Chapter 122: Chapter 122: Dawn’s Echo on the Brink of Purification

​Dawn in Lamping Village usually began with the melodious, rhythmic crowing of the Gallus-Aureum and the intoxicating aroma of dew soaking the Manaferum wheat fields. It was a time of rebirth, a daily reminder of the land’s fertility. But this morning, that sacred silence was shattered by a sound far heavier and more ominous—the synchronized, rhythmic thud of thousands of metal-shod boots striking the earth with the weight of a mountain.

​Dayat stood in the center of the village’s main thoroughfare. His breath materialized in the frigid morning air, forming fleeting ghosts that vanished as quickly as they appeared. Behind him, Kancil stood with his body trembling violently. It wasn’t the tremor of fear, but rather the primitive, predatory instinct dormant in his blood beginning to boil, rebelling against the restraint Dayat had placed upon him.

​”Master…” Kancil’s voice was a raw, guttural rasp. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned a porcelain white. “They… they smell like hunters. Not the kind that hunt deer. The kind that hunt souls.”

​Dayat didn’t offer a reply. His eyes were fixed on the shimmering silver line emerging from behind the golden hills of wheat. Thousands of Verdia Paladins, their polished breastplates reflecting the pale, sickly light of the dawn, were forming a perfect crescent moon formation. They hadn’t come to negotiate, nor had they come to demand an explanation. They had come to encircle a cage.

​”Dola, analysis,” Dayat whispered.

​In Dayat’s field of vision, the digital interface flickered to life, overlaying the serene village landscape with lethal red data. [Master, analysis complete. Total personnel: 5,200. Composition: 3,000 Heavy Infantry, 1,200 Light Archers, and 1,000 War-Mages. Probability of victory in direct head-on confrontation: 0.12%. Recommendation: Immediate evacuation of non-combatants via the rear forest routes while executing a high-decibel diversionary protocol.]

​”You hear that, Kancil? Don’t let your instincts loose just yet. We need precision, not just rage,” Dayat muttered, turning back to see the villagers emerging from their homes, their faces drained of color.

​Thalor, the village elder, stepped forward, leaning heavily on a wooden staff that shook in his weathered hands. Beside him, Lyrielle clutched her satchel of medicinal herbs as if it were a shield, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she stared at the military host she had once revered as the holy protectors of the realm.

​”Goddess Nura… what have we done to deserve the Holy Light’s judgment?” Lyrielle whispered, her voice breaking.

​At the vanguard of the army, three mounted figures moved forward with slow, deliberate arrogance. General Haelir in his flower-etched silver plate, Governor Caelistra looking down from her magnificent war-stag, and Haelos, who remained a shadowy, indistinct figure beneath his grey cloak.

​Haelir raised his hand. A mage beside him channeled a spell of The Gilded Silence. When Haelir spoke, his voice didn’t just carry; it boomed across the valley as if the heavens themselves were delivering a sentence.

​”Citizens of Lamping!” Haelir’s voice pressed against the air, heavy and suffocating. “You have harbored a stain that threatens the very sanctity of Verdia. You have fed the enemies of the Crown and provided shelter to the traitor, Lunethra. In the name of Queen Verene, I issue this command: Surrender Dayat, Princess Lunethra, and the Maiden’s messenger immediately!”

​Thalor stepped into the open, moving to the very front of the village line. His aged but firm voice echoed back against the magical amplification.

​”Honorable General Haelir!” Thalor shouted. “This village has always been loyal to the Crown! The man you seek is the one who saved us from starvation! He is the hero who repaired our lifeblood—our irrigation! How can you call kindness a stain?”

​Governor Caelistra let out a sharp, derisive snort. Even without magical amplification, her voice carried a cutting, elitist edge. “Loyalty is not measured by a full belly, Elder. Loyalty is measured by absolute obedience to the law. You have allowed the Maiden’s poison to take root in this soil. That alone is enough to erase the name of this village from the maps of Verdia.”

​Haelir had no interest in moral debates. To him, the world was composed of only two things: orders and execution. “You have one hour. If the fugitives are not bound and kneeling at the hooves of our mounts by then, Lamping will be classified as a rebel stronghold. And you know the penalty for rebellion, do you not, Elder?”

​Thalor let out a small, bitter laugh—a sound filled with more sarcasm than fear. He looked up toward the distant canopy of the World Tree on the horizon. “How cruel for the Goddess if this is truly her will… If slaughtering unarmed subjects is how you worship Nura, then perhaps the Goddess you serve no longer recognizes her own children!”

​”How dare you!” Caelistra snarled, her face flushing with indignant rage at the blasphemy.

​Back at the granary, Dayat approached Lunethra, whose face had gone rigid and cold. “Lunethra, listen to me. You have to lead the villagers through the hidden path beneath the old root system toward the East. Dola has mapped a route that is currently outside their primary sightlines.”

​”And you?” Lunethra gripped Dayat’s hand, her fingers digging into his sleeve. “You can’t face them alone, Dayat. Even with your strange weapons, their numbers are overwhelming. They have mages who can level this village in a single chant.”

​”I’m not fighting them—not yet,” Dayat said, his eyes meeting Dola’s. The AI stood tall beside him, looking like a lethal porcelain statue. “Kancil and I will be the bait at the front gate. Dola will generate visual distortions. While their attention is fixed on me, you must get Lyrielle and the children out. No arguments.”

​”But Master…” Kancil interrupted, his breathing becoming labored as he fought the urge to transform. “They won’t let us speak. I can feel it. They don’t want a surrender. They want a sacrifice.”

​”I know,” Dayat said, his voice dropping to a temperature that would freeze boiling water. “That’s why this evacuation needs to happen now.”

​Time crawled by with agonizing slowness. Inside the village, a silent panic began to spread like a contagion. Mothers wrapped their infants in thick, protective wool; men gripped their rusted scythes and hoes with trembling hands—not because they expected to win, but as a final, futile gesture of defiance.

​Thalor watched Dayat from a distance, thinking to himself: “Young man… go. Don’t let the sacrifice of this village be for nothing. If you are truly the hero we believe you are, then live to tell the world what they did to us this day.”

​Outside the gates, Haelir consulted his pocket sun-dial. The hour was up. There was no movement of surrender, no white flags, only the defiant silence of a village that had chosen its side. He looked toward Caelistra and Haelos.

​”They have chosen to perish with their idols,” Haelos murmured darkly.

​Caelistra offered a wicked, satisfied smile. “This will serve as an excellent deterrent for the other border settlements.”

​Haelir snapped his dial shut with a sharp, metallic click. He drew his longsword, which immediately flared with a brilliant, sun-like aura of golden light. The morning sun, which had felt warm moments ago, now felt as sharp and cold as a razor.

​”Holy Light Battalion!” Haelir’s voice split the sky. “Purify this land of the Maiden’s stain! Leave not a single root alive if it has been touched by the iron of the heathens!”

​In the rear ranks, a thousand Light Archers simultaneously drew their bows. Arrows crafted from pure mana crystals began to glow with a blinding intensity, siphoning energy from the rising sun.

​”Dayat!” Lunethra screamed as she saw the sky ignite.

​Dayat grabbed Kancil and shoved him behind a thick stone wall. “Everyone, take cover! Lunethra, move! Now!”

​Dola stepped into the open, directly in front of Dayat. She raised both hands toward the sky, her internal reactors humming with a sound like a swarm of angry hornets. [Defensive Protocol: Active Barrier. Efficiency: 40%. Warning: Incoming payload exceeds kinetic absorption capacity.]

​”Just do what you can, Dola!”

​In that instant, General Haelir lowered his sword in a sweeping arc. “Release!”

​The sky above Lamping, which had been a soft, pale blue, was suddenly transformed into a blinding, hellish gold. Thousands of Solar Flare Arrows streaked downward like a rain of falling stars. The whistle of the arrows slicing through the air sounded like the collective shriek of a thousand vengeful spirits.

​The first explosion struck the main granary—the very heart of the village. It created a blossom of white light that vaporized the wooden structure into ash in a fraction of a second. Screams erupted. The villagers who had been standing in stoic silence were now scattered like leaves in a gale, consumed by an overwhelming panic.

​Dayat watched with his own eyes as the small cottage where he had shared meals with Lyrielle was struck by two mana bolts. It didn’t just catch fire; it imploded into a pillar of golden flame.

​”Kindness…” Dayat whispered amidst the roar of the explosions, his eyes reflecting the inferno that was consuming everything he had helped build. “…truly has no place in this world.”

​The Verdia heavy infantry began to lower their spears, moving forward in an unbreakable phalanx toward the village gates. The true slaughter was beginning, and the scent of scorched wheat began to mingle with the metallic, coppery stench of unavoidable death.

​Dayat stood in the center of the devastation, his black tactical gear now coated in dust and grey ash. In his hand, the Silver Thorn began to vibrate violently, as if the weapon itself were mourning the destruction of its last home.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep