The Big Windmill

Inside the tavern hall.

After a brief silence, the knight spoke.

“Kill her!”

The others moved in unison the instant the order was given.

The sound of swords unsheathing rang out through the air.

“Kill!”

The three men in front raised their shields, sealing off the passage side-by-side before charging at Rosie, their steps steady and perfectly synchronized.

The men behind followed closely, brandishing their swords and closing in from all directions.

Against a fully armored enemy wearing plate armor, fighting one-on-one was out of the question. The only way to win easily was to swarm them together, knock them down, and then dismember them.

Just by looking at their coordination, it was obvious this wasn't their first time doing this.

Rosie said nothing.

Gripping the meteoric iron sword with both hands, she drew the tip back like a bowstring pulled to its absolute limit. In the next instant, she lunged forward, unleashing her Knight technique—Whirlwind Attack.

Her entire body spun at high speed like a top, the meteoric iron sword tracing a perfect arc with her at the center.

First came the sound of splintering wood as shields shattered, followed by the sharp screech of slicing metal, and finally, the wet thuds of the blade cleaving through flesh and bone.

These sounds blended together in a rapid, dense, and wet symphony of carnage.

Blood sprayed, and severed limbs flew.

The first man to charge was cleaved in two along with his shield. His shield-bearing arm flew off with the shattered wood, and a massive gash tore open his chest, spilling a dark pool of liquid as he collapsed.

The second man was the fastest and closest. He and his shield were sliced clean in half at the waist; his upper torso slid across the wooden floor, leaving a trail of blood droplets.

The edge of the third man's shield had a corner sheared off by the blade. With undiminished momentum, the tip of the sword pierced through the gap, cleanly taking off his head.

The head spun in the air before rolling onto the floor.

The men behind only saw a flash of greenish sword light before the front line instantly dissolved into a bloodbath.

This brutal, devastating strike caused their charge to falter.

But Rosie did not stop.

Before the last corpse could even hit the ground, she had already unleashed Charge.

The floorboards splintered slightly as her figure blurred, and when she reappeared, she was already right in front of the knight.

The knight had just grabbed his helmet from the table and hadn't even had time to put it on when the greenish sword light flashed before his eyes.

The blade sank into his eye socket, piercing effortlessly all the way to the back of his skull.

The helmet slipped from his grasp and clattered loudly onto the floorboards.

Rosie yanked the blade out, and the knight's body crashed backward onto the floor.

Even in death, a trace of confusion lingered on his face—how could someone in full plate armor move so fast?

Rosie retrieved her blade and spun around, charging at the remaining men who stood frozen by their leader's sudden death.

Her swordsmanship was simple and unadorned, devoid of flashy techniques or wasted movements.

There was only one phrase to describe it: the big windmill spins round and round!

The high-speed spinning blade hacked through limbs, cleaved open chests, and severed heads...

Without hesitation, mercy, or pity, the steel windmill shredded every human body it touched.

“Mercy!” someone tried to beg.

A flash of sword light, and another head flew.

In the blink of an eye, the hall was carpeted with corpses.

Severed limbs, blood, and gore painted the entire tavern hall beyond recognition, like randomly splattered paint.

Tables and chairs were covered in organs and messy entrails.

The tavern, which had been noisy just moments ago, was now dead silent.

The metallic tang of blood mixed with the stench of ruptured innards, producing a sickening odor that made one want to vomit.

The tavern worker cowered in the shadows beneath the counter, trembling violently with his hands over his head, not daring to steal a single glance.

His crotch was soaked, a yellow puddle slowly spreading across the wooden floor.

Unhurriedly, Rosie bent down, tore off a piece of clothing from the nearest corpse, and wiped the blood off her meteoric iron sword.

Then, she began looting the corpses.

The lackeys didn't have much money, only some loose silver coins.

But the leading knight was different. He carried a bulging leather pouch filled entirely with gold coins, which she promptly pocketed.

Then, Rosie tossed all the silver coins she had gathered onto the counter. There were over a hundred of them.

“Settle the bill. This should cover the broken furniture and the cleanup. Is it enough?” Rosie's voice was calm.

Looking at the blood-drenched god of death in plate armor, the worker stammered, “Enough... it's enough... My Lord.”

Rosie didn't spare him another glance, turning to head up the stairs.

The wooden steps groaned under her iron boots.

She arrived outside Rhine's room and pushed open the damaged door to enter.

Rhine was sitting by the bedside, looking anxiously at the person on the bed.

When she saw the blood-red plate armor enter, she jumped up in alarm.

Only then did she recognize it was Rosie.

“A-Are you alright?”

Rhine gasped, wondering if Rosie had just paid a visit to a slaughterhouse.

“I'm fine. It's not my blood,” Rosie said calmly.

Then she looked at the maid on the bed.

Daisy had a patch of bright red blood on her forehead, which looked rather frightening under the oil lamp. But upon closer inspection, it was just a scrape, though the area around the wound was somewhat swollen.

She had likely been struck with a sword hilt or the flat of a blade, causing temporary unconsciousness.

“Please, save her,” Rhine pleaded.

Rosie said, “Her injury isn't serious, don't worry. Just get some water to wipe her down. If she still doesn't wake up after a while, we'll see.”

Rhine nodded, scooped some water from a nearby wooden bucket, wetted a cloth, and gently wiped Daisy's forehead and cheeks.

Rosie walked back to her own room, buckled her belt containing her daggers, and sheathed her meteoric iron sword, hanging it at her waist.

She casually grabbed a blanket and gave her armor a quick wipe—she had already paid for the damages, after all.

Then, she threw her waterproof cloak over herself, picked up her travel pack, and returned to the two women's room.

On the bed, Daisy had already woken up.

She leaned against the headboard, clutching her forehead and grimacing in pain while propping herself up with her other hand on the edge of the bed.

Seeing Rosie enter, she lowered her hand and spoke resentfully, “Those damn bastards actually hit me in the head! Did you finish them off?”

“They're all dead. Don't worry,” Rosie said with a nod.

“Good riddance! How dare they target the lady!”

Daisy spoke bitterly, gritting her teeth, but hissed as the movement aggravated the wound on her forehead.

Rosie asked them, “Why were they trying to capture you?”

If their encounter with the bandits during the day had been a coincidence, the attack tonight was definitely premeditated.

They had headed straight for Rhine's room with a clear target.

Rosie being attacked was also highly likely because they mistook her for Rhine's guard.

Two ambush attempts in a single day was too much to be a mere coincidence.

Rhine shook her head. “I don't know.”

Daisy also shook her head. “This isn't the first time the lady and I have traveled, so I don't know why we're being targeted this time.”

“Never mind. For safety's sake, we should leave this place as soon as possible,” Rosie said.

She didn't press further, but she had a good idea of what was going on.

No matter how she looked at it, these attackers didn't seem like ordinary bandits. They behaved more like mercenaries working for pay.

Though, they could also be private soldiers kept by some noble.

But Rosie didn't care about whatever conspiracy was happening behind the scenes. As long as she delivered them home and got her hard-earned reward, she would wash her hands of this.

The two women quickly packed their things and followed Rosie downstairs.

When they reached the hall, Rhine saw the gruesome scene of scattered corpses and utter devastation.

Her steps faltered, and she bent over, retching and throwing up.

Daisy also covered her mouth, her face pale, but she managed to hold it in.

Seeing Rosie kill the bandits during the day had been hard enough to stomach, but compared to the sight before them, that was child's play.

The scene was as bloody as a human slaughterhouse.

“Let's go. I've already settled the bill.”

Rosie pushed open the tavern door, and the cold wind rushed in, instantly dispersing much of the foul stench inside.

The two women hurried out, stepping into the cold night and taking deep breaths of fresh air.

In the stable next to the tavern, there were several extra horses and a carriage, which seemed to have been brought by that group.

These horses could have counted as extra loot, but since she was currently escorting people, she decided it wasn't worth the hassle.

She led Carrot out and walked toward the tavern gate.

“Let's go.”

She opened the gate, confirmed there were no ambushes outside, and turned to nod at the two women.

The two women also mounted their respective horses and followed Rosie out of the gate.

This time, Rhine didn't make Daisy bring the packhorse along, as it would only slow down the three of them.

Rosie swung onto her horse, pulled the reins, took one last look back at the tavern, and nudged her horse's flanks. “Let's move.”

Carrot neighed, raising its hooves, and charged into the night.

Rhine and Daisy's horses followed closely behind. The three riders formed a single line, galloping down the road toward the south.

The sound of galloping hooves gradually faded into the night, leaving the tavern's blood and death far behind.