stjorthotic Chapter 193 The Chapter of Dove: Blood on the Sand
Chapter 193 The Chapter of Dove: Blood on the Sand
Chapter 193 The Chapter of Dove: Blood on the Sand
Once upon a time, the homes of nobles in the kingdoms had no gardens, no fountains, no statues, and no so-called "New Kingdom style" ornate decorations.
Only cold stones, a cold castle built, cold men in cold armor, plunging cold swords into burning bodies in the cold wind.
Iron and blood were once the eternal colors of the North.
That era is passing away.
The northern lands already had masters; new territories lay beyond the Shanhaiguan Pass, where war, glory, and rewards awaited. The men of Thuns joined the kingdom's army, bearing the insignia of the Holy Thirteen, spreading the kingdom's northern-accented language to the east of the continent. During the long war, the second son and his illegitimate children found new homes on the Thousand Lakes Plain and the borders of the new kingdom. They forgot the harsh winters of the north, while their children, growing up in the warm southern climate, their pale skin tanned dark, showed no trace of their northern heritage; only their jet-black hair hinted at their origins.
When the last Northern Knight Commander, Duke Thuns, retired due to old age, there was no longer a Northern Commander in the Holy Thirteen Knights.
Some say that the so-called Kingdom of Knights has fallen short of its former glory—besides its reputation for being good at fighting, what is left of the North?
The cold, barren land and sparse population supported a group of old nobles who lived off their ancestors' merits.
The Duke of Thuns was over sixty years old. Like Daphne's father and the head of the Monet family, his generation witnessed the beginning of the Thirty Years' War and the decline of the knights of the kingdoms.
He could not conquer the times, nor could he make the land beneath his feet fertile, nor enrich the wombs of the women of his clan—his own descendants could not succeed him as commander of the Silver Lance Knights, and the old duke could not even raise a son of great talent and ambition.
But there is one thing he can do.
There will never be a garden in the castle in Thuns Park!
Within that castle built of cold stone, the sheriff divided the sunlight for the two duelists. Beneath their feet lay the warm blood of the two young men, on a battlefield steeped in blood since the time of O'Bak.
"I—I dare not look, Albert—" The mistress of the Eaglewood family covered her eyes and leaned against the old knight's chest.
"It will be alright. As I said, this is not a real duel to the death."
The patriarch of the Hawkwood family gave his wife a firm hug, his gaze fixed on Duke Thuns on the platform. The Duke met the old knight's eyes and nodded to him.
Chloe stood silently beside her parents, biting her lip so hard it turned white. The girl stared intently at the two men on the field, her eyes darting between Dove and Augustine's faces.
But in that dueling arena, Dove's gaze was fixed on a deserted spot.
It was a lark, pecking at the scattered ears of wheat on the ground. The crowd gathered not far away seemed to have nothing to do with it.
Its pale gray feathers shimmered in the midday sun, and a great life force throbbed within its small chest.
With a flap of its wings, this lark possessed the entire sky.
And at this moment, it has chosen to stay here.
While Doveennis was lost in thought, a long horn call brought her back to reality.
The priest stood on the high platform, amplified his voice with divine magic, and announced to the crowd: "When this feather falls to the ground, we will entrust our lives to the gods."
"Obak above, the blood of believers is shed for Him. The brave are surely devout, and the devout will surely triumph!"
The priest's words brought Doffin back to her senses. When she turned her head again, the lark was nowhere to be found, and only Augustine remained, standing twenty paces away on the other side of the battlefield.
Traditionally, both men wore only white shirts and no armor. Augustine wore a necklace around his neck, the pendant of which was tucked into his collar.
The man's face was solemn, as if he had an unresolved knot in his heart. He drew his long sword from its scabbard and then threw the scabbard on the ground.
Dove looked at the man in front of her, staring intently at his face: there was something in Augustine's eyes that Dove had never seen before.
He seems very sad? Why is that?
"Sister, you have to win!"
Chloe's voice suddenly broke the silence of the battlefield, and Doffin's thoughts were interrupted by his sister—at that moment, a feather drifted down from the priest's hand.
float.
float.
It felt like an eternity had passed.
The feather fell to the ground.
There was no time to hesitate any longer.
Doveennis frowned, held his sword horizontally, and resolutely walked toward his opponent!
Thrust!
The man took a half step back, parried the woman's thrusting sword with a textbook-perfect posture, and then slashed downwards with his longsword in a semi-circle to counterattack!
While attacking, Dove also maintained his defense without losing his balance. He took a half step back to dodge the slash, then blocked the man's sweeping combo, and with a backhand side slash, he aimed at the man's outstretched wrist!
Despite being taller than Daphne, Augustine was quick on his feet. With a swift movement, he used the cross-handle of his longsword to block the woman's attack. Seeing that he had failed and fearing a counterattack, Daphne immediately retreated. Unexpectedly, the man did not pursue, and the two stopped three steps apart.
Dove seized this opportunity to regain his composure.
In this round of combat, there were no surprises whatsoever. Any trained knight's squire could recite these moves by heart, even more so than in their daily training.
The woman frowned, took a step forward, and thrust at the man's ankle. Augustine met the thrust with his sword, but the woman feinted and then slashed horizontally at his throat!
Augustine remained calm, leaning back slightly to let the blade glide five centimeters from his throat before slashing vertically downwards—a powerful but not fast strike. Dove's earlier slash had been somewhat risky, but even so, there was still enough time to sidestep the man's counterattack.
Frustrated by her two failed attempts, the woman launched a fierce attack on the man from all angles. Augustine, however, remained one with his sword, his skillful maneuvering defusing the woman's deadly threats time and time again.
Each time the man was about to be struck by the sword, he miraculously escaped death, eliciting gasps of surprise from the crowd.
Dove pushed off the ground and thrust at the limit distance. Augustine deflected the blade repeatedly, then slashed in a circular motion, forcing the woman away before assuming a defensive stance.
That's enough!
Dove angrily rebuked Augustine.
"Are you kidding me? You bastard!"
Augustine maintained his composure, leaving the woman no opening. He frowned, his face grim, and after a long pause, he finally uttered half a sentence.
"—You can't beat me. Let's not even talk about the difference in strength and technique. I'm not that greenhorn knight anymore, Dove. I've been to the front lines, I've experienced real battle—you're no match for me."
Taking advantage of the man's moment of speaking, Dove suddenly rushed forward, half-gripping her longsword, and instantly closed the distance between the two!
The crowd gasped!
Augustine hadn't anticipated the woman rushing in for close combat, but he didn't panic. He swung his sword, the woman dodged, and the man used the momentum of the sword to turn it around. He gripped the hilt with one hand and the middle of the blade with the other, assuming a half-grip position like Dove. Then he used the iron ball on the hilt to attack Dove's weapon.
The two men, less than a step apart, swung their swords in a half-grip position to defend themselves. The blades danced in the narrow space, and Augustine used the opportunity of his defense to lock Dove's blade with his cross guard.
"Oh!!!"
Dove was no match for the man's strength. Their weapons were locked together, and they couldn't break free. While their upper bodies were locked in a stalemate, the woman twisted her hips, and her straight legs lashed at the man's calves like whips.
Snapped!Snapped!
Two precise whip kicks struck the same spot, like an axe chopping down a tree. Augustine's calf instantly bruised. Unable to bear the pain, the man broke free from the entangled blade and shoved the woman away.
"You—such a stupid attack is useless on the battlefield! Do you want to break your own ankle while kicking through armor?!" the man roared angrily. After suffering a bit of pain, his temper was ignited, and he was no longer the sullen man he once was.
"Stop talking nonsense. Without that armor, you can't fight? And you say you've been on the battlefield? That's all bragging!"
""
Having said that, the woman glared angrily, a heroic spirit emanating from her eyes, and charged forward again—Augustin finally didn't hold back, raising his hand like lightning to strike upwards, aiming straight for the woman's lower abdomen. Dove reacted quickly, stopping his attack halfway and instead blocking.
Clang! Swords clashed, sparks flew.
"Obak above! I can't stand it anymore!" Doffin's mother buried her head in her husband's chest.
The old knight's face was grave as he watched the situation unfold with tense tension. The people couldn't hear the conversation between the two fighters; they only saw the battle intensifying, the flashing of swords and the clash of blades.
After several rounds of back-and-forth between Dove and Augustine, the woman realized she was at a disadvantage, took two steps back, adopted a defensive stance, and waited for the man to attack.
Her chest heaved violently, and sweat streamed down her long neck, soaking into her collar.
Augustine unexpectedly appeared more exhausted than the woman. He wiped the sweat from his brow and shook his head, as if trying to shake the headache away.
"Don't force me, Dove, I don't want to hurt you."
"This was a fight to the death, have you forgotten?" Dove said breathlessly to the man, his words flowing rapidly due to his emotions. "I will kill you without hesitation, you bastard."
"You have no idea what you're talking about, Dove. You've never been to the battlefield, you don't know—"
"Stop talking! So what if you go to the battlefield! How long are you going to flaunt your knighthood?!"
Enraged by the man's words, Dove rushed forward and attacked him again. The two exchanged blows, switched positions, and faced each other again.
"I really don't want to kill you, Dove, don't force me!"
The man gritted his teeth and growled.
"Kill me! Only one of us can leave this place! This is a battlefield! Didn't you think of this when you agreed to the duel? Kill me!!"
"I've already killed you once!"
Dove frowned slightly, a look of confusion on his face.
"In the Battle of Silverwater—I—I encountered a centurion of the Empire, we struggled in the mud, fought until we lost our swords—I stripped off her helmet, her eyes—her eyes looked just like yours—Doffin. Gray-blue eyes, looking at me with the fear of a fawn—"
Augustine's hand holding the sword trembled. This was an opening, but Doffin remained rooted to the spot, showing no intention of launching a surprise attack.
"—In that instant, my heart softened, but that Imperial man used that opportunity to plunge a hidden dagger into my side—Yes, Doffin, you're right, this is the battlefield, it's either you die or I live. I smashed her face with a stone, again and again, those grey-blue eyes—"
Dove looked at the man in front of her, unsure of what to say—in that instant, she regretted it—
-
The.
One's ridiculous self-esteem is worthless in the face of real trauma.
"I don't want you to go through any of this, Daphne Ennis. I don't want to one day find a mangled corpse in a mass grave and have to comfort myself by saying, 'Maybe that wasn't you'—war isn't a fairy tale, knights aren't dragon-slaying heroes, and things aren't as idyllic as they say. I'll fight alone, and that's enough. I'll protect you. I'll protect you, and our child—if you're willing."
The woman lowered her head and did not react; the sword in her hand lowered slightly.
The world became so quiet, as if all the spectators had vanished. Duke Thuns, the priest, Doffin's parents, even Chloe—in the young knight's eyes, they had all disappeared, leaving only himself and the silent girl before him.
"Dove————"
Augustine took a deep breath, lowered his sword, and took a step forward.
Dove did not respond.
Augustine took another step, bringing the two of them within a single step of each other; he could almost embrace Dove.
The woman raised her longsword, its blade aimed at the man's chest, preventing him from taking another step.
"It's not that simple."
""
"Do you think I haven't thought about it?" the woman said, her head lowered, her face hidden in the shadows, making it impossible to see her expression.
"On the afternoon you left Thuns, you told me to marry you."
"You may just be saying it casually, but that sentence has been lingering in my mind—do you think I haven't thought about it? Lay down your sword, become a pampered noblewoman, hopelessly vulgar—I admire you, Augustine, I even—I don't know if this counts as love, perhaps love isn't important to our family. But I have truly thought that if I can't fight alongside you on the battlefield, I could become your wife—fulfilling the duties of the eldest daughter of the family, being your strong support, like a mother and father."
"But it's not that simple."
"It's not that I should willingly give up just because you feel there's no place for me on the battlefield. Like you, I've staked my entire life on becoming a knight. This decision isn't up to you, nor is it up to my father—it's up to me to make."
"But the battlefield is not a place for women, and no amount of hard work can make up for a woman's innate disadvantages—if that imperial centurion had been a man, with more strength, I would be the one who died in the mud!"
"I am not her, and you are not me—I don't care about men or women, I only care about myself." Dove suddenly raised her head, her grey-blue irises burning fiercely. "I want to be the Rose Knight. I don't care what other women do; this is my dream. If you think I can't do it, then prove me right!"
"Give me your full strength, Augustine. We grew up together, and I at least deserve this last bit of respect from you! Crush me, defeat me mercilessly, leave me no chance whatsoever, and then you'll have the right to tell me, 'Doffin, you're no good! You can't be the Rose Knight; you're just asking for death on the battlefield!'"
"Only then will I willingly marry you, bear your children, and from this day forward, I will never even lift a sword! Do you understand, Augustine?!"
After saying this, Dove swung his sword at the man without any mercy. Augustine reacted instantly, grabbing his sword to block and then taking a step back.
Their eyes met, and they finally understood each other.
"Alright—then I won't stand on ceremony, Doveennis-Hawkwood."
"It should have been done long ago, Augustine-Monet."
"Haha!"
"kill!"
One round.
Two rounds.
Fifteen rounds.
The entire audience held their breath, all eyes fixed on the two combatants. Only the old knight Albert watched Duke Thuns.
The Duke watched the fight between the two with bated breath. More than ten minutes passed, and neither of them was injured, nor could it be determined that one of them had the upper hand. On the surface, the young Dove was slightly at a disadvantage, but he was fighting desperately. Although Augustine could suppress the girl, he seemed to be running out of energy and did not gain any advantage.
Both men were exhausted. Augustine's face was ashen and he was struggling to breathe, while the woman was even more breathless, her clothes soaked with sweat.
This was the decisive blow—they couldn't afford to delay any longer. The two men made the decision simultaneously.
Dove made the first move, feinting to the left before thrusting down!
The man used all his strength to flip over and dodge Dove's attack. He saw a small but noticeable opening in the woman's defense.
"ah!"
Dove watched the blade hurtle toward her face, and with her last ounce of strength, she dodged to the side, then countered with an upward thrust of her weapon, her body moving like an arrow trembling in the air—a movement she had practiced countless times, it had become part of her muscle memory. Augustine, too, had parried countless times—in ten thousand rehearsals, neither of them could injure the other.
However, Dove was exhausted and slowed down by a fraction.
The two people passed each other in mid-air.
Dove felt a chill on the side of her neck. She touched the area above her collarbone and saw warm liquid gushing out from a wound about the length of a finger.
I... I lost.
Dove felt a pang of unease, yet also a strange sense of relief.
Yeah, how could I possibly win?
From the stands, the old knight Albert, seeing his daughter bleeding, roared at the Duke, "Stop! Stop this duel! The outcome is decided!"
However, Duke Thuns did not move. His face was filled with shock as he stood frozen in place.
"Stop right now!"
Albert suddenly realized that in the huge castle, he was the only one speaking; everyone else, like Duke Thuns, was stunned in place.
Countless eyes were fixed on the center of the battlefield.
Dove looked at the dark red blood on his fingers and smiled.
"Augustine—you have won."
She turned to look at her fiancé, and in that instant, she accepted her fate with equanimity.
However, the smile on the girl's face froze.
The twenty-one-year-old Silver Lance Knight Augustus knelt on the ground, his right hand supporting himself on the longsword stuck in the ground, his left hand covering his throat, red liquid gushing from his fingertips.
His throat was slashed five centimeters deep, his trachea and arteries were severed, and blood bubbles burst on the surface of the wound along with the air from his lungs.
"Cough—hiccup—"
"—Augustine?"
The young knight raised his head, took one last look at the girl with his last strength, and then pulled his longsword from his hand.
The necklace he wore around his neck was cut off, the pendant slipped from his fingers, and the barely glued rose emblem fell into the pool of blood, where it was submerged by the flowing blood.
The man collapsed to the ground, twitched once, and then stopped breathing.
Dove stared in disbelief at the dead Augustine, then lowered his head, his eyes glancing at the blood flowing down his sword.
Yes, Augustine couldn't withstand her own counterattack. With a single, fatal blow to his throat, she killed him.
She won.
And she lost everything.
The man's curses, the woman's wails—the girl named Chloe was cursing her with the most hurtful language in the world.
No one declared victory for anyone. The priest rushed onto the battlefield, using all his healing magic to save the knight's life—but no magic could reverse life and death. He needed a miracle, but no miracle occurred.
"His blood—his blood has turned black, it's poison—" the priest murmured.
Duke Thuns covered the priest's mouth and gave him a chilling look.
"This matter is not over, Duke," said the head of the Monet family, then turned sternly to Albert and said, "You have something to explain, Sir Albert."
It all happened so fast that Dove didn't remember what happened afterward. Day passed and night fell, and the girl's memories of the following days were a blur.
The last scene she remembered was her father's face looking at her from outside the carriage.
Tears streamed down his face.
"I'm sorry—Dove, my child, it's all my fault—"
"The Monet family discovered everything—it's not your fault, but I can't destroy both of you at the same time—"
I'm sorry, but you must leave and never come back.
"Don't forgive me, my child, I don't deserve your forgiveness. But remember, Dad loves you, and Mom loves you too—"
Doffin simply stared blankly at her father and nodded. She seemed indifferent to what had happened to her, as if she too had died with the knight at noon in Thuns.
As the carriage slowly left the town, the eighteen-year-old girl saw a lark fall from the sky and disappear into the horizon.
That was Dove Ennis's last memory of his hometown.