Free Web NovelRunning wildly.
Frederick was currently running for his life.
Running with all his might.
The gravel beneath his feet nearly made him trip several times, but he didn't dare stop for a second.
Flames burned on both sides, and a wave of heat hit him in the face, as if it were about to bake his lungs dry.
His breathing sounded like a broken bellows.
His legs felt like they were made of lead.
His back—
There was something warm flowing down it.
It probably wasn't sweat.
Sweat wasn't that sticky.
"Bang!"
Something else slammed into his shoulder blade.
He stumbled forward, his knee cracking against a protruding stone; the pain made his vision go dark.
He quickly used his Flail to brace himself against the ground, pushing himself back up to continue running.
He couldn't stop.
If he stopped, he would die.
The sound of footsteps behind him was getting closer.
It was the sound of a crowd's footsteps.
Uneven, but all closing in.
Like a pack of wild dogs catching the scent of blood, tightly biting onto their wounded prey.
Frederick vaulted over a collapsed wall.
Then another one.
His fingers were scraped bloody against the rough masonry, but he couldn't afford to care.
He only knew to run. Run forward. Run in any direction that wasn't blocked off yet.
Firelight danced before his eyes.
Smoke choked his throat.
The entire world was burning.
And he was the most pathetic one in this hell.
...
Three minutes ago.
The moment the Flail fell, Frederick knew something was wrong.
The man's body slid backward in an eerie fashion.
It was as if an invisible hand had grabbed him by the collar from behind, forcibly dragging him away from the point where the Flail would strike.
The hammer head slammed into the ground.
The stone slabs shattered.
Dust flew everywhere.
But that head was still there.
Intact and perfectly fine, it was still there.
"What—"
Frederick didn't even have time to finish his sentence.
The air changed.
The feeling was hard to describe.
It was like being in a room where it was just you and one other person, and then suddenly, there were many more people.
You couldn't see them, but you knew they were there.
You could feel their breath.
You could feel their gaze.
The back of your neck began to go numb, and your hair began to stand on end.
He turned around.
The firelight illuminated the ruins behind him.
One figure.
Two figures.
Three.
Four.
Five.
More.
They crawled out from behind collapsed walls.
They squeezed out from under burning beams.
They walked out from dark corners.
Like cockroaches.
Like rats.
Like undead spirits surging from the depths of hell.
Frederick's heart sank.
He did a quick count.
Eight.
Eight people, surrounding him in the center.
Men and women. Old and young. Some held weapons, others were empty-handed.
But their eyes were all the same.
Hollow.
Fanatical.
They flickered with an unnatural light in the firelight.
Like they were looking at a toy that was about to be dismantled.
The man who had been dragged away struggled to climb up from the ground. His face had been beaten beyond recognition, his nose bridge collapsed, and blood smeared across his face.
He was missing several teeth, and his lips were swollen like two sausages.
Yet he was smiling.
An ugly and smug smile.
"You think..." His voice was slurred, as if he had a mouthful of blood, "you think we would act alone?"
He spat a glob of bloody foam onto the ground.
"Followers of the Tower... never fight alone..."
Frederick didn't say a word.
He was observing.
Evaluating.
Eight people.
Auras.
That bald guy—Sequence III.
That woman in the gray robe—Sequence III.
That Short Stature carrying the iron rod—also Sequence III.
And five others—Sequence II or I.
Three Sequence IIIs.
Three enemies at the same level as the man he had just fought.
Plus five helpers.
His lip twitched.
Then, without the slightest hesitation, he turned and ran.
He ran with the momentum of 'I shall go forth, though ten thousand people oppose me.'
...
"Damn it, he's still running?"
Cursing came from behind him.
"You think you can escape?"
Frederick didn't answer.
Every ounce of his strength was being used for running.
No time to talk back.
No time—
Oh wait, actually, there was time.
"You guys..."
He panted as he ran.
"You cultists..."
"Have you ever thought..."
"Why your leader... doesn't come to do this himself..."
The footsteps behind him paused for a moment.
Then they got even closer.
"Shut up."
Someone roared.
"Is it... because this kind of trivial matter isn't worth his personal attention..."
"Or does he think you're all idiots, sent to do this kind of work?"
"Shut up!"
Flames swept ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) past him from behind, singeing his hair.
The heat made his back feel like it was being burned by fire.
Maybe it really was burning.
He couldn't care less.
"Instructor Sebastian..."
He continued to run, continued to pant.
"If I can make it back alive..."
He vaulted over a wall.
"I swear..."
He rolled down a slope.
"I'll run as many laps as you want me to in the future..."
He burst through a half-open door.
"I'll never slack off..."
Behind the door was a dead end. freewebnoveℓ.com
"I'll never complain..."
Three walls.
No way out.
"...Fuck."
He hadn't even finished his last word.
The pursuers behind him had already blocked the entrance to the alley.
Eight figures appeared in the firelight.
"Ha!"
"Look at that, this kid ran into a dead end all by himself!"
