Berserk, Total War: Second Son of Nobles

The martyrs' cemetery was as quiet as ever at night, with only the soft rustling of the wind through the weeds. Several figures shrouded in black robes moved swiftly along the ground, their movements as light as wisps of black smoke, silently slipping into the depths of the cemetery.

The figure at the front suddenly stopped, tensed slightly, listened intently for a few seconds, and then uttered a few words in a low voice:

"Something's wrong."

The black-robed men behind him also stopped, holding their breath, their heads darting around, their eyes filled with vigilance.

"We always felt like someone was watching us, but there was no one else around except us."

The leader of the black-robed men added another sentence, lowering his voice even further, as if afraid that something unseen might hear it.

One of the men in black robes followed the gaze of the leader and looked over. In the distance, the monument stood tall in the night, its outline blurred but exuding an indescribable majesty.

He hesitated for a few seconds, then tilted his head towards the direction of the leader:

Is this the right direction?

The leader of the black-robed men clicked his tongue, pulled out a crumpled map from his pocket, and unfolded it in his palm.

He squinted at the map for a long time, his fingers scribbling haphazardly across it, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper. Finally, he simply shoved the map in front of him, his tone tinged with annoyance and embarrassment:

"I can't read at all."

Upon hearing this, the other men in black robes behind them were stunned. The leader of the group glanced at them and asked irritably:

"Is there anyone who can read?"

The men in black robes looked at each other, shook their heads, and kept their heads down, not daring to utter a sound.

The leader of the black-robed men looked at his subordinates and his heart sank. A surge of resentment welled up inside him. It turned out that his entire group was illiterate.

Just as the group was struggling with the map, a dim, yellowish light suddenly appeared in the darkness in the distance. The light was small, but it stood out conspicuously in the desolate cemetery.

The leader of the black-robed men reacted the fastest, shoving the map back into his pocket and making a discreet gesture to the people behind him.

The men in black robes immediately scattered, some hiding behind tombstones, others shrinking into the depths of the weeds, not daring to even breathe.

The light grew closer, and accompanied by soft footsteps, a patrolman carrying a kerosene lamp slowly approached.

The kerosene lamp in his hand swayed, its dim light reflecting the weariness on his face. He was humming a tuneless melody under his breath, clearly unaware that an uninvited guest was hiding in the cemetery.

As the patrolman drew closer, the black-robed leader's eyes lit up, and an idea instantly popped into his head: why not just grab this guy and ask him for directions?

The idea had barely taken shape when his body moved first.

Suddenly, he darted out from his hiding place, moving as fast as a black shadow, and in two steps he was behind the patrolman.

The patrolman was walking with his head down when suddenly someone grabbed him from behind and choked him. He felt a cold touch on his throat—the blade of a dagger.

He was so frightened that he trembled all over, and the kerosene lamp in his hand fell to the ground with a "clatter." The flame in the wick flickered twice and almost went out.

"Ask you something."

The leader, dressed in black, gripped the patrolman's neck, his voice filled with malice, and pressed the dagger against his throat again.

How far is it from here to St. John's City?

The patrolman was trembling like a leaf, his teeth chattering, and he managed to squeeze out a complete sentence with great effort:

“It’s…it’s quite far…St. John’s City is west of Helmingen, and you are currently east of Helmingen.”

"what!"

The black-robed man at the head of the group seemed to have been punched hard, his whole body stiffened. He couldn't believe his ears, and his voice suddenly rose eight octaves, shaking the wild grass beside him.

His mind was in turmoil, and a surge of anger rushed to his head. He had actually run in the wrong direction, wasting all his time and energy, enduring wind and rain to get here, all for nothing!

"Bring me the map!"

He gritted his teeth and growled, his chest heaving violently, his heart filled with resentment and anger.

The subordinate quickly pulled out the crumpled map from his pocket and handed it to the black-robed leader.

The leader, a man in black robes, snatched the map, spread it out in front of him, and stared intently at the crooked lines and symbols. He looked at it again and again, and the more he looked, the more uneasy he felt. His brows furrowed, and he kept muttering to himself:

"That can't be right! I clearly followed the map exactly, how could I have gone wrong!"

The patrolman, his neck being choked, his face flushed red, caught a glimpse of the rolled-up map out of the corner of his eye. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a trembling voice:

"Just turn the map upside down."

As soon as he said that, the surroundings fell into a deathly silence, and even the sound of the wind rustling through the weeds seemed to disappear.

The men in black robes looked at each other, their faces filled with astonishment.

The black-robed leader was stunned for a good ten seconds before he slowly reacted. He stiffly flipped the map in his hand over, and upon looking at it again, the markings and routes on it became clear instantly.

An indescribable sense of shame welled up inside him, and the leader of the black-robed men wished he could disappear into the ground. He used to be a serf, and being able to recognize a few characters was already a feat in itself; he knew nothing about reading maps, let alone distinguishing between the front and back.

He gritted his teeth, suppressing his embarrassment, crumpled the map into a ball, and stuffed it back into his arms.

"okay!"

He took a deep breath and tried to make his voice sound calm.

"The south has already begun its operations. Taking advantage of their reinforcements on the southern border and the city's defenses being weakened, we should immediately storm into St. John's City and destroy St. John's Cathedral!"

As soon as he said this, the black-robed men behind him immediately perked up, their eyes filled with ruthlessness, clearly determined to succeed in this plan.

Just then, one of his men pointed to the patrolman whose neck was being strangled, his tone hesitant:

"What should we do with this person?"

The leader of the black-robed men's eyes turned cold, and without the slightest hesitation, he spat out two words through gritted teeth:

"killed!"

"what?"

Upon hearing those two words, the patrolman's pupils contracted sharply, and his blood seemed to freeze instantly.

His survival instinct made him struggle desperately, his hands grabbing wildly and his feet kicking the ground, trying to break free of the restraints around his neck.

But compared to these black-robed men, his strength was like an ant trying to shake a tree, completely useless. Little did he know that these black-robed men were not ordinary robbers, but a group of apostles.

Just when the patrolman thought he was doomed, a dazzling white light suddenly streaked across the sky. The light was incredibly fast, like a shooting star piercing the night.

Before the men in black robes could react, a figure swooped down from the sky, moving so fast that it created a whistling gust of wind.

The black-robed leader felt a blur before his eyes, followed by a muffled thud beside him.

He instinctively turned his head and saw one of his men lying on the ground, his neck twisted at an odd angle, clearly beyond saving.

At the same time, the hand that was holding the patrolman's neck suddenly went empty. He looked closely and saw that the patrolman he had been controlling was now being grabbed by the figure that had fallen from the sky and was flying rapidly into the sky.

"what!"

The leader of the black-robed men screamed, his heart pounding wildly. Everything that had just happened was too fast; he hadn't had time to react at all.

He felt a gust of wind sweep by, and one of his men was gone, along with the prisoner he had just captured. This sudden turn of events filled him with a strong sense of unease.

Just then, a slightly mocking voice rang out from above their heads:

"Gentlemen, how was your trip to Helmingen?"

Several men in black robes looked up abruptly, following the sound. They saw the figure that had just arrested the patrolman hovering in mid-air, looking down at them.

Moonlight peeked through the clouds, illuminating the man's figure and allowing them to vaguely make out his outline.

“I know him… he is the King of Hilderan!”

A man in black robes stared at the figure in mid-air and suddenly shouted in shock and disbelief.

He never imagined that a mortal king could fly in the sky like a bird. You know, many of his apostles couldn't do that.

John, suspended in mid-air, looked down at the people below, a faint smile playing on his lips. He flexed his wrists, his knuckles making a soft "clicking" sound.

His tone was relaxed, as if he were greeting an old friend:

"I'm tired from traveling, it's time to rest and prepare for dinner."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the several panicked men in black robes below, his tone laced with a hint of mockery:

"Do you want a fist or a slap?"

The black-robed leader, seeing John's nonchalant demeanor, felt his anger instantly ignite.

He knew he was probably doomed today, so rather than waiting to die, he decided to take the initiative.

He took a deep breath and shouted loudly to his men behind him:

"Don't get cocky. Since that's the case, brothers, let's give it our all!"

As he finished speaking, the bodies of several men in black robes began to swell violently, their robes ripping and tearing open, scattering scraps of cloth all over the ground.

Their bodies grew larger and larger, their muscles bulged, and their skin cracked, and they all turned into enormous monsters.

John hovered in mid-air and roughly estimated that these guys were about three to five meters tall.

He shook his head slightly, muttering something under his breath with a hint of disdain:

"Hmm... so-so, he could be considered a monster infantryman." Just then, the black-robed leader underwent the most complete transformation. His body swelled to over five meters tall, covered in sharp, black thorns, making him look like a gigantic hedgehog from afar.

He stared at John in mid-air, his eyes filled with ferocity, and suddenly let out a roar, his hard spikes trembling violently.

The next second, those sharp spikes flew towards John like raindrops, incredibly fast, with a sharp whistling sound as if they could pierce through any obstacle.

However, when the spikes flew to within about a meter of John, they seemed to hit an invisible barrier and stopped instantly. No matter how hard they tried, they could not move forward even an inch and finally fell helplessly to the ground with a soft "clinking" sound.

"This is boring, give me more!"

John grinned, his face relaxed. He opened his arms, and two dazzling orbs of light slowly appeared in his palms. The orbs grew brighter and brighter, and the heat they emitted caused the surrounding air to distort.

John combined the two orbs of light, exerted a sudden burst of strength, and hurled them fiercely at the apostles below.

The apostle leader in hedgehog form reacted the fastest. Seeing the ball of light flying towards him, he immediately dodged to the side, his huge body rolling several times on the ground, narrowly avoiding the ball's attack range.

But the other apostles weren't so lucky; their movements were relatively slow, and they didn't have time to dodge.

With a burst of blinding light, the apostles struck by the light sphere immediately let out a series of shrill screams.

They felt as if they had been thrown into a scorching furnace, their skin and muscles melting and burning at a visible speed. Their bodies were completely swallowed by the light, leaving not even a trace of ashes. Their dying cries echoed in the cemetery, sending chills down people's spines.

The white light gradually faded, and the cemetery returned to its previous silence.

John landed slowly on the ground, looked down and around, his gaze sweeping over the neatly arranged graves. He found that all the tombstones and mounds were intact and undamaged.

"Not being harmed by friends, that's a pretty good ability."

He said something in a low voice, his tone carrying a hint of satisfaction.

Then, John turned his gaze to the side and it landed on the hedgehog apostle who had just escaped death.

The Hedgehog Apostle watched his companion vanish into thin air in an instant, his heart filled with terror. His body trembled uncontrollably as he retreated step by step until his back slammed heavily against a sculpture.

It was a sculpture of a warrior holding a short sword; the cold touch of the stone made the Hedgehog Apostle shudder.

He was about to turn around and continue backing away when he suddenly felt something was wrong behind him, and a chill crept up his spine.

He turned his head stiffly and saw that the upper body of the sculpture was covered with dense cracks. The cracks grew larger and larger, and with a series of "crackling" sounds, the upper body of the sculpture suddenly leaned forward, and the stone dagger in its hand was thrust straight towards his head.