I have only one duty.

Van Cleef swung his sword slowly, the motor roared, and the sawtooth kissed someone's neck affectionately, and flesh splattered, and the bone slag that had been finely chopped by the monomolecular saw blade burst out of the center of the chainsaw sword, creating a terrifying rain curtain along with the blood.

Six explosive bombs whizzed and shattered the man-made cruelty of the sight, heading straight for his head, but none of them hit. Van Cleef dodged without looking, grabbed the unmutilated corpse and pulled him to his chest.

The chainsaw sword burst out of his chest in the next moment, and a wave of violence and torture began to surge. The cultist, who was not yet dead, suddenly began to mutate, and the chaotic eight-pointed star in his flesh was brightening, but only for a moment, because Van Cleef had completely dismembered him before he could do so.

At the same time, the blessed son of one of the Bearers struck him from behind, the wind was like ice, and the blade whistled and slashed over his head. Van Cleef stepped back without looking back, and slammed into the arms of the blessed son, disrupting the pace of his attack.

He spun the chainsaw sword with one hand and slashed from front to back. The enemy began to roar, and his voice was full of pain.

Ordinary physical damage was naturally not enough for him to get such terrible pain, or even to roar. However, the coincidence is that Van Cleef happens to be quite talented at torturing his enemies.

Long ago, he understood how to inflict pain and despair on his enemies in battle. And now, along with him, this ability has also undergone a certain unspeakable change.

"There is no point in your fighting, resist me, or not resist me-"

Van Cleef turned slowly, looking at the pair of eyes mixed with madness, at the soul that was entangled with demons, rushing into the abyss of depravity. They saw him, too, but it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough to just 'see'.

You need to experience more.

He drew his sword, spun his wrist, and swung his sword again, an understatement, but very brutal. He cut the blessed son from his left shoulder, like a butcher who slaughters an animal.

The corrupted and depraved shell was whined in half with the roar of the chainsaw sword, and the entrails splattered to the ground and fell into the pile of corpses steaming, and the blood splattered like a solidified gelatinous object, like a falling star.

Their scarlet color gave the eyes of the dead that loomed between the black entrails and the corpses a seductive hue that almost appealed.

Want to try it?

Van Cleef crushed them with his foot, then made up for a kick that kicked the blessed son, who was still suffering in pain.

With just one action, the smoke and dust brought up by the battle were shattered by extreme speed. The thick fog dissipated, and a long line of scarlet eyepieces loomed in it, and the lightning lines on the yin-blue armor were extremely bright, and there was no intention of extinguishing them at all.

And his voice finally came again.

"—Actually, it doesn't make a difference."

Van Cleef began to walk slowly, darkness spreading from under his claysteel boots, and the fog was still thickening. His posture was rather peculiar, he straightened his back, held the sword in one hand, and the chainsaw sword hung low at his feet. Every step is slow, every step is resolute.

There was a scream from the sky, and a group of demons with bat-winged rays rushed down, fangs slowly emerging from their gaping mouths, squeezed out with their long, sticky tongues, and human eyes staring blankly at their targets.

Van Cleef glanced up at them, then calmly withdrew his gaze, not paying any extra attention, as if these dangerous demons were just a harmless puff of smoke.

And the truth is that this group of demons had just staged a brutal scene of biting through the pottery steel and devouring flesh and blood, and at the same time, the priest of the Whisperer in the enemy formation, who was manipulating them with evil spells, suddenly screamed, and his body began to tremble violently.

Pitch-black muddy flesh erupted from the cracks in his armor that had begun to mutate in a thousandth of a second, splattering to the ground, the heat scorching the depraved armor, the steam rising, and the faces of the victims looming in it.

Van Cleef stopped, took off his helmet, and strapped it on the belt. He blinked, and the slender eyes on his towering cheekbones suddenly began to change color, and two flames of rage ignited in a flash, igniting his eyes in an instant.

Above him, the bat-winged demons began to tremble, turning into burning ashes in an instant.

"First of all, it's not a personal vendetta." Van Cleef slowly raised his sword. "Secondly, I want you to understand one thing."

He smiled.

"In the name of the Lord of the Blades, death is only the beginning."

He didn't break his promise, and the killing lasted a total of fifteen minutes, purely on his own behalf. The ancient ritual had now become an instinct that was so deep in his bones that even if he didn't want to, his instinct would precede him in making that choice.

If you stay away from Terra, you may be able to control it. But he's in Terra now. His god is here.

Van Cleef raised his hand to put on his helmet and left the killing field. Like a shadow that could be discrete at any moment, he swept past the devastated dark ruins.

He was alone, with no communications, but that was exactly what he wanted.

In general, though, Van Cleef never advocated any outliers, solo actions, or individual heroism.

And, even if you don't use the old cliché of the Terra, in today's Nightblade, the beastly habits from Nostramo have infiltrated all aspects up and down. Even a new recruit will spontaneously learn how to fit in in with the group in such an environment.

They weren't wolves, they were another dangerous pack of beasts of prey, equally keen on hunting, so he shouldn't have been acting alone like he was now, he was supposed to be with his first company.

However, I only have one duty now. Van Cleef smiled regretfully.

The world shattered at his feet, then healed again. The forces of chaos instinctively echoed his movements, and each seemingly simple step actually distorted space, crumpling the already unstable structure into a crumpled piece of paper.

Van Cleef was the only bit of ink on the blank paper, his movements seemingly completely random, following the marks of the crumpled man. He knew this, but he still felt uncomfortable.

In the past, in the real universe he was familiar with, it was impossible to do such a thing, even in front of the gods, he had to pay a certain price.

Their real universe used to be so impregnable in the past, with science and reason pervading every corner of the empire, even if it was a religion, it was a religion of progress.

But now?

The stable structure has crumbled, and the curtain of reality has been torn apart by the evil gods of chaos themselves. Don't say that Terra at this moment, even the entire solar system, is now in a precarious situation.

With a single push, this ancient galaxy of human origin would become a nightmare of sorts, and it would be absolutely unbearable for humanity and the Empire.

Van Cleef slowly stopped.

The darkness bowed down at his feet, not for himself, but for the favor he received. It was even more upset for him to realize this, but it didn't matter, because the person he wanted to see had already arrived.

A company commander left the darkness and quietly appeared behind the man. The latter was not aware of his arrival at first, and remained vigilant with his gun, and it was not until Van Cleef made a deliberate gesture that he realized what was going on.

Then, with a dangerous buzzing sound, the man turned around with his gun, and the muzzle of the gun had already begun to warm up with a dangerous energy glow.

Van Cleef pressed his palm gently against the muzzle, and his sharp five fingers gently struck the barrel, sending out a slightly dull echo.

"I think it's better not to waste ammunition." Van Cleef kindly reminded. "What do you think, Sir Luther?"

The old knight sighed, released the trigger, pulled the gun back again, and hung it on his shoulder: "Actually, there is no so-called ammunition problem with this gun. It emits after condensation. Uh, air? ”

"The private collection of the Palm Sealer?"

"Perhaps it should be called some kind of technological relic that has been excavated and salvaged from the Lost Era." Luther shrugged. "Anyway, it's not the first time he's thrown these things at me and let me try them first, didn't that scholar named Rand still complain about it?"

Van Cleef laughed, took off his helmet, and nodded to Luther. He's always been an old-fashioned guy, and something is deeply engraved in his bones, even if it's already been. If it becomes like this, it will not be easily eliminated.

"Anyway, let's get the timing right." Luthor said.

He raised his hand and took out a pocket watch from under his cloak. It had a pale gold casing and silver hands, but the places where the numbers should have been engraved were completely blank.

Van Cleef reached for the clock, and Luther magically pulled another piece from under his cloak, and they looked at each other, pressing a secret button somewhere on the right side of the watch at the same time.

With a soft click, the hour, minute and second hands begin to move, but the numerals remain unrevealed. The clock face is still a pure blank space, but if you look closely, you will see that it is not a blank space, but nothingness.

"Thirteen hours," Luthor said, staring intently at his pocket watch. "We've got thirteen hours to do everything, Van Clive. If I had known that, maybe I should have told Leon that I had other things to do. ”

"Didn't Lord Leon say anything about your unauthorized departure?" Van Cleef put away his pocket watch and asked with a smile.

"He wanted to say something." Luthor shook his head thoughtfully. "But Mistress Ruth probably reminded him of something."

Van Cleef sighed.

"Death doesn't mean the end." Luthor put away his pocket watch and glanced up at him. "You're probably the one of us who knows the most about that, Van Cleef."

"It's not the same thing." The company commander replied in a low voice. "Even if you die in vain, as long as the grudge is appeased, you can sleep peacefully. The original body is different, even if they die, they will never be able to enjoy any peace. ”

"yes." The Calibans said in the same low voice. "Like everyone who died in this era, Van Cleef."

"Essentially, we're all just exhausted, driven to work by forces above us – the only difference is that the demons think they're free, and we know we're not."

"But we happen to be truly free because of this." Van Cleef bowed solemnly. "At the same time, we will also save more people from slavery."

Luther silently raised his hands and made an Aquila salute. Van Cleef returned the salute and fled into the darkness again.

The watch was shining faintly on his belt, and a heat that wasn't supposed to exist was emanating from its surface. He silently counted its clicks, trying to pick up some possible information from the delicate mechanics.

Machado is a man who has a knack for white space, and he will occasionally leave some information on a mission for you to discover for yourself.

It's a pleasant mysticism, because the palm seal is not like the emperor. It's hard to communicate, and it's not as easy to communicate as Carlil Lohals.

He's a clever middle-of-the-road, and Van Cleef isn't sure if it's a deliberate external choice on the part of the hand-holder, but he definitely admires Machado's hard work and dedication.

But, Machado, how can our stormy empire survive? Van Cleef couldn't help but ask himself.

In the darkness, he rushes to another corner of Terra and comes up with an answer with the click of a stopwatch.

There is only sacrifice.

You have to be determined and concentrate your full attention. You have to survive every step that follows, like pain, like bloodshed, like death.

The voice of the Palm Seal slowly emanated from the stopwatch, and his delightful mysticism was once again cracked, and Van Cleef was rewarded with his reward. These words made a smile appear on the corners of his mouth, but they also made him feel pain.

The darkness receded, and he returned to Terra again. And this time, the crumpled white paper he walked on had changed dramatically.

The ruins were rebuilt, the corpses were dragged away, and they should have been extinguished, but for some reason the sun that had burned again for a full 10,000 years steadily shone into the sky and straight to the ground. The roar of motorcycles was heard not far away, and Van Cleef turned his head to see the backs of several gold-armored guards gradually disappearing.

It wasn't until they were completely away that the company leader withdrew his gaze and looked at the man standing in front of him.

"Casidorius del Kunas?" He asked.

The man took a deep breath, nodded, and raised the gun in his hand again.

"What do you need me to do, sir?"

"First of all, you don't need to use honorifics." Van Cleef said to him. "Also, let me see it."

Casidorius did as he was told. He lowered his gun and fished out a gem from his chest. Its surface was crystal clear, reflecting the eyes of both of them, one dark brown, the other burning scarlet, and fluttering in pitch black.

"Good." Van Cleef nodded. "Do you know what we're going to do?"

"I know." The last descendant of House Delkunas smiled and raised his gun again. "We're going to go back 10,000 years, the palm sealers told me."

Van Cleef smiled slightly: "You, like your ancestors, are very courageous. ”

"My ancestors?"

"Yes, your ancestor Navarro del Kunas, a brave ronin trader"

Van Cleef explained softly, but his face began to slowly shatter in such patient whispers, cracking countless lines like broken ceramics, and white ashes hung upside down from the cracks, gradually drifting into the sky.

There is one more chapter

(End of chapter)