Knights and Magic Wand
Chapter 596 - 596 281 Dawn Breaks Part 1 Asking for monthly tickets at the beginning of the month

596: Chapter 281 Dawn Breaks Part 1 (Asking for monthly tickets at the beginning of the month) 596: Chapter 281 Dawn Breaks Part 1 (Asking for monthly tickets at the beginning of the month) The crimson hue slowly gathers within the eyes, and memories of the past escape from thousands of hideous cries, re-emerging in the depths of the soul.

“…You’re still alive…

Ah Qi.” Those five fingers gripping the neck gradually relaxed, and the voice once filled with hatred surprisingly softened.

Hearing the creature’s hoarse voice utter his childhood nickname, Azeryan’s struggle instantly froze.

“No!” The noble’s son widened his eyes incredulously, “It’s impossible…!!” Sensing the force on his throat no longer restraining him, Azeryan kicked hard against the opponent and broke free.

He flipped over and fell onto the balcony, using his hands and feet to flee from the entity beside him, staggering back, looking at the bloodthirsty monster that had killed his Sealing Lord and countless warrior comrades.

“You can’t be him!!” Azeryan murmured in shock, stepping back repeatedly.

A familiar standard long sword flashed in his mind, held by the Blood Mist Knights.

Under the moonlight spilled on the balcony, the high crest of the terrifying battle helmet receded like melted snow, Charlemagne’s pallid face appeared before Azeryan.

“…Father.”

Seeing the face of a beloved family member that had appeared in his dreams countless times, the young man clenched his teeth, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes: “…Who did this…

Who turned you into this…”

His voice, filled with anger and sadness, trembled.

However, the body with Blood Eyes seemed deaf to it, only probing forward, attempting to approach the lost and found blood relative.

“…He betrayed you…

associated with patricides…

walked with sinners…

Correct his mistakes…

bring him…

let your child…

return to your side…

this time…

you won’t be separated again…”

The serpent hiss “remnant thoughts” whispered in his ear, deeply piercing Charlemagne’s soul.

Countless grievances in his mind simultaneously tormented his consciousness.

Memories blurred continuously, the right hand clutching the demon sword trembled slightly, blood threads wrapped around his arm.

“…Kill him…Kill him…Kill him…

…Kill him…Kill him…Kill him…Kill him…”

Millions of murderous intentions tangled with calls like a nightmare, showcasing each atrocity experienced by the Rolannar Undead, persistently provoking the remnants of the deceased’s reason, brutality, anger, sadness, fear…

intertwined.

“Shut up!!!!!!”

The Blood Armor Baron struggled and roared skyward, a magical power storm stirred with rolling airwaves, shaking the heavens and earth, the charred floor beneath cracked like a spider web, exploding, and massive bricks fell from the hall’s fissures toward the fortress’s lower level.

The gale cutting like a knife forced Azeryan to cover his face; his body was instantly blown away, crashing deeply into the stone wall.

The Dwarf Armor crumbled, mitigating significant force, yet the blow to the back of his head left Azeryan nearly faint.

Blood light refilled Charlemagne’s eyes.

With a crimson flash, he pressed down on the youth’s neck before him.

As the blood-charged demon sword rose, it was about to pierce through the only living relative.

However, every inch the advancing sword edge moved in his hand was as if it faced a force resolutely resisting.

“…For nought gave you power for vengeance…

mortal…

Listen to your beloved’s final wails…

hear her pain…

You did not see her end…

I will let you know everything…”

In the blood-colored fierce eyes, scenes of the wife being abused and killed flashed.

Beside him, the “beloved” directed a vicious question at him.

The soul resisted, Charlemagne roared red-eyed, angrily questioning his only son before him: “Why are you here!…

Why are you protecting the sinners who insulted and killed your mother, destroyed our home!

Answer me—Ah Qi!!”

The hollow roar seemed monstrous from the abyss.

“…It’s you, Father, who is with those who killed you and Mother…

I am protecting my friends, protecting the innocents, not disgracing the honor of Flarrell…”

Azeryan clutched his father’s wrist tightly, showing a bloody smile amidst agony, yet still revealing calm and comfort in his eyes:

“…As for Mother, she wasn’t humiliated and tortured…

I used myself and treasures to deceive those thugs, hid Mother’s self-poised remains, please rest in peace…

Father.”

In an instant, a soul-piercing heartache surged into Charlemagne’s mind through countless noises.

The fragmented vision of his wife’s resentful illusion shattered, and his sight cleared to reveal Azeryan’s face once more.

“…What…what am I doing…!” Consciousness clashed with endless whispers, Charlemagne’s blood-red eyes trembled, releasing his son, retreating in a daze.

A blood-red phantom loomed once more, shadowing Charlemagne as he clawed at his own face with dragon-like hand armor.

His handsome visage instantly became a bloody mess, yet the horrifying lacerations appeared to heal almost as quickly as he inflicted them.

“—Ahhh!!!”

The bloody Baron screamed in agony from the pain within his soul, and with his last shred of sanity, he turned into a mist of blood, surging out of the fortress like a dense smoke into the sky——

A vast crimson hue, like a giant pair of red mist dragon wings, whisked the struggling, fleeing Charlemagne through the night sky with unimaginable speed.

Enduring intense pain, Azeryan struggled to free his limbs from the indentation in the stone wall, collapsing heavily onto the sunken floor.

He struggled to get up, peering through the night from the balcony, gazing deeply in the direction where his father had disappeared.

He had envisioned the worst-case scenario, where his parents’ corpses were desecrated by undead magic, but never anticipated that his kin would become the leader of foes threatening the living…

What should he do?

He didn’t know…

Azeryan, bearing confusion and sorrow, drew his sword to support his weakened body, turning to leave the seemingly collapsing fortress dining room.

In the darkness, he supported himself against the corridor wall, staggering towards the stairs leading down.

After only a few steps, he vaguely heard the sounds of battle cries not far off.

Ahead, firelight flickered, and Azeryan quickened his pace, trying to call for help.

Meanwhile, a faint chilling wind blew upon him, startling him into raising his sword defensively.

Zap!

A sharp sound echoed, as another exceptionally sharp blade pierced through the darkness, cleanly and swiftly striking the heart of the banshee.

With a flash of brilliance, the treasured sword was swiftly retracted, followed by a first stroke that beheaded, and a second stroke that sliced through the waist, executed with graceful fluidity.

As the banshee’s body shattered and collapsed, a female knight, blood-splattered but still clad in chain armor, emerged.

Agatha, looking at the disheveled young knight before her, breathed a sigh of relief: “Thankfully, you didn’t perish at the hands of that monster.”

Upon hearing this, Azeryan’s heart churned with mixed emotions.

He nodded in gratitude to the female knight, following her lead to join the others: “Thank you for rescuing me, Sir Agatha.”

“You saved my life, I owe you nothing.” The Princess Guard, gripping the Thorny Blade with her left hand, flicked off the blood and called out urgently: “Quickly, come over here, Sir Flare is here!”

Several torches rapidly approached, and Azeryan saw Knight Corinth, battered and bruised, finish the battle, leading Avalon’s attendants and warriors to hurry over.

Cavin had come, prepared to die while rescuing, and upon seeing the steward miraculously survive against the terrifying monster, felt his heart finally settle.

“Where are the others?” Azeryan asked hopefully, scanning the surroundings and noticing many familiar faces were missing.

Upon hearing Azeryan’s query, Corinth’s face displayed uncontainable sorrow: “Caven and Ryan… have died gloriously, and the family knights have led Lord David to retreat down another street.

My Lord, we must also leave quickly, Lord Ron is leading the Shatai Group in the rear, distracting those vampire monsters hostile to the Kantadar people, we must hurry to the suspension bridge on the fortress’ west side to escape back to the city wall.”

Azeryan’s heart darkened.

He was well aware of the fate that awaited the Shatai mercenaries who chose to cover the retreat of the defeated army…

…

Marching through Itherlin Valley, crossing onto the open plains, Leon no longer feared potential ambushes, commanding the entire army to march day and night.

In the south of the valley bottom, they encountered an ambush of several thousand Rolannar Undead, and through a bloody battle that cost many warriors’ lives, finally exterminated this eerie and formidable enemy, though they won the victory, Leon’s anxiety grew stronger.

The speed of these undead troops surpassed the previous Corpse Ghost Army by far, not even bringing the Soul Bell Corpse Wagon, yet actively invading the area beyond the ominous clouds.

Leon had a premonition that with such actions, the current Kilmerton Fortress might also be facing a similar enormous threat.

Under the stars and moon, on horseback, Leon glanced sideways at the reticent Lokhak, believing him still preoccupied with the curses uttered by the ‘vampire’ knights and banshees before they were vanquished.

Though legends of vampire monsters existed in this world, the concept of a fully-formed vampire did not, and the name was a term Leon coined in the present for those strange undead based on similar existences from a past life.

Leon could only console his brother: “Don’t take their irrational hatred to heart, the wandering souls brought back to life are being used by the enemy.

If they truly had vengeance and reason, their primary targets should be the direct perpetrators of the Rolannar massacre, the Undead Army transformed by the Kantadar East Expedition Army, and the enemies pulling the strings behind them.