Chapter 88: Volume 4 - CH 2.2

T/N: This is probably… the most violent chapter so far. Just be aware.

The invasion of Daylam was carried out by the subordinates of Marquis Leuthold, a nobleman of Lusitania. The purpose was mainly reconnaissance and plunder. Since Arslan had made his name apparent, Guiscard had reinforced the strength of the main army, but this group had taken advantage of the gap to make their way to the region of Daylam.

From the cliffs overlooking the coast, they saw the lone Maryami ship.

“Huh? Isn’t that ship from Maryam? How nostalgic!”

The voice of the Lusitanian commander was full of mockery. Maryam had been conquered, and their army had collapsed. The ship that appeared off the coast of Pars must be the only remnants, so there was nothing to fear.

The Lusitanian troops totalled 300 cavalrymen. They were confident because they had already scouted Daylam beforehand, and knew that there were no Parsian army troops in this city. After taking half a day to reach the coast, they immediately showed their fangs.

“Burn it all! Burn everything and kill all the people! The infidels cannot be spared, and those who betrayed Yaldabaoth to collude with the infidels are even more guilty!”

Even before the order was given, the Lusitanian soldiers shouted and speeded up their advance. For the people of Daylam, the nightmare had just begun.

The Lusitanian soldiers ran into the village and began to kill people who were trying to escape. Old men had their backs pierced by spears, women had their necks slashed by swords. Blood spurted everywhere, screams filled the air, and all this only made the invaders more excited. A crying baby’s body was thrown into the air, and the moment it fell, was pierced by a spear. This is what the Lusitanian soldiers did to the “heretics who had sold their souls to the devil”. For those who disobeyed God, it didn’t matter how brutal the treatment was. Every house was set on fire, and those who were forced out by the fire were shot down by arrows at the door.

The laughter of the Lusitanians, who were reveling in the bloody violence, stopped abruptly when they spotted a knight strolling leisurely through the streets. The knight wore no armor, but the large sword hanging from his waist caught the eyes of the Lusitanians.

This traveler’s age was likely around thirty. He had a strong physique, and dark hair that resembled a lion’s mane. A leisurely smile hung on his rugged face, and his left eye was closed as if it was no longer functional.

He was the former Marzban, Kubard. He called himself “The One-Eyed Lion”, but he was better known by his nickname, “The Braggart Kubard”. In any case, he was now a vagabond without a sovereign or status.

Through the introduction of his old friend Sam, he had briefly followed Hilmes, but they hadn’t gotten along well. Therefore, he was now heading to visit Prince Arslan, who was supposedly gathering troops on the eastern border. Since there was still no guarantee that he would get along with Arslan, he was at least planning to meet him first.

He was originally heading west, but had taken a wrong turn and instead came to the northwest; partly because he didn’t know the geography of the area very well, and partly because the street signs had been destroyed by the Lusitanian army. When he realized that he had taken the wrong road, he had already entered the territory of Daylam and had to cross two mountains to get back on the right road. There was really no way out of this, but there was no good wine or women in the mountains, so he thought that everything could wait until he found good wine or met a good woman. So, he rode to the streets of Daylam.

The Lusitanian knights blocked the way of the traveler.

There was no hint of fear or uneasiness on Kubard’s face, but a pleasant gleam in his one remaining eye as he looked at the Lusitanian knights.

“Who are you? Where are you trying to go?”

The Lusitanian knights questioned him with anxious eyes, something that could not be faulted. No matter how Kubard looked or the big sword on his waist, he did not look like an ordinary farmer or merchant.

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“Hm, this place seems to have been abandoned by the gods.”

Kubard muttered. In front of him were not beautiful women, but rough men. No wine, but the smell of fish and blood. As such, he did not care. Kubard fastidiously spoke in the Parsian language to the Lusitanian knights. Just as he finished speaking, the great sword had already come out of its scabbard.

With a flash of light, the head of the Lusitanian cavalryman left his body with a spray of blood. The severity of this blow made the other Lusitanian cavalrymen pull back in fear.

The voice of the aggressor was still very relaxed.

“I didn’t sleep well last night, and even the kindest people get cranky without sleep! For you, this is the worst bad luck of your life.”

Kubard’s Parsian language was only half-understood in the ears of the Lusitanians, but his meaning was made clear through his actions. The man was against the Lusitanian cavalry, the apostles of God.

Swords and shields, armor and bodies clashed fiercely, blood and screams filled the air, and blood pooled on the ground. The one-eyed Parsian was like a plague to the Lusitanians. The great sword swung through the wind and attacked the enemies with amazing speed, cutting down its opponents as if cutting grass, and several horses lost their riders and fled.

Then, several things happened at the same time. 

Due to Kubard’s bravery, the number of Lusitanian cavalry was steadily decreasing. Seeing this bloody scene from the distance, five or six Lusitanian horsemen tried to come to the aid of their companions. They were on a hill and could not run down in a straight line because of the cliffs ahead. They turned their horses around and ran down the gentle slope, trying to detour around to their companions’ location. 

When they came to the street, they ran into a traveler riding a horse with a white mane. It was a young man of eighteen or nineteen, with a black cloth wrapped over red hair.

“Get out of the way, kid!”

The aggressive tone of the Lusitanian speech seemed to make the young man more angry than the actual words. Silently, he grabbed the large war horn hanging from his waist and swung it forward, striking the cavalryman, who was trying to run past him, right in the face.

The horn hit him, and the rider, whose nose had been broken, let out a sharp scream and fell from his saddle. The horse that had lost its rider did not slow down, but still ran past the young man quickly.

“What are you doing? Damn it!”

The other Lusitanian horsemen were exceptionally agitated. They began to swing their blades at the young man.

The young man did not wait for the enemy to surround him before he quickly pulled the reins, turned the horse’s head and ran. He was not running away, and his motive soon became clear. The Lusitanian soldier, who had caught up with him and swung down his blade, saw a flash of light coming from the young man’s scabbard from below to above.

The Lusitanian cavalryman took a slash from his chest to his left shoulder and fell backwards with a spray of blood. As he fell to the ground with a splash and a wail, the hooves of a fleeing companion approached. This was one of the Lusitanian cavalrymen who had lost the will to fight and fled after the altercation with Kubard.

The chaos rolled up in a whirlwind. When the chaos subsided, all that remained on the scene was the strong smell of blood, ten dead Lusitanians and two living Parsians.

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