Chapter 236
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Chapter 236: The Bloody Cleanser
The sound of drums and flutes reached Lin Mo’s ears as he glanced over the crowd dancing and singing.
Though they remained in a perilous situation, with no certainty of how many would reach their destination, everyone collectively chose to forget their worries for the moment, allowing only present joy to fill their hearts.
Dancing with vibrant energy and singing heroic epics, the Patan people gathered, transforming the desolate land into a sea of happiness.
As for the dilapidated vehicles and severely worn weapons, Lin Mo wouldn’t even accept them for free; he didn’t even want to waste his appetite on the gold coins.
And with regards to money, how much could a fleeing village possibly have?
Lin Mo chose to ignore the dancing girls entirely.
“Alright! I can escort you to your destination. I don’t need anything in return.”
Lin Mo withdrew his gaze from the hopeful, murky eyes of Mude Zariyev, the village chief, and finally nodded.
“Really? Really! Thank you so much!” Mude Zariyev became extremely excited; Lin Mo’s words offered him hope. Originally, it was anticipated that crossing various treacherous zones would cost the group about a third of their young members by the time they reached their destination.
However, with Lin Mo’s inclusion, their combat capability would increase significantly, meaning more young people could make it to the end.
“Let’s just travel together then!” Lin Mo said no more.
Even if it wasn’t a straight route, it would still only be a small detour.
“This is a little token of my appreciation!”
Mude Zariyev fumbled through his belongings and finally produced an archaic-looking knife, handing it to Lin Mo.
Though it lacked precious metals and jewels, it was a genuine ethnic design knife, rich with Patan craftsmanship. Intricate cloud patterns adorned the blade, likely a product that had undergone extensive crafting, with a handle made of horn and horsehair, while the sheath was fashioned from cow bone and leather, devoid of any jewel embellishments, just a small unknown stone ornament hanging from it.
The knife’s oily edges showed it had been lovingly handled, indicating its special significance to the owner.
Lin Mo accepted it with pleasure; it wasn’t mere politeness but respect for traditions. To refuse would signify hostility.
Mude Zariyev’s delighted reaction sparked joy in Lin Mo. The chief raised his voice, calling out a few times as a roasted whole lamb was brought forth. As the host, Mude Zariyev personally offered Lin Mo a slice of the tender roasted lamb, exuding a mesmerizing aroma of spices and meat, enticing one’s appetite.
The songs intertwined with dances, creating a night of joy. Everyone felt hopeful about tomorrow, eagerly awaiting the sun’s rise and the start of a new day.
“Sir Knight, please drink water.”
Hark, who had practiced English for several days, had become Lin Mo’s assistant, providing translation and logistical support. He brought a large, filled water pouch to Lin Mo.
Hark was one of the hired mercenaries under Captain Abik, who had been recruited for the migration from Mica Village since relying only on the village’s young men was insufficient.
Mude Zariyev had pulled countless strings to find this highly reputable mercenary group, numbering about a dozen members. They had considerable combat experience and were familiar with the forces that lurked along the way, escorting the villagers—men, women, and children—safely.
In this chaotic war-torn region, besides the extremely vicious individuals, there existed some armed groups that relied on legitimate gunfire and reputation to earn a living, similar to how the Taliban initially began escorting trade convoys between Pakistan and Central Asia.
“Thank you!” Lin Mo accepted the large water pouch from the young Patan man with sparse facial hair. Filled with cool water, he didn’t drink directly but rather poured some over his long sword and half-shield to wash off the blood that had just stained them.
How many times had he done this? Lin Mo couldn’t recall; he wasn’t interested in keeping track of such trivial matters.
These were mere ants; even wielding AKs wouldn’t mask their fragility. Unless their numbers reached a certain level, with the combination of battle energy, armor, and the Dragon Knight’s ballistic prediction, he felt confident he could handle all these unorganized crowds that didn’t even qualify as a regular army, even if the gold giant dragon didn’t intervene.
However, Hark recalled vividly. Scenes of bloodshed played out almost every two or three days, as they forcefully created a safe passage through the interrupting armed militants, making him shudder at the thought. They had only traveled a third of the way.
One could imagine how Mude Zariyev had severely underestimated the real dangers they faced since, without this “Sir Knight,” Hark was convinced that the entire village would not survive the journey, swallowed by countless armed militants.
As part of the agreement to escort along the way, Lin Mo dedicated himself fully. His performance exceeded what Mude Zariyev had envisioned.
The best defense is attack, attack, and attack again!
As a high-end fighter from another world, Lin Mo fully grasped the essence of offense.
Following the convoy, he enjoyed the best food every day, the most comfortable tents and mattresses, and even had women willingly offer their company. Though there was no money involved, this life was far better than foraging for roots and hunting wild animals in the desolate mountains.
Afghanistan was poor, with a fierce populace and towering mountains. Various armed organizations were as numerous as the hairs on cattle, especially the defeated Taliban militants who controlled remote, barren areas, emerging unpredictably. They had become mere tools in the hands of “agents,” completely abandoning their original stances, fighting like others for money.
No one could survive forever; chaos and mutual killings became the survival rules of the land.
A large migration convoy was like a delicious cake, attracting all sorts of ill-intentioned individuals.
Lin Mo rarely gave his opponents a chance. Instead of waiting for an attack, he took the initiative, setting out every morning to search for nearby armed militants. Anyone who blocked the path of the Mica villagers faced calamity, as they were ruthlessly crushed by the Dragon Knight, who showed no mercy. This guy left nothing behind.
Hark felt a chill, becoming almost numb to the sight of blood and bodies.
Fierce killings happened almost every few days. No matter the opponent or the weapons they wielded, they couldn’t withstand Lin Mo’s sharp and unusual long sword. In the eyes of the original Mica villagers, Lin Mo had almost become a divine warrior, adorned in brilliant silver armor that bore the faint red stains of blood, making him appear even more radiant.
Countless shattered weapon fragments became snacks for the gold giant dragon, while gold coins willingly merged with Lin Mo’s long sword, enhancing its lethality to the point of cutting through any metal, truly slicing through iron like mud.
One slice—oh no, it should be a bite taken.
Perhaps that was a more fitting way to describe the gold giant dragon merging with the long sword.
“There’s still a small group ahead; we can wipe them out, and then the convoy can prepare to set up camp.”
After washing his sword and half-shield, Lin Mo said lightly after taking a few gulps.
“There’s more ahead?” Hark jumped in shock. The weak little bandits were like annoying flies that wouldn’t disperse; even with a small group, their automatic weapons could inflict significant casualties on the Mica Village convoy.
However, Hark was more surprised by how this “Sir Knight” knew about the militants, considering that he and Lin Mo were ten kilometers ahead of the scout villagers. How did he find them?
“Sir, how did you know? I can’t see them!” Hark asked boldly, knowing that aside from when the Knight was killing, he usually had a good temper. Except for the persistent killing aura around him, in everyday life, Hark viewed him as an ordinary, unthreatening university student.
“Of course, I saw them with my eyes!” Lin Mo pointed to his own eyes, but the explanation lacked convincing power. Hark chuckled awkwardly, still skeptical.
“I’ll go; you stay here and don’t run around!”
Lin Mo’s voice rang out, but his figure vanished without a trace.
Hark, clutching his AK-47, sat down to guard the food and water. This was his main task. The “Knight” left another impression—he had a huge appetite, eating a lot and working hard, which made sense.
Before long, screams and intense gunfire echoed from a distance. This had almost become a routine; every time Lin Mo set out, a bloody storm followed. The path the Mica Village migration team traveled was almost paved with blood and bones.
“Sir Knight, Sir Knight!”
Unlike others who called Lin Mo “Master,” the Patan girl, Sally, seemed to prefer calling him “Sir.” Maybe it was because she saw the gentle and polite side of Lin Mo, and her young heart was unknowingly drawn to such a character overflowing with contradictions.
In Sally’s eyes, this “Sir Knight” was shrouded in mystery and the unknown. Even though some secrets were very frightening, both the village chief and the “Sir Knight” had sternly warned her not to let her curiosity get the best of her.
It’s easy to imagine how torturous such repressed curiosity could be.
