157 The Thames Gate

"The butcher?" Ye Qingxuan had the urge to laugh. "He hates me. Are you sure he won’t try to kill me?"

Ghosthand chuckled. "Mr. Holmes, there are two types of killers. The first kind are like me. We kill to reach a certain goal. But the other kind is a true ‘killer.’ To them, ‘killing’ and ‘goals’ aren’t important. What’s important is the money and working for their employer.

"It’s their work ethic. They’ll work hard if there’s money. And if there isn’t money, they won’t do anything even if their family is dying before their eyes. The butcher is that type of person.

"We’ve already contacted him and reserved all of his time in the next month. Seeing as we’re giving him money orders, he’ll definitely work well with you."

"Hopefully."

--

It was the afternoon of the next day. Dozens of burly Asgardians were grouped at the warehouse near an abandoned port in downtown. Under the orders of a middle-aged man, servants transported an endless stream of wooden boxes from the carriages. Seventeen large boxes lay in scattered piles on the ground. With every box hauled in, the men waiting in the warehouse would breathe a little heavier. Their eyes practically shone.

The man with a monocle checked the order list and nodded, telling the servants to leave. Quickly, the door closed and the only light was the dim sunlight shining through the warehouse’s broken roof.

Beside a wooden box, the excited Werner jumped up and grasped the monocle man’s hand. "You’ve worked hard, Mr. Hall."

Hall gave a reserved chuckle. He subtly retracted his hand and handed over a crowbar. "The gifts from the parliament are all here. Mr. Werner, you can check."

"No need." Werner waved his hand, rejecting the crowbar. He clenched his fist and punched the box. His calloused fist was like a steel hammer, crushing the corner of the box.

Using both of his hands, Werner tore the box apart. Sunlight fell onto it and the armaments sleeping between hay and cloth shone with a chilling glint. He smirked and grabbed a sabre. He gazed at the blade under the sun, studying the beautiful designs of the crystals. He reached to the side.

His men understood immediately. One man took out his dagger and chopped down on the blade! There was a whistle and then the ringing of metal clashing. With a clank, the broken dagger fell to the ground. The underling gaped at the vibrating sabre in Werner’s hands. There was not even a dent on the blade.

Seeing his men’s shock, Werner laughed. "This is high grade forging with the secret formula from the Woratian people and made from the third Royal factory. Its codename is Dragon Scale III. After a batch is produced, the general must test a random sword. If it can’t break through armor, the entire batch needs to be brought back.

"There are twenty swords per box, so there are two hundred swords in total. It’s enough for you trained soldiers to destroy the nobodies under the Shaman!"

Werner opened the other boxes with the crowbar. Under the blazing eyes of the Asgardians, he lifted the heavy cloth. "Here are also twenty military crossbows. Each bow has fifty three-sided arrows that can pierce through armor. You can have a feast." Seeing the crossbows, Werner’s eyes turned red with want. But he became unsatisfied after gulping. "There aren’t enough bows."

"Military crossbows are different from regular bows. With intense use, each bow can be used fifty times. As a former soldier, you should know this. You might not even use a bow fifty times in a battle. How is it not enough?" Hall asked.

Werner chuckled and did not reply. He wielded the sabre. The sword was a head taller than him but it danced like a stalk of hay in his hands and left a gash in the wall easily.

Finally, Werner grunted and slammed the sword down. With a crack, the heavy sword buried deep into the stone. It went past the foundations and was buried to the hilt. For a soldier, weapons were more tempting than women, especially something as powerful as this blade. It was more satisfying than the most beautiful and seductive woman.

Ignoring his impatient underlings, Werner glanced at Hall and sighed meaningfully. "This is all good stuff. Are you really sure about giving it to us?"

"Aren’t weapons like utensils to the Asgardians?" Hall answered, ignoring the question. "You don’t see such a large feast every day. The parliament has already prepared the plates and utensils. How much you can eat depends on yourself." As soon as he spoke, the Asgardians laughed, caressing their blades.

"Of course." The scar on Werner’s face seemed to bleed with excitement. "Asgardians are eternally hungry. We will never be satisfied!"

Seeing their excitement, disdain flashed past Hall’s eyes, but he continued smiling warmly. He guided Werner to the last box. "Those are all for your men. Your gift is here."

Unlike the other wooden boxes, this one was made of metal. It was seamless and if not for the keyhole, Werner would have thought that it was a solid clump of metal. When the box was opened, he practically stopped breathing.

Inside the box was a puddle of clear liquid with a subtle harsh smell. But compared to the giant object submerged in the liquid, the smell was nothing. Submerged in the liquid was a sleeping "steel giant." This armor was able to cover his entire body, but it was more special and menacing than regular armor. The spikes on the helmet were close to two meters tall. With the care of the liquid, it shone like new, as if it had just come out of the factory; however, one could vaguely see scratches and marks from the battlefield.

On the armor’s back, there were two giant sockets where there should have been wings. But even without the wings, this "giant" was still fear-inducing. Submerged in the oil, it looked as if it was sleeping, and even heavy breathing would wake it from its dreams and…begin killing!

"This…" Werner stroked the metal shell with trembling fingers. "Is this the archangel armor?"

Behind him, Hall laughed. "Yes."

Centuries ago, alchemists of the Royal Research Institution used the blueprint of the Round Table Knights’ holy armor to create the first generation of archangel armor. As limited edition armaments, they became a frightful site on the battlefield. When the royal knights rode into battle with archangel armor, they brought with them eternal death and nightmares.

Thirty years ago, when Anglo and the Burgundy Empire began to fight over historical remains, six knights in archangel armor were ordered to guard the Voodoo Crypt with their lives. Their opponent was the Burgundian Plantanaget Legion.

The archangels guarded for four days and nights. The Plantanaget Legion charged sixteen times and left behind sixteen layers of corpses. Finally, the legion from the Burgundian capital arrived and took control of the historical site. At that time, the Anglo reinforcements were only a few hundred kilometers away. If they had another archangel armor, the result would be entirely different.

"Mr. Werner, what do you think? Are you satisfied with this gift?" Hall asked with a smile. "It’s an old model from the first generation and doesn’t have the aid of wings, but the parliament really worked hard on this gift."

Werner stared at the armor in pure ecstasy. Finally, he calmed down and shut the box. He took a deep breath and exhaled out the heat in his body. "Tell the parliament that I’m very satisfied." Lowering his head, he leered in the darkness. "I’ll use it to take the Shaman’s head."

Hall smiled. Putting on his hat, he nodded and left.

--

Today was a busy day for Avalon. Busy figures rushed down the streets and carriages galloped down the roads. They passed down order after order, list after list. Those that received an order set out to kill. Those whose name appeared on the list would be killed. The warehouses in the pier, the secret rooms of Ganlu City, the cold and elegant mansions…

Strong servants moved heavy wooden boxes to the last stop before the battlefield. They distributed these "toys" amongst the men who had nothing but their lives. The entire city was filled with a dangerous feeling. It was the feeling suffused with the rotting smell of the sewer and spread with the wind—it was bloody. Night fell gradually, darkening gradually.

--

"Is Bai Xi sleeping?"

"You took her out to shop for the entire day. She started yawning as soon as she got back and is probably sleeping now. She was exhausted."

"She’ll probably have a good dream, right?" With a sigh, Ye Qingxuan bid Charles farewell, put on his hunting hat, and pushed the door open.

"Hey, Yezi," Charles called behind him.

"Yeah?" The youth looked back.

Charles shook the crystal ball in his hands and stated, "A mysterious power told me that today’s a bad day. Why don’t you change the date?"

"When did you start learning fortune telling like a witch?"

"I learned by myself." Charles’s expression was serious.

"Senior, your research is never reliable and you spend your days trying to figure out how to blow up the school. I don’t really trust stuff that you learn by yourself." Seeing Charles’s complicated expression, Ye Qingxuan could not help but laugh. "Don’t worry. I’ll be back as soon as I get it done. If…I’m successful, I probably won’t have to go out at night anymore."

Charles watched as the youth walked into the distance. He tossed the crystal ball away and got onto the couch, looking out the window. The starless night sky was pure black, like a slab of steel in the air.

But in Charles’s eyes, the clouds seemed to be on fire and shone with a vague redness. The red firelight shrouded the entire city. When it fell onto the ground, the entire world seemed to go up in flames. "Did something happen?" He closed his eyes, no longer listening to the faint roars and wails in the wind. He murmured, "…Even Avalon turned into this mess. F*ck."

--

It was late at night. The entire sky was covered in black clouds. The moon and stars were hidden under the layer of charcoal. One could vaguely hear the crashing of ocean waves. The city built on the mountainside was submerged in darkness. The sharp shadow seemed to pierce into the clouds, reaching into the sky. It was sharp as a blade.

At the very bottom of the city, under the towering mountain, there were no longer any buildings. There was only the sound of the rising tide and the roaring of water. Under the opened black gate, murky water rushed into the ocean. The splashes smelled foul and fell onto the rusted gate. The mighty gate trembled and wailed.

This was the Thames Gate, where the Thames River flowed into the ocean. The complicated sewage system under Avalon grouped here. Everything hidden under the city would rush into the ocean here with the murky waters. The foul and decaying smell emanated.

Beside the flowing water was an old man, sitting on a weathered rock. He looked like a homeless man, killing time with boredom.

Beside him, Ghosthand stood in the mud. Cocking his head, he lit his pipe and inhaled before letting out a cloud of smoke.

All that could be heard in the silence was the unclear melody coming from the Shaman. It was distant and hoarse, like a traveler reminiscing on his hometown. And so the song was lonely.

In the long night, the clock at the top of the mountain suddenly rang midnight. The thunderous sound spread, resonating with the steel gate beside them. The gate began to tremble and countless wheels and gears began to turn. The first tunnel opened, then the second, and the third…The time for discharging had come. The current of the Thames River become frenzied. The crashing of waves came from the darkness behind the steel gate. As if a copper kettle was boiling, bubbles appeared and the foul smell surged in the wind.

Boom! A thunderous boom sounded in the towering city. Firelight appeared in the darkness of downtown. The fire appeared out of nowhere and burned without restraint, as if it was the only light in the dark world.

The light illuminated the din of the fighting and faint roars of anger. Dilapidated buildings wailed and collapsed in the fire. This was only the beginning.

Quickly, the second, third, fourth…balls of fire lit up continuously throughout the vast downtown district. It was the angry thugs setting fire everywhere.

The sea wind brought with it hoarse roars and the clanging of weapons. The serenity was instantly shattered. Illuminated by the firelight, commotion and chaos spread at an incredible speed. Countless buildings were set aflame. No matter if they were low huts, old buildings or the luxurious Ganlu City, all were lit on fire.

The thugs carried their weapons onto the streets in groups, smashing their enemies’ territory, stealing loot and finally setting everything on fire. The fighting that had always been behind the scenes now broke through the darkness and unfolded in every corner of downtown.

The burning light illuminated the dark city. The sharp city now looked like a fiery blade, piercing into the sky. Behind the towering city walls, the nearby midtown and high-up uptown seemed to still be asleep. They opened an eye coldly, gazing as the beggars killed each other.

The Shaman’s white hair was illuminated by the firelight. "Haven’t seen such a commotion in years, huh?" he murmured, raising his eyes. "The parliament’s defense is scary. It’s like they want to burn the entire city."

"They want to fight to the death." Ghosthand furrowed his brows. "Otherwise, their power in downtown will be wiped out by us. This time, they won’t quit until you die."

"Then let them come. My head is here." The Shaman laughed loudly and produced a metal flask from his pocket. He unscrewed the lid and drank the cold wine. The wine entered his throat like a blazing sword, almost burning his soul.

"Ghosthand, where are my knights?"

"In the flames."

"Are they fighting?"

"Yes."

"Are they dying?"

"Yes."

"They’re dying because of me." The Shaman emptied the wine in the flagon and tossed it into the murky waters. "Let me watch as they die." He reached out and took the heavy wooden drum from Ghosthand. He caressed the taut skin.

The old drum was covered with scorch marks and cracks. One could vaguely see the design on it, but it was unclear. It had aged along with its owner.

The Shaman sat cross-legged on the rock with the wooden drum in his arms. Like a warlock from the Dark World, he stared into the blazing fire and began beating the drum.

The drum beats were distant and blurry, like faint heartbeats from the underworld.

The old man seemed to be submerged in the drunkenness. He beat the drum and, feeling the unsteady rhythm, he sang hoarsely, "In the turmoil, in the brightness, in the breathing that moves all! Sink—drown—faint—go toward the carefree world!"

Boom! The flow of murky water surged! The Thames Gate shuddered and the water built up behind it followed the riverbed and rushed into the ocean. The darkness hidden under Avalon was taken with it, forming ripples in the ocean as the foul smell burst from the gate. The gate was finally opened and water from nineteen tunnels joined together, tilting without restraint.

The burning smell of fire came with the water, as well as ashy remains. Something seemed to appear within the foul yellow water. Angry winds tore apart the black clouds. Cold moonlight fell from the sky, illuminating the faces and white bones in the water. Dozens? Hundreds? Or was it thousands?!

An endless stream of bones and remains flowed from the darkness, entering the ocean. It was a river of…corpses!

In the roaring waters, the broken bodies rolled, revealing white bones, decaying intestines and blind eyes. The bodies had come from all directions. They had been thrown down from every sewer, tossing and turning in the turbid waters, brewing in Avalon’s guts, until they finally rushed out from the Thames Gate!

The Thames River was a hardworking bone collector. It collected the skeletons and corpses of those that had died in the fighting and kept them like treasures. It enjoyed their hopeless eyes, sucked away their last bits of warmth, before tossing them to the side without any nostalgia.

On the bank of the impatient waters, the Shaman looked down on the pairs of dull eyes as he sang the funeral song. "We will all die and we shall never part again. Forever, forever, for eternity, we will never wake, never fear…"

The broken voice melted into the darkness and spread in the foul remains of despair. It guided the angry souls into the dark world. The corpses floated into the ocean.