Chapter 21: Sensitive Identities

Hearing Nio’s reminder, Eros swung his sword and lunged forward, aiming to sever the head of the dark cultist who was under demonic influence. Yet the man still had some instinctive awareness, and his body had already begun to mutate. As the sword descended, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle; his muscles bulged, and even his sleeve tore apart. Eros’s sharp blade failed to cut through it.

Anxied, Eros raised his sword again and swung it with all his might. Unfortunately, this time he lacked both skill and strength, his strike resembling the frantic scratches of a rough woman. The dark cultist paid him no attention and swung his arm like an iron whip, striking Eros in the chest and abdomen.

At that moment, Nio arrived, kicking Eros in the side, sending him flying and allowing him to narrowly avoid the cultist’s attack.

With a sharp sound, Nio’s sword split the cultist’s head from just above the eyes, the noise akin to metal colliding, even sparking momentarily. Seeing the cultist’s brain, black and shriveled like a walnut kernel, Nio was deeply shocked. His own arm felt numb, and he could barely hold his sword steady.

“I’m sorry!” Eros apologized as he got up. Nio’s kick had been skillful and painful, but it didn’t hinder Eros’s movement much.

Nio smiled slightly. “For safety’s sake, I think we should cut off these dark cultists’ heads.”
“Mm,” Eros replied. Nio’s tone didn’t carry the arrogance of a superior or a strongman, but rather an indescribable calmness and rhythm that made it easy for others to accept his suggestions.

Besides beheading, the two naturally followed the “mercenary convention”: money and minor items went to the battlefield cleaners, but important items had to be handed over.

Noticing that Nio lingered for a while beside the dark cultist he had killed with his sword, searching the body carefully before wrapping its head in a piece of cloth torn from the corpse, Eros asked curiously. Nio explained, “He might have been a magic pharmacist. Handing him over could help track down those dark cultists.”

“Oh! I found three pills sealed in amber—probably transformation potions,” Eros said, handing them to Nio along with three money bags.

Nio only took the potions. “I’m Nio Daknis. You can call me Nio. Let’s go check on your companions.”

Though rumors among people from both the Ode and Kales factions claimed that Frey, from nobles to commoners, reeked of greed, there were still many straightforward and honest people. Nio didn’t take the money bags, and Eros didn’t hesitate either. He introduced himself to Nio, “I’m Eros. My companion is Char. We owe you our lives.”

Char had already woken up from his coma. Hearing Eros’s introduction, he smiled weakly at Nio.

Nio nodded at Char, knelt down to examine his wounds, then looked up at Eros. “We need to find a warmer place to properly treat Char’s wounds.”

Eros sniffed the air. “We have priests and doctors.”
“Good,” Nio said, standing up and stopping Eros from trying to help Char up. “It’s best if he stays lying down. Wait a moment.”

Nio melted into the snowy darkness like a night elf. Before long, he flipped the situation around—using two long pieces of wood to tear apart the dead man’s clothes and create a simple snow sled. The two of them easily dragged the sled carrying Shal to Eros’s temporary hideout.

It was a house on the street, tucked away in a corner and unobtrusive, but with a very large basement. Inside, Nio saw earthen troughs pushed to one side and large pot racks resembling bookshelves. He also recognized several types of still-green light-hating herbs, guessing that this might be someone’s herb cultivation room.

Over 30 people were hiding here, seemingly several families gathered together. They clearly were unaware of the evil blood sacrifice at the center of the square, and it seemed their relatives were all together. Their expressions showed only concern, not sorrow or fear.

“Hello, Nio. Thank you very much for your rescue,” said the leader of these people—a middle-aged man with thick but neatly trimmed beard named Gorton, a lieutenant in Solis’s city guard. Though past his prime as a warrior, he had steady steps, strong arms, and sharp eyes, clearly the result of constant training.

Despite being labeled a “rebel” and “convict,” Nio wasn’t too worried about being exposed. He wasn’t disheveled like he was in Xingtie, and with a clear conscience and confidence in his own demeanor, his gaze was upright, without any hesitation. Even when Gorton said he looked familiar, he simply smiled and said he was a sword fighter.

“No wonder!” Eros looked at Nio with a hint of admiration. Bloody combat sports, though cruel, reflected societal trends—valuing martial prowess and admiring the strong. An excellent gladiator was a pop star of this era, while a sword fighter symbolized the perfect blend of strength, wisdom, and skill, far more beloved than those brute-force muscle men.

Nio’s handsome face, with a touch of wildness and a sense of gravitas, made him very popular. Even two girls gave him admiring glances.

In this world full of crises, tender and tumultuous love was rare. Most expressions of emotion were straightforward, and women’s modesty and shyness were usually just right. Only the wealthy, untroubled men and women would indulge in pretentious so-called romance, accompanied by selfishness and indulgence.

A priest—more precisely, an apprentice priest.

A doctor, who was quite famous in Solis, especially respected by the general public. After all, a priest’s divine magic was an expensive service for ordinary people, often tied to faith.

With a priest and a doctor together, Shal quickly got through the dangerous period. Shal’s aunt, Gorton’s wife, thanked Nio earnestly while he and Gorton discussed the situation outside.

Learning about the outside world, Gorton couldn’t help but feel depressed, yet also relieved. It was then that Nio took out his potions and shared his thoughts.

“If things are as you say, it’s truly terrible!” Gorton’s brows furrowed tightly. The entire city had been plundered, suffering heavy losses, followed by a severe shortage of supplies and soaring prices. Dark cultists hidden among the people were secretly causing chaos, spreading rumors, and inciting unrest… This harsh winter would likely bring unprecedented depression and turmoil to Solth City.

“The past is gone; what matters now is Asia,” interjected Doctor Todd. “If Asia fails to dispatch supplies in time amid Solth’s suffering, riots will be inevitable. But I’ve heard that Asia has been unstable since autumn…”

Sighing inwardly, he thought, “It all comes down to people. Solth’s minerals, the Golden Fields’ grain, Asia’s supply reserves—even if one views things purely from a selfish, profit-driven perspective, the rulers of the alliance should value these issues in these regions highly. Otherwise, it will weaken their strength, dealing a serious blow to the entire alliance’s military power, economic strength, and war potential. Sadly, the mutual obstruction and sabotage among the various factions of the Frey Alliance are well-known throughout Aemera. Especially when times are tough, who would be willing to sacrifice their own interests for the greater good? Perhaps this is precisely why the demons target the Frey Alliance…”

Nio didn’t voice this thought. Many could see the problems, but few could come up with solutions or have the ability to address them. He couldn’t, nor could Gorton. Speaking up would only cause panic and add to the worries.

Just then, the young man responsible for monitoring the outside situation reported urgently that Dark Cultists were approaching, accompanied by hunting dogs.

“Quick! Block all the ventilation shafts and sprinkle kale powder at the entrances!” Gorton stood up and ordered firmly.

By blocking the ventilation shafts with cotton packs, the “life force” wouldn’t leak out. The basement was large enough, so there was no immediate concern about breathing issues. Kale was a cheap herb used to eliminate unpleasant odors in rooms. Its scent, before any special processing, was somewhat pungent and harsh, but it was effective against the keen-scented hunting dogs.

Through the periscope with lenses, Nio observed the enemies outside. Everyone else thought they were brought by the Dark Cultists killed by Nio and Eros, but Nio deduced from their composition that they were targeting him.

“It’s right here!” A Dark Cultist accompanied by a hunting dog pointed confidently at the house where Nio and the others were hiding. The two hunting dogs he brought were Terrestrian hounds with the bloodline of the Hellish Three-Headed Dogs, capable of detecting the scent of living souls. Ordinary pungent odors that affected smell were useless against them.

“Destroy it!” said the Dark Cultist, clearly the leader, in a sinister tone.

Two burly men wearing only loose shorts stepped forward behind the leader. As they walked, their bodies transformed, turning into fierce bearmen over just a few seconds, standing over 3 meters tall.

Fierce animals often referred to those with atavistic traits or “primalization” due to their bloodline. These fierce bearmen also had similar characteristics—scales, fur, rock-like horns, and fangs—looking extremely brutal. The two bearmen charged forward, swinging their fists, and the house was quickly torn apart like paper.

Gordon saw this scene through the periscope, unable to contain his horror. Earlier, Neo and Eros had mentioned the corruption caused by the Dark Cultists, but he hadn’t taken it seriously at the time; now, however, his feelings were completely different, his eyes filled with despair. Gordon turned his gaze toward Neo.
Neo could only barely maintain a calm appearance. “These guys are the true minions of the Dark Forces. All we can do now is hold the entrance firmly. Hopefully, the Frey forces trying to restore Solth City are not only fighting from the south…”