Shield.

The broadsword, its blade chipped, had a dark red stain on its spine that couldn't be scraped off.

A cracked helmet, a broken gun barrel, and leather gloves worn white.

These dilapidated weapons were stuck upside down in the Frozen Tundra, swords pointing downwards and spearheads embedded in the earth.

Todd stood at the front of the crowd, his hands hanging at his sides. The gash on his shoulder, torn open by wolf claws, hadn't healed yet, and the night wind blew straight in, making half of his body numb.

His gaze was fixed on the half of the wooden shield in front of him.

The edge of the shield was cracked; it was the mark left by the frontal penetration of the Third Tier Horned Rhino's single horn.

The old cloth wrapped around his hands was already blackened by sweat and blood.

He recognized the shield; it was Kyle's shield.

Footsteps came from the stone steps of the Sacred Flame Altar.

Shien, draped in a dark lord's coat, stepped out of the firelight.

Finally, he stood on the edge of the high platform, scanning the people who were still alive below, and the broken weapons on the Frozen Tundra.

The rustling sound of pages turning was exceptionally clear in the deathly silent square.

"Three thousand one hundred and seventy-three," Shien said calmly. "That's the number of casualties Blackpine Fief suffered during this Blood Moon Season."

The crowd in the square trembled slightly, and many lowered their heads.

Shien's gaze fell on the inverted weapons. "These three thousand one hundred and seventy-three people are all heroes. They died for humanity and for the Sacred Flame."

Their bodies filled the blasted Poison Water Ditch; their bones held back the charge of the elite Ghoul; they died wherever they were needed, ensuring that the Sacred Flame above their heads would not be extinguished.

The wind grew stronger, causing the flame tip of the Sacred Flame Altar to tilt slightly.

"It was because of these 3,173 corpses that this section of the Eternal Night Wall did not continue to collapse."

In the name of Most Holy, they are not only protecting the Kingdom behind them, but also the hope that all of human civilization can continue into tomorrow.

Todd clenched his teeth, feeling as if a wad of parchment was stuck in his throat.

The voices from the high platform fell silent.

Those who died on the battlefield have done their duty; now it's the turn of the survivors to shoulder the burden.

The square was eerily quiet, with only the flickering flame in the brazier breaking the silence.

Shien's gaze slowly swept over each face, his hand resting on the Silver Sword at his waist, his fingers tightening little by little.

"We who are still alive must continue to stand here, on the Eternal Night Wall."

Take up arms for them, defend Blackpine Fief for them, and keep this fire burning for them year after year.

Until one day, the Long Night could no longer swallow our fire.

After he finished speaking, he raised his hand and pointed to the darkness outside the square where the stench of blood had not yet dissipated.

"I will erect a monument in front of the Sacred Flame and engrave these 3,173 names on it."

Those still standing here must also swear an oath before that monument: as long as Blackpine Fief is not completely wiped out, this defensive line will not be retreated.

Shien raised his head slightly, the platinum-gold Sacred Flame illuminating his pale profile.

May the Sacred Flame burn forever.

The moment those five words fell, the shell that Todd had been stubbornly maintaining shattered.

But in that instant, something in his mind suddenly burst forth.

The entire scene of the Blood Moon Season rushed back to me at once.

When he first saw the horde of Ghoul, he trembled so much that he couldn't even hold his spear.

Barris's throat was ripped open by the Throat-Ripper Juvenile, and hot blood sprayed all over his face.

As Captain Kyle was Horned Rhino, he was still shouting, "Hold it back!"

And then there were those countless hours when day and night were indistinguishable, as he mechanically fought his way through the battlefield, stepping on the scraps of his comrades' flesh to fill the trenches.

They played for too long.

It went on for so long that he became numb, so long that he thought he would never cry again.

"May the Sacred Flame burn forever—" Todd repeated hoarsely, his knees slamming heavily onto the Frozen Tundra ground.

He lunged forward, gripping the shattered shield with both hands, his forehead pressed against the rough wood grain. It felt as if the last bone in his body had been removed, and he finally burst into tears.

He thought he wouldn't cry anymore; at first, he only suppressed sobs, but then he couldn't stop anymore, and tears and snot streamed down his face.

Finn, standing next to him, had red eyes and raised his hand to wipe the blood from his face.

He didn't offer any words of comfort, but silently bent down and placed his hand on the edge of the tattered shield.

Then came the second hand, the third hand—

Those who survived the eternal night gathered around, placing their hands next to the relics.

There were no shouts in the square, only heavy breathing, suppressed sobs, and the soft crackling of the burning Sacred Flame.

The firelight fell, illuminating the weapons and the people who were still alive.