Ascension from Dual Professions

Chapter 240: Chapter 229: Sights on the Return Journey, Encountering the "Honor Guard

The upheaval at Red Crying Castle was too great to be concealed, and news of it quickly spread throughout all of Heta County.

Some said that agents of the Imperial Ministry of Internal Affairs had assassinated the mad Count, intending to dismantle the rebel army from the top down.

Others claimed it was a classic case of subordinates turning on their master from within the rebel ranks, and that by cooperating with such ambitious men, Count Heta had been playing with fire and inevitably gotten burned.

For a time, rumors swirled.

But in any case, the incident drastically altered the situation on the Heta County battlefield.

The Resistance Alliance’s morale soared. They broke through several long-stalemated defensive lines and pushed straight for Heta County City. The rebels, meanwhile, abandoned their usual resolute resistance, fighting a retreating battle as they began to consolidate their forces.

At the same time, Jon, disguised as a reckless Merchant, followed the banks of the Bolaya River Valley and arrived at the outskirts of Heta County.

The group’s carriage rolled over the trampled, frozen mud, entering a deathly still village in silence.

The air was filled with the choking smell of burning and a deeper scent of despair—the ulcer of war, formed from a mixture of burnt timber, unburied filth, and cold hopelessness.

To Jon, a ’veteran player’ who had fought on countless virtual battlefields, this scene should have been nothing more than familiar ’scenery modeling’—broken walls and ruins, charred beams stabbing haphazardly toward the lead-gray sky, and a few barely standing earthen walls, blackened by smoke and scarred with the marks of blades and axes.

In the distance, at the mouth of a half-collapsed cellar, pairs of terrified eyes flashed in the shadows before vanishing back into the darkness.

"This village is finished."

Moon, who was driving the carriage, spoke in a low voice tinged with helplessness.

"The able-bodied men were all taken away... As for the women and children... I’m afraid..."

He didn’t finish, but everyone knew that in a situation like this, these more vulnerable people would not have met a good end.

Jon said nothing, just silently observing everything before him.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen more brutal scenes.

In those Dungeons set in the depths of Hell, there had been mountains of corpses and seas of blood, demons running rampant, and countless, uniquely grotesque monsters.

But those scenes always had an exaggerated, inhuman, ’fantastical’ quality. They were nowhere near as real or as piercingly painful as the silent ruins left in the wake of war.

After a brief silence, he turned to look at Dolores.

"Dolores."

"Here, Boss!"

Hearing Jon call her name, Dolores immediately straightened her back, her amber eyes seeming particularly bright against the gray daylight.

"Give some of our rations to the people still here."

Jon’s tone was even, as if he were giving orders for a perfectly ordinary task.

"Be quick about it. Don’t take too long."

"Understood!"

The purple-haired girl gave a crisp reply, her face showing a knowing expression that said, ’Just as I expected.’

She deftly unslung the bulging deerskin pouch from her back. While skillfully taking stock of the dried meat and chunks of coarse bread inside, she said in a lighthearted tone,

"Don’t worry, Boss, I’ve got this! When I used to travel with trade teams, we came across plundered villages like this several times. I’ve lent a hand before."

"I know how to hand it out without causing a fight. I’ll make sure it’s fair and won’t let the starving folks start fighting over it!"

She said all this naturally, with the composure of someone with worldly experience, and even a hint of pride, as if to say, ’See how reliable I am?’

Hearing this, a flicker of surprise passed through Jon’s eyes.

He turned his head and took a serious look at Dolores.

The girl stood by a charred, broken wall, her choppy purple hair tousled by the cold wind. She stood on her tiptoes, peering toward a mostly collapsed hovel as if assessing the number of people and their condition inside. Her focused expression made it clear that, just as she had said, this wasn’t the first time she’d done this.

’A child raised by a Moon Thief... to think she could be so thoughtful and proactive...’

A strange feeling stirred in Jon again, and he found himself speculating even more about the hidden past of this temporarily recruited Ranger—or, perhaps, his future follower.

But he had no intention of probing into it right away. He just nodded, accepting what she’d said.

"Good. Catch up as soon as you’re done. We’ll wait for you up ahead."

"Yes, Boss!"

Dolores answered brightly, her smile growing even wider. She was like a cheerful little bird that had just earned its master’s praise. She turned and jogged toward the hovel where she’d seen movement, calling out in the gentlest tone she could manage in an attempt to put the frightened people inside at ease.

Jon didn’t linger. He gently nudged his horse’s flanks and motioned to Moon.

The carriage wheels rolled once more over the cold mud and cinders, carrying their heavy supplies slowly forward.

Soon, the carriage left the suffocating ruins behind and continued along the treacherously muddy, frozen road.

Alongside the road, one could occasionally see discarded, broken furniture and scattered fragments of clothing that had long since lost their owners.

The cold wind swept up the ash from the ground, sending it swirling and bringing with it a bone-chilling cold and a deeper sense of desolation.

Just as the carriage rounded a low hill, half of which had been blasted away by artillery, and the view opened up slightly, a crisp, dense clatter of hooves suddenly came from a bend in the road ahead. It was accompanied by the faint scraping of metal plates and the jingle of ornate harnesses clinking in the wind.

Jon’s eyes narrowed. He immediately gave a hand signal, and the entire convoy halted.

A squad of cavalry was galloping out from around the bend, heading in their direction.

The troop was small, only about ten riders, but their exquisite equipment and flamboyant appearance were completely out of place against the backdrop of the war-ravaged, scorched earth.

The lead Knight wore a gleaming, silver-plated breastplate etched with an intricate family crest. A scarlet cape billowed out behind him.

His mount was no ordinary warhorse, but an exceptionally magnificent Bronze Scale Horse. Such Demon Beast half-breeds were expensive, with stamina and explosive power that far surpassed those of ordinary horses.

The cavalrymen following close behind wore Armor a step down from their leader’s, but it was still uniform-issue Fine Steel Half Armor, polished to a mirror shine. Their helmets were adorned with brightly colored feathers or plumes.

Their weapons—whether the Fine Steel lances hanging from their saddles or the ceremonial longswords at their waists—gleamed with a well-maintained, cold light. They were clearly ornate armaments, more for decoration than for practical use.

This troop was like a blinding streak of light, crashing suddenly into a world shrouded in gloom and death, bringing with them an air of condescending scrutiny and undisguised ostentation.

The lead Knight’s eyes, hidden beneath his ornate helmet, clearly held a trace of undisguised contempt and scrutiny as they swept over Jon’s travel-worn, mud-splattered convoy.

He didn’t slow down. Instead, he raised his head slightly, as if preparing to gallop haughtily past this insignificant-looking "Trade Team."