Chapter 212: Sallowed Hands, Hallowed Grounds (2).

The interior of the Red House was much like an enormous mausoleum with hundreds of smaller chambers and much larger ones fixed into a large U-shaped building.

To the left was the medical and testing wing filled with dozens of testing areas and containment facilities. Then, there was the right wing filled with resting chambers. However, they were mostly unoccupied with most of the Templars moving between cities, rarely ever putting their heads down.

There were four more garrisons within the city, one located at the western edge and the other at the eastern edge, with one at the northern gate, and another at the southern gate.

Despite these, according to Lyon, they were severely “understaffed”.

This was due to the growing need for Templars to scour Malady’s Garden and cut down against the growing population of Abominations.

Most of the resources gathered from slaying the wild Abominations were funneled straight into the capital where they were put to good use. What that meant, was that the nearby cities like Liedenstorm usually suffered a case of scarcity.

Nero frowned as these thoughts filtered through his mind.

Things certainly weren’t rosy, that was for sure.

It had been a few days since he entered into Liedenstorm and yet, without seeing the city for himself, he could already taste the despair on the wind.

It was bitter like bile and stank of human corruption.

But that was just besides the point.

Nero noticed the familiarity in the chosen corridor path. His body tensed up. They were back in the indoors arena.

The familiar sandy covered floor made him grimace unwittingly.

He clenched his fists and turned his gaze upward.

Then he froze in shock.

Since Lyon had given him a heads-up, he had expected to see Sergeant Vane standing before him in his fullest, garbed in the terrifying, awe-inspiring Blizter Armor. But what greeted him was not a mountain of crimson steel.

Instead, he was welcomed by a mountain of a man with a stern expression, and an even sterner mustache and beard.

Nero’s lips trembled,

“That… Who is that?”

Lyon chuckled,

“That is Sergeant Vane, of course, without the armor.”

Nero turned to Lyon with a strange expression, “You didn’t tell me he was…”

Lyon raised a brow, “Didn’t tell you he was old? Decrepit? A relic of the times?”

Nero said nothing.

Lyon shook his head,

“The sergeant has been in active duty for over thirty years. An injury ten years ago stopped him from rising to the rank of Captain. But he is still a ferocious old beast. Underestimating him is placing your head right beneath his fangs.”

Nero felt his breathing stall. Indeed, just staring into the eyes of Sergeant Vane was like staring at the eyes of a seasoned hunter— an act that made the fear in his bowels rise to the surface.

“You’ve brought the kid.” Although Nero couldn’t see his mouth behind the luscious tufts of facial hair, he could hear his voice very clearly.

Lyon nodded, “I’ll leave him in your hands, Sergeant. Try not to go too far. The Commander still needs him.”

Sergeant Vane huffed,

“Kids nowadays all want to be pampered and soft handed. Back in my days, we had to crawl through the Fields of Skulls with no boots or gloves to shield our limbs from the bite of the fallen. And that was just for the preliminary trainings.”

Nero looked to Lyon for help, but the man only offered him a flimsy smile of comfort.

“If that is all, then I will be on my way. Nero… Good luck.”

With that, Lyon quickly turned around and left.

Nero gulped hard then turned his gaze to stare up at the enormous man.

“Straighten your back, boy!” The thunderous voice of the Sergeant sent a jolt down his spine, subconsciously making him straighten his posture.

The Sergeant walked up until his nose was to his chest,

“From now on, if I say bark, you bark. If I say crawl, you crawl. The only words out of your mouth are “Yes” and “Yes, sir!”. Is that clear?”

Nero’s response was immediate, “Yes, sir!”

Sergeant Vane nodded,

“Good. Then, let’s see what you can do.”

The indoor arena was wide, surrounded by circular rings and stands from which an audience could watch the battles.

Today, there was no audience to watch. The arena had a few racks with weapons of dark steel hanging on them.

Sergeant Vane walked up to one of the racks and pulled out two long swords.

His worst flicked and one of the swords shot forward as fast as an arrow throwing the air right at Nero.

Nero’s eyes widened and he reflexively reached out an arm, grasping the hilt midair.

“Your skill with the blade is subpar. As iron sharpens iron, I will sharpen you.”

Nero frowned.

Then he stabbed the blade into the ground.

Vane’s eyes widened in surprise as Nero walked over to the weapons rack and picked out a long spear.

Nero felt the comfortable grip in his hand and smirked. While he did know how to use the sword, a spear like Gungnir felt much more comfortable.

He twirled the spear stylishly and pointed the spearhead at the Sergeant’s throat,

“I’m more comfortable with this.”

Sergeant Vane chuckled darkly,

“Well done, boy! I like your arrogance! But you better be able to back it up.”

Nero clenched his fists around the spear.

Was he confident in beating the old cog? Of course not.

However, he was certain he could give him a fight for certain.

He had traversed the hard wilderness and had but the edge of his spear and his sword to the test in the furnace of blood and suffering.

Having his efforts shamed, especially when they were efforts made on the verge of life and death filled him with rage.

The old Templar took up a stance. The heavy longsword in his grip smeed to tremble slightly.

Nero felt his body tense and his eyes suddenly took on a golden glare as his focus intensified.

And then, suddenly…

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