Chilled exorcist - стр. 4

The answer was silence.

The silence went on and on. The flames swirled, and the child was distracted by them. He fell asleep without realizing what his parents were saying.

Only then did he hear a muffled sob. Another and another. The hail pounded the roof and swept like a broom under the doorstep. The storm was right over the house. The storm pounded harder and harder at the windows and shutters on all sides, and soon the sobs were inaudible. Yellow-Eyed howled again; she did not regard the grief of others as more important than her own.

The waters of memory flushed as abruptly as they came up to his eyelashes.

Standing at the triple crossroads was a man in black robes. Clothes worn in the Order by the messengers of the night. A tattered cloak flapped in the wind, and a long-brimmed hat pulled upward more like a hood. The wanderer's mouth was safely hidden behind a milchemist's mask to filter the air, but believe me, he crinkled at the taste of memories. Like a cat squeamishly jerking its paw at water, the gloomy traveler tried to forget it as soon as possible. The unpleasant past, it seemed to make him weaker, more vulnerable. He no longer recognized himself in it. There was someone else, naive, with eyes open to the world, ready to believe anything. And here stood a completely different person. A huge block of granite stood in front of him, pointing the way. It was just like him. Like that cold, guiding piece of rock from his memories.

The horse snorted behind him, digging its hoof into the ground, leaving another pothole. The animal demanded to move on again. The man was uneasy, too. A chill ran down his back. Here the hornet had penetrated far to the south. All around, as far as the eye could see, was poisoned gray earth, and only the forest ahead burned with the green fire of life. The traveler lowered his head. His long and black Order cloak whipped around his leather boots with protective metal inserts.

He intercepted his crossbow. On the handle of his weapon, a sling swung up. And on it jingled a token for shooting the chilled. The grim reaper of the restless dead looked forward. His thick, clinging goggles gleamed two scarlet lightning bolts in the reddened strands that hung over the forest of Titan Jodcheim. The lights of the blue vaulted. The cover of night was closing in.

You want to know about the past of this world? I'm not the best storyteller. Look ahead, friend. The titan of the sky, Jodcheim, always walks his usual path, soon to disappear into the distant mountains. There, according to legends, he will fight all the evils of this world and win the battle against Tlekorz the Apprentice. Remembering this name, the exorcist, and judging by his crossbow, it was exactly the killer of uncleanness, spat on the ground, revealing his protective mask.

You want to know why he's called the Apprentice? I have to disappoint you. I don't know. I was taken from my family too soon by the Order's minions, and they don't care about legends. All they care about is that we're good at killing the restless dead. So we don't die every time we meet a cold one in our path. But this isn't about the Order, it's about the legend. Where was I? Oh yes… But in that ancient battle, Jodkheim himself would die, only to be reborn across the sea and follow his own path, returning to the continent from the west of the Light Continent, where the first ships came from. Only he will walk along the blue vault instead of sailing through the Great Dark Frontier to light up the ancient island and the capital city of the same name – Amberesvet the Great – with his mane of hair from afar. The Chill Killer examined his gauntlet.