Chapter 171: Scenes Of A Dying World 5!

Chapter 171: Scenes of a Dying World 5!

Eastern Continent — Fengrald Country — Basal City—Monastery

Nestled in the heart of the lush mountains of Fengrald Country, the monastery stood as a solemn relic of a time when peace reigned over the land. Now, it was but a shell of its former self. Basal City, once a bustling hub beneath the monastery's shadow, had become a wasteland.

Within the monastery, Anthony Huse sat cross-legged in the dim meditation hall, his stomach coiling in relentless hunger. His usually serene expression had twisted into one of quiet desperation. Days of meditation had brought him no enlightenment, only a piercing reminder of his dwindling strength.

The monastery, once home to dozens of monks, had emptied. Some had fled in search of food; others had succumbed to the grim reality of starvation. Anthony, one of the few remaining, knew he had reached his limit. If he remained, death would claim him.

He rose, his movements slow and deliberate, his monk's robes hanging loosely on his emaciated frame. His grey eyes, sharp and observant despite his condition, scanned the deserted hall one last time. With resolve, he stepped through the open gates, leaving behind the sanctuary that could no longer offer sanctuary.

It was time to make the Journey to Basal City

The path down the mountain was steep and treacherous, but Anthony moved with the sure-footedness of one who had walked it many times before. The wind tugged at his robes, his bald head gleaming under the sun's oppressive glare. Every step brought him closer to the city, where he hoped to find sustenance.

After two grueling hours, Anthony reached the outskirts of Basal City. The sight that greeted him was bleak: clusters of mud-thatched huts, their roofs caving in, stood amidst a landscape of despair.

Families huddled outside their homes, their gaunt faces a testament to weeks of starvation. Children with hollow eyes clung to their mothers, their once vibrant spirits dulled by hunger. The air was heavy with the smell of decay and hopelessness.

Anthony pressed on, his resolve hardening with each passing scene of misery. The settlements became denser, the signs of civilization more apparent. Yet, hope was a cruel mirage. The bakery where the scent of fresh bread once wafted was now a ruin, its windows shattered, its shelves barren.

The restaurants, once lively with the clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation, were gutted. Only skeletal remains of buildings stood where vibrant businesses once thrived.

As Anthony ventured deeper into the city, the devastation grew. Streets were littered with the debris of a society that had collapsed under the weight of famine and conflict. Dead bodies lay in grotesque piles, their putrid stench mingling with the acrid smell of smoke from recent fires.

In the city square, a grim scene unfolded. Rhemon's agents had established a recruitment station. A makeshift tent stood amidst the rubble, its crimson banner bearing the sigil of the warlord Rhemon—a serpent coiled around a sword.

Desperate souls gathered around the station, their eyes fixed on the steaming cauldrons of food. Rhemon's soldiers, clad in dark armor, handed out bowls to new recruits. It was a cruel bargain: loyalty in exchange for survival.

Anthony observed from a distance, his keen eyes taking in every detail. The monastery's teachings had instilled in him a deep aversion to violence, but hunger had a way of silencing the voice of morality.

Anthony's gaze locked onto a cauldron brimming with stew. The rich aroma reached him, igniting a primal hunger that clawed at his insides. His mind raced, formulating a plan. He would approach under the guise of desperation, a hungry wanderer seeking aid. But if that failed…

His hands clenched into fists. He had been taught to choose peace, to seek harmony even in the face of adversity. Yet, here he was, contemplating the unthinkable. If peace would not fill his stomach, then he would embrace the chaos.

Anthony took a deep breath, steadying himself. His robes, once a symbol of his devotion to tranquility, now seemed to weigh him down. He would act, not as a monk, but as a man driven to the brink.

With calculated steps, he began his approach, his eyes never leaving the cauldron of food. Whatever it took, he would claim his share.

———

Anthony moved to join the queue, his steps deliberate and his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. Each shuffling step forward felt like an eternity as his mind raced. The line stretched long, a collection of the desperate and the damned, all waiting for a bowl of sustenance. Every so often, someone would break from the queue, their hunger overpowering their sense of self-preservation.

They would surge forward, hands outstretched, only to be met with the harsh crack of gunfire. Rhemon's agents were not known for their mercy. The fallen bodies served as grim reminders of the price of disobedience. Anthony flinched at each shot, his resolve shaken but not broken.

At the front of the line, a table was set up, manned by a cold-eyed officer. In front of him lay a blood-stained parchment. Each new recruit was required to sign the pact, binding themselves to Rhemon's cause. The blood pact was more than a symbol; it was a magical binding contract that ensured loyalty. Betrayal was not an option. Those who tried to escape after signing were said to meet gruesome ends.

Anthony's stomach churned—not just from hunger but from the weight of the decision before him. Could he sign away his freedom for a single meal? Could he bind himself to a warlord's cause, knowing the monastery's teachings forbade such alliances?

He slipped his beaded prayer chain from his pocket and began muttering a prayer under his breath. The rhythmic chant was meant to calm him, but his heart continued to pound. He was walking a tightrope between life and death, and every second brought him closer to a pivotal choice.

As the line crept forward, Anthony's attention was drawn to the woman directly ahead of him. She stood out, not for her beauty—hunger had reduced her to a gaunt shadow of what she might once have been—but for her quiet intensity.

Her clothes hung loosely on her skeletal frame, but Anthony's sharp eyes caught sight of something unusual. In the left pocket of her tight jeans, a glint of metal caught the light. She was clutching a gun.

Anthony's thoughts quickened. A weapon. In this place? It was both a lifeline and a death sentence. If she were discovered, the agents would kill her without hesitation. But if she could wield it... perhaps it was a chance.

His mind began to whirl with possibilities. He could try to use her as a distraction or convince her to join forces. With a weapon in hand, they could potentially escape this nightmare.

But then his conscience struck like a hammer. What am I thinking? he chided himself. I'm supposed to help her, not exploit her desperation. The teachings of the monastery resurfaced, clashing with his survival instincts.

Anthony stole another glance at the woman. Her grip on the gun was firm, her knuckles white. She wasn't here for food alone; she had a plan of her own. Perhaps she intended to fight her way out or seek revenge against Rhemon's men.

He considered his options. He could approach her, offer to help, and perhaps together they could devise a plan that didn't involve bloodshed. But would she trust him? Would she see him as an ally or a threat?

Anthony's hands tightened around his prayer beads as he whispered another prayer. This time, it was not for himself but for guidance. He needed clarity, a sign to show him the right path. His moral compass was swinging widely at this point, torn between hunger and his teachings.

The line moved again, bringing him closer to the table where the blood pact awaited. Time was running out, and he needed to decide. Would he continue as a lone survivor, relying on chance and wit? Or would he take a risk, align himself with the mysterious woman, and confront the darkness together?

His grey eyes flicked once more to the gun in her pocket, his resolve wavering between hope and despair.