Blow after blow rained down on the barrier, but it held, withstanding the assault of the tentacles. Hao Wen watched, hoping the shield would endure.
The trio observed everything, wishing for only one thing: that the demon would retreat. Hao Wen shifted his gaze to the awakened ones and saw fear in their eyes. Turning his head, he noticed his people dressed in black robes.
"Split into two groups and attack from behind. You, come with me," he ordered, looking at the leader. The man silently nodded.
The robed figures charged forward without hesitation. In an instant they reached the tentacles and unleashed furious attacks, using their powers. One of them conjured flames, while another relied on inhuman strength, holding back one of the massive limbs.
Seeing this, Hao Wen immediately rushed in. A crimson spear glowed in his hands as he delivered a crushing strike. A thunderous explosion echoed in the air, the battlefield swallowed by thick mist.
From the smoke, Hao Wen's body was hurled out. The leader of the robed men leapt forward, managing to catch him, but both crashed heavily to the ground. Their allies hurried to help. Hao Wen was alive — the blow had only thrown him back. Rising to his feet, he noticed the tentacles beginning to withdraw.
The crowd erupted with joy, shouting that they were saved. David fixed his gaze on one of the tentacles and noticed it was bleeding heavily.
"I see… that's why it's retreating — because of its wounds."
Hao Wen turned to his deputy.
"Hey, Lau Fu. Announce a day of mourning."
"As you command, sir."
That night the people gathered in the city center. A massive bonfire blazed behind them. Hao Wen stood at the front, his expression heavy with grief. For a minute, silence reigned as they honored the fallen.
At last, he spoke.
"Today has been a sorrowful and bitter day. Our base was attacked by a high-level demon. Now you understand how much weaker humanity is compared to these monsters. We are fewer in number, and it is harder for us to survive… Every day more than a hundred demons are slain, yet even more humans perish — a hundred and three. For every hundred demons, three of us must fall. Today we managed to repel the attack. But it was not without losses."
He clenched his fists.
"More than eleven people died. Ten were on the decks and couldn't escape in time. The eleventh sacrificed himself for our sake. He held back a tentacle so I could land a strike. Thanks to him, the demon retreated. Tonight, we raise our cups to their souls."
"Yes!" the crowd shouted in unison, downing their beer in one gulp.
More than half an hour passed. David sat off to the side, not touching his cup. Leo approached with two mugs, sat down next to him, and handed one over.
"You're not really interested in all this, are you?" he asked.
David was silent for several seconds before replying.
"In the slums, I saw death all the time. What surprises me is why they don't bury the dead here, why nothing is said after someone dies… This fake sentiment disgusts me."
Leo listened carefully and nodded.
"You're right. In the slums, people die often, and their bodies are left to rot in the streets. But do you know the difference? There, death is meaningless. Here… people give their lives for others."
"Does death really need a meaning?" David asked.
These words made Leo pause. He fell silent, unable to respond. David stood up.
"I should go. See you tomorrow."
"Yeah…" Leo muttered.
David walked down the lively street. Bumping into passersby, he reached the tavern, went upstairs to his room, and collapsed onto the bed, instantly falling asleep.
Ten minutes passed. In the darkness, David was still sleeping… and suddenly he found himself inside his own subconscious. He lay there, unable to open his eyes.
And watching over him was his sword — as if it had eyes of its own. From time to time the blade twitched, emitting strange sounds, as though warning David that something important was about to happen.