plumnovel #166 - One Step Away [5k HD Remastered Version]
#166 - One Step Away [5k HD Remastered Version]
Hiding in a deserted little courtyard, D'Artagnan paced anxiously back and forth.
The wooden door creaked open, and a servant peered around before stepping inside.
D'Artagnan rushed towards the returning servant, impatiently asking, "What are they singing? What are they singing?"
The servant looked at the Duke with a troubled expression: "The refugees are saying you're a devil."
"Me? Ha, me, me, I'm a devil?" D'Artagnan asked, pointing at himself in disbelief. "If I hadn't taken in these refugees, they would have starved to death in the wilderness. And now I'm the devil."
Isn't it because it's convenient for you to use the Green-Clothed Pied Piper to capture people? The servant rolled his eyes inwardly.
"Forget that. What's the situation?"
The servant replied with difficulty, "Ever since the city hall was breached, the roads are filled with rioters, not just from outside the city, but also laborers and even some artisan citizens from within..."
"...Kill the devils without looking back!"
A clear shout came from outside the wall, and the Duke darted into the bushes of the small garden, leaving only his trembling backside exposed.
The servant helplessly stepped forward and helped up the Duke, who was pale with fright: "They're just passing by."
"That's good, that's good," D'Artagnan said, patting his chest as he gasped for breath. "Can we keep hiding?"
"Probably not. If they occupy the entire city, we'll be trapped in this little courtyard with no way to escape."
"The lowly refugees! I treated them so well! Is this how they repay me?" D'Artagnan cursed in exasperation.
To be driven out of his own home and forced to run around hiding—he had never been in such a situation before.
Given the circumstances, D'Artagnan had no choice but to carefully lead his knights out of the courtyard and charge towards the castle.
Along the dark alleys, Duke D'Artagnan cautiously made his way to the edge of the moat.
At this moment, thousands of refugees and mercenaries were engaged in a fierce battle along the streets, and the shriek of the holy gun rang out from time to time.
Seeing that the front of the castle was already blocked by the refugee army, D'Artagnan immediately wanted to turn around and flee, but then he remembered that the entire Jeanne d'Arc was controlled by the Salvation Army, making escape to the outside almost impossible.
Staying in the castle and waiting for the Church's army to arrive might offer a glimmer of hope.
D'Artagnan even regretted that he shouldn't have gone to meet Barmanda.
However, seeing the current scene, he was also somewhat grateful. Fortunately, he had come to his senses halfway, or he would have been trapped by the refugee army.
Scattered knights charged through the crowd, but they were much more cautious than before, not daring to charge too deep into the crowd or fight too fiercely.
You see, unlike before, if they fell from their horses at this time, the devil wind would blow, and there would be no way to fight their way out.
Walking on the darkest path, Duke D'Artagnan lowered his body, afraid of being discovered by anyone.
But while he was afraid of being exposed, he was even more afraid of being accidentally injured. In the end, he still foolishly brought twenty knights, and they were discovered by the refugees before they even got close.
Although not everyone had seen the Duke's true face, at least the nearby citizens had.
They hid in their houses, stood by the windows, and, pinching their throats, shouted to the refugees below: "The one in the red robe is the Duke! That's D'Artagnan!"
The battlefield fell silent for half a second, and everyone's eyes focused on D'Artagnan.
Frantically taking off the red clothes he was wearing, D'Artagnan shook the reins and shouted, "Go!"
The refugees immediately swarmed forward, madly shouting and cursing at D'Artagnan, throwing mud, dung, and stones at him.
D'Artagnan crawled forward on his horse in a sorry state, and even one of the guarding knights was hit in the neck by iron sand shrapnel and fell from his horse.
"Damn it, damn it," the Duke cursed, being led forward by the reins by a knight, lying on the horse's back without even daring to raise his head.
That beautiful white silk underwear was stained brown-yellow by feces and mud, almost turning into a yellow robe.
But most of the holy gunners and veteran soldiers had gone to besiege the city hall, and most of those here were local farmers from Jeanne d'Arc.
Although their hatred was deeper, in the end, without those clockwork guns and spears, they still couldn't stop the Duke, and D'Artagnan successfully broke through the outermost barrier.
But before D'Artagnan could breathe a sigh of relief, a life-threatening sharp voice shouted again: "The one wearing yellowish-white silk is the Duke! That's the Duke!"
Grabbing a jacket from a servant and warming up the cold feces, D'Artagnan shouted in exasperation, "Hurry up! What are you waiting for?"
"Lord D'Artagnan, Lord D'Artagnan."
In the midst of the chaotic crowd, hundreds of mercenaries formed a square formation and fought their way to D'Artagnan's side against the flow of people.
Holding the dish-shaped iron helmet on his head, a mercenary captain wearing a red or blood-stained jacket came to the Duke's horse.
"Duke, we're here to pick you up."
"Good, good, good," D'Artagnan ran over on his horse in a panic. He patted the mercenary captain's shoulder, "If I can survive this ordeal, I will make you a baron!"
"That would be my greatest honor."
Under the gun formation of the Frankish mercenaries, D'Artagnan struggled forward in the surging crowd, and the sound of clockwork guns rang out from time to time.
Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards...
A distance that could be covered in an instant when charging on horseback was so far away for D'Artagnan.
He could clearly see the scene in front of the castle.
In front of the castle's drawbridge, three hundred Frankish mercenaries were lined up in a semi-circular formation, stabbing at the refugees opposite with long spears.
In the narrow battle formation, one person fell with each thrust of the long spear, and several mercenaries screamed, clutching their arms and bodies with each shot of the gun.
But the holy gunners were, after all, in the minority. Although they kept squeezing the mercenaries, they still failed to break through their line of defense.
"Bang!" A stray bullet pierced the neck of D'Artagnan's warhorse.
The Duke on the horse let out a scream, and then the whole person fell off the saddle as if hit by an invisible giant fist.
Visibly, bright red blood had already filled his expensive woolen trousers.
Clutching his right leg, the Duke knew he couldn't ride a horse anymore. He gritted his teeth, held on to the servant's arm, and shouted to the knights.
"You cover our retreat."
Faster, faster!
Cold sweat flowed from the Duke's forehead. Every step he took felt like a knife was cutting the flesh on his thigh.
"The Duke is there! Kill!"
But before they could take a few steps, hundreds of long spears rushed out from nearby, clearly the Salvation Army had discovered the Duke.
In the sound of gunfire, the Duke was so frightened that he fell directly to the ground, while the mercenaries began a duel with the veteran spear soldiers in front of them.
The back-and-forth crowd kept trampling, and the Duke, lying on the ground, was dizzy and didn't know how many feet had stepped on or kicked him.
Kneeling on the ground, crawling clumsily between people's crotches and knees.
D'Artagnan crawled forward regardless, blood flowing from his thighs to his knees, leaving kneeling marks on the ground.
His face was bruised, his ankle was sprained by someone stepping on it, and with his butt sticking out, D'Artagnan crawled towards the final safe haven.
No one could have imagined that this beggar crawling on the ground in a sorry state, covered in dirty mud, would be Duke D'Artagnan.
Looking at the increasingly clear shoes of the mercenaries, D'Artagnan gritted his teeth.
One step, just one step away from entering the protection of the mercenaries' gun formation, just one step.
Just within reach.
"Want to escape?!"
A huge force came from his waist, and D'Artagnan's eyes suddenly spun.
After being knocked heavily to the ground, he looked up with a grimace, only to see an old priest with a naked upper body.
He had a broken cross hanging around his neck, and his body was covered with various wounds, large and small.
"Got you!" Cosette gave D'Artagnan a chilling smile.
"Let me go." Enraged, D'Artagnan looked at the open space in front of the castle gate, less than five yards away, and struggled frantically, "Damn commoner, let me go."
Although the forty-year-old priest was seriously injured, the young and strong D'Artagnan couldn't break free from his restraint.
D'Artagnan frantically punched Cosette's face. The usually weak old Cosette was now as hard as a rock, holding D'Artagnan's waist firmly with both hands.
Seeing that he couldn't pry Cosette's hands apart, D'Artagnan turned to begging: "What do you want? What do you want? I'll promise you anything. Do you want money? I'll give it to you."
"Money?" Cosette smiled through gritted teeth, "What money do I want?"
"Then I can bestow a title on you. Do you like women? I have all kinds of beauties..." D'Artagnan said in almost the most humble posture.
"Hahahaha cough cough cough hahaha." Cosette laughed while coughing.
"What do you take us for? What do you take us for?!" Locking the Duke's waist, Cosette's eyes filled with tears for the first time since learning of his daughter's death, "We're not pigs, not sheep, we have feelings too! We're human!"
Cosette's eyes turned red, but those cloudy eyes stared at D'Artagnan with tears.
"I'm just a pig butcher, I haven't read the scriptures, and I don't know any great truths, but I know that when piglets are taken away, the old sow will desperately try to bite people!"
A warhorse's hoof passed by, breaking Cosette's thigh, but the expression on his face didn't change at all.
This middle-aged man, who had always been on the fence, held the Duke's waist tightly, with unparalleled determination: "I went through so much hardship to get here. How much suffering and difficulty have I endured?"
A soldier pierced Cosette's thigh with a short sword, and he roared at D'Artagnan as if he couldn't feel the pain: "What do you think I want? Huh? What do you think I want?"
"I don't want money! I don't want a title! I don't want women!"
I want to vent my anger. I want Lena and Anna to know that Papa hasn't forgotten. Papa will definitely, definitely, definitely avenge you!"
He sniffed hard, sucking the blood, snot, and tears into his stomach, his mouth trembling, trying to swallow all the sobs and fear back into his stomach.
"Duke, even an old sow bites hard!"
The unique roar of the raised gun rang out, and the first knight fell from his horse.
D'Artagnan looked up in despair. From the left side of the road, the Salvation flag representing Hohen was already raised high. On the right side of the road, a strong white light enveloped the Holy Grail battle flag of Saint Jeanne, surging along with the crowd.
The mercenary semi-circular gun formation, five yards away, was clearly very close, but it seemed like an insurmountable barrier.
As the sounds of clockwork guns rang out, more mercenaries and knights fell in response. Then, perhaps one of the knights started it, all the knights scattered and fled into the alley.
The guards and nobles in the castle, seeing that the situation was not right, actually raised the drawbridge directly.
"Raise the drawbridge! Close the city gate!"
In the creaking sound of the winch, the iron cable pulled the drawbridge up slowly. The mercenaries on the shore wanted to retreat to the drawbridge, but when they retreated, they found that there was nothing under their feet.
The mercenaries in the back row turned their heads one after another, only to find that the drawbridge, which was supposed to be their escape route, was slowly rising.
"The bridge, look, the bridge is rising."
"We haven't gotten on the bridge yet, we haven't gotten on the bridge."
Some mercenaries who didn't give up tried to jump from the shore and grab the edge of the drawbridge, but most of them jumped directly into the moat.
Even those who grabbed the edge of the drawbridge became easy targets for the holy gunners.
As the moon gradually sank towards the western plains, the soldiers on the street either fled or surrendered, were stripped naked, and were taken to the dungeon.
Rushing off his horse from a distance, Hohen did not immediately check on D'Artagnan, who was being held down by two strong men with their knees on his neck, but instead looked at Cosette lying on the ground.
The blood holes and wounds on his body were covered with linen gauze, but the wounds hardly seemed to bleed anymore.
"Your Majesty, the Duke... was he captured?"
Kneeling on the ground, Hohen grabbed Cosette's hand, his voice unusually dry: "He was captured. You captured him with your own hands. He's right there."
"Your Majesty... do you think... Lena and Anna will... will they blame me?"
"They are all good children. You caught the murderer. They will definitely be proud of you."
"But the murderer... hasn't been completely caught... has he?"
From the end of the road, the short Armand had a bruise on the corner of his eye, apparently he had bumped into something just now. He ran over quickly, but when he got close, he didn't dare to approach.
"Armand... my... my child." Cosette reached out, wanting to touch Armand's face, but his hand couldn't reach high.
Armand immediately leaned his head over. Unlike Hohen, he couldn't speak clearly: "Cosette Papa, I'm here."
In the previous battle, Cosette had suffered serious injuries all over his body, and later his thigh and spine were broken by a warhorse. The blood had been flowing until now, and he could no longer be saved.
"I'm sorry... actually... I've always thought of you... cough cough... as... as my... own son..."
"I know, I know. I am your own son. You supported me to go to church school and helped me bribe the dean to let me out early..."
"Actually... before Lena and... Anna... were born, I... I always wanted... a boy... but after my two little angels... were born... I didn't care anymore."
Holding Cosette's hand, Armand couldn't stop the tears from the corners of his eyes. He didn't know how to answer.
"Armand, my child, I haven't given you a baptismal name yet, have I?" Suddenly, Cosette's words became fluent, and his eyes were shining.
"No, no."
"I spent 20 dinars at the bishop's to get a church name before, originally intended for my own son... cough cough cough cough, I'll give it to you."
"Speak," Armand's voice trembled.
"Richelieu." Cosay glanced at Armand, then at Horn beside him, "That church name is Richelieu..."
"Okay." Armand wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, "From now on, I will be called Richelieu."
Cosay didn't reply; he stared blankly at the sky, smiling, and slowly closed his eyes.
Armand, no, Richelieu's cries were like a flood that had burst its banks, flowing recklessly from his lungs to his mouth.
At that same moment, a milky white light appeared on the distant mountains.
The golden wheel of the sun leaped out from behind the mountains, dispelling the madness and bloodshed of the night.
Dawn had arrived.
The golden morning light fell on the shoulders and faces of every refugee, each bearing wounds and supporting one another, yet they still couldn't believe it.
Had they really defeated so many extraordinary knights? Had they really defeated the Duke? Had they really seized the entire Jeanne d'Arc Fortress?
The Blood Winter Riot, a feat that three hundred thousand farmers had failed to achieve, had they really done it?
But at this moment, they felt somewhat lost.
Several guards escorted Danai behind them, Horn strode forward, the black and red Savior Flag already fluttering on the roof of the Jeanne d'Arc Fortress church.
Through the windows of the citizens, Horn could vaguely see their blurred, peeking faces.
Stepping on the cobblestone ground of the citizens' road, it was still the same street as before, but it was no longer the same street.
When those refugees gathered in the small square at the entrance of the castle, those who couldn't see would step on the roofs and climb the trees, craning their necks to look over here.
Danai was bound with his hands, his crotch already soaked with excrement and urine.
Perhaps knowing that death was inevitable, Danai cursed at Horn all the way.
"Do you think everything will be fine after killing me?"
"There are also the Church and Prince Condé's armies, they will arrive in three days, you will all die, wuwuwu--"
A rag was stuffed into the Duke's mouth, and he was kicked to his knees.
"Fellow Believers..."
Facing tens of thousands of eyes, Horn walked behind the Duke, stepped on the Duke's back with his right foot, and stopped halfway through his sentence.
Most of the time, Horn knew what he should say, but at this moment, he unusually stopped speaking.
He drew out the Blood Cloud from his waist and gently flicked it.
"Ding--Zheng--"
After the crisp sound, Horn twitched his nose, not knowing whether he was laughing at himself or at the sword:
"You bastards, you've really left me with a big problem."
Stepping on the Duke's scapula, pressing his head deeply into the mud, Horn raised the Blood Cloud high in his hand: "Fellow Believers..."
The Blood Cloud reflected the rising sun, gently waving down, Horn casually beheaded this piece of trash.
Easily, as if the bloodstains all over the street had flowed out of thin air.
Raising the Duke's head high, allowing his terrified face to bathe in the sunlight.
Although Horn tried his best to hide it, his voice still carried a trace of crying that he himself had not noticed:
"The devil has been executed!"
"We have won!"