Chapter Thirty: Bloodstained Memories

With a loud crash, his blade smashed the massive boulder hurtling toward him, and with a sudden burst of speed, he charged straight at the hundred-eyed giant standing before him. What followed was a frenzy of savage slashes, each strike aimed at the eyes scattered across the giant’s body. The giant desperately tried to evade, but with a frame towering six meters high and weighing over a ton, there was simply no escaping the relentless onslaught of Lancer’s madness.

“If you’re dead, then stay dead! Become nothing more than a decoration for a peacock!” As blue blood poured down the giant’s body, Lancer, with a leap unimaginable for any ordinary man, landed atop the giant’s head and with his twin blades, delivered a cross-shaped slash.

A sharp metallic hiss—instantly, the giant’s head split into four pieces. At this moment, Lancer, lost in a final frenzy, ignored everything around him, as if something fundamental within him had shattered. He was no longer a knight, but a machine dedicated solely to slaughter.

“Ha! Blood! Such beautiful blood!” He paid no heed to the blue blood splattering across his body, licked his lips with his tongue, and charged once more toward the enemy stronghold.

“What is this!” The soldiers following in Lancer’s wake advanced along the path he’d carved out, but all they found were splashes of blood on trees and rocks, and countless shattered corpses.

“Urgh!” “Urgh!” “Urgh!” The sounds of retching rose up in chorus. These men were the kingdom’s finest soldiers, yet many had never set foot on a battlefield, let alone witnessed such ruthless slaughter.

“It seems Lancer hasn’t lost his mind completely yet,” Gawain said, his face twitching even as he addressed the others.

“Why do you say that?” Lancelot, following behind, looked equally pale but pressed for an answer.

“You’ve never seen Lancer when he’s truly gone mad. I nearly lost my life to him,” Gawain replied, a shadow of dread flickering across his face at the memory.

“This isn’t enough? I’ve never seen anything like this—it’s like hell itself.” Bedivere, who usually stayed by Toria’s side and rarely joined missions, had only known Lancer within the castle walls. The sight before him now was utterly at odds with the man he thought he knew.

“Hell? Bedivere, you’re still young. You haven’t seen anything at all,” Gawain said, pausing for a moment before continuing. “It was two years ago, before our king became king. I met Lancer in a small town while I was resting there.” As the group advanced, Gawain began to recount his first encounter with Lancer.

“At that time, Lancer was tasked with a mission to another town and stopped over in the same city. I still remember, as I was preparing to leave, I caught sight of Lancer’s furious expression. He said nothing, only rented a room and settled in. My curiosity got the better of me, so I stayed as well.” Gawain paused, as if weighing how to continue.

After a moment, he resumed, “That night, as I slept, I caught a strange scent of blood. When I rushed downstairs, I saw Lancer thrusting his sword into the innkeeper’s chest.” All eyes turned to him in shock.

“That’s impossible! I haven’t known him long, but he would never do such a thing!” Lancelot protested. He had been the first to truly befriend Lancer after his arrival, and the man who so often greeted him with laughter could not possibly be a wanton killer.

“Don’t jump to conclusions. Let me finish,” Gawain said, raising a hand. “I was furious and prepared to draw my sword against him, but then he looked at me with eyes utterly devoid of emotion, tossed the innkeeper’s head to me, and pointed to his own mouth. That’s when I realized—the innkeeper wasn’t human. He was the lowest kind of vampire—a blood thrall.” Gawain seemed reluctant to revisit that night, pausing before pressing on. “The two of us left the building together. Can you guess what we saw?” he asked, then answered himself, “It was hell. True hell. That little town was a den of vampires. The people who seemed ordinary by day were all thralls, attacking travelers who arrived in daylight. I saw a young girl being fed upon by a swarm of despicable vampires—her eyes completely numb, devoid of life. For the first time, I witnessed true hell, and true demons. Only, in this hell, one kind of demon preyed upon another. In the end, I was the sole survivor. That place was a breeding ground for vampires—every person bitten became a thrall. I saw Lancer weep tears of blood as he slew those who had once been his kind, now reduced to mindless beasts. The entire town was awash in blood; not a trace of its original color remained. From that day, I began to travel the land, hunting down those creatures of darkness wherever I found them.”

Only now did everyone understand why, when the tasks were divided and Lancer chose to confront the kingdom’s “darkness,” Gawain had immediately volunteered to take on the grueling job of exterminating “dark creatures.”

“Then why do you say Lancer hasn’t gone mad now? It may not be as bloody as you described, but it’s close enough,” Lancelot interjected.

“You’re right, but when Lancer truly loses control, he becomes utterly ruthless, caring nothing for the will of his opponents. Did you notice? Now, though many have died, their eyes reflect mostly surprise, not terror,” Gawain explained, drawing everyone’s attention to the expressions of the fallen.

“It seems Lancer still remembers his foes are human. So for now, he hasn’t lost himself. But who can say he won’t later?” Gaheris, usually the least sensitive of the group, spoke up at last.

“Gawain, do you know what triggers Lancer’s frenzy? You’re the only one who’s witnessed it,” Toria asked suddenly.

“I don’t know. I only remember, the first time, his eyes turned red; the second time, his whole body changed,” Gawain replied, recalling the ambush in the forest a year before.

“Could it be his body has undergone some other transformation? Is it…” Toria suddenly shouted.

“Only the king, Merlin, and I have seen Lancer’s body. Do you remember what he looked like when he removed his mask? Those strange markings—his entire body was covered with them, not just his face,” someone recalled, and everyone remembered Lancer’s departure, his face adorned with those almost demonic lines, twisted in a wild smile.

“I remember, once, when I asked Lord Lancer about those marks, he told me, ‘Wright, remember: when you need the power to protect something, you’ll give up everything—even sign your name to a demon’s pact.’ So does that mean…” Wright, now wearing a mask as Lancer’s successor, spoke up from among the knights.

“No. I don’t know what that power is, but I’m certain it’s not demonic. I once tried to test him myself,” Merlin said at last.

As the group debated, a bolt of lightning, without warning, split the sky and struck their destination.

“No! That must be the attack from Lancer’s Thirsting Blade!” Toria cried, spurring her horse forward.

“My king!” The others rushed after her.