CHAPTER 640: CHAPTER 386: THE WOMAN IN TEARS

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Behind the expert stood a young woman, trembling incessantly. Her eyes darted in every direction, always fearful that Yan Xiaobao might appear at any moment to either mock her or thank her for her involvement in his plans. Though such thoughts were completely irrational, Li Meilin couldn’t think clearly; her mind was consumed entirely by guilt over her betrayal.

"I didn’t mean to do it," she muttered under her breath, biting her lip. Tears burned in her eyes. "I didn’t know I was helping the enemy," she continued, her voice choked by an emotional outburst. The words became incoherent, barely audible to anyone nearby.

The expert leading her began to feel increasingly uneasy. He remembered when Li Meilin was a resolute and unyielding woman—someone who would do anything for the Emperor. But now, she was nothing more than a bundle of shattered nerves, a person on the brink of madness.

As the expert spotted the Great Marshall’s tent in the distance, he heaved a sigh of relief and unconsciously quickened his steps. He tugged along the sobbing woman whose quiet muttering went unnoticed by everyone around her.

Li Meilin showed no change in her trembling demeanor. When the Great Marshall saw her, he let out a deep sigh. It was immediately evident to him that extracting any useful information from her would be impossible.

"Ms. Li," he called gently. When the woman flinched as if struck, he sighed once more. Her wide, frightened eyes resembled those of a desperate deer cornered with no escape. Her body quaked uncontrollably, her lips opening and closing in silent attempts to speak, though no sound escaped.

"I truly am sorry, Ms. Li," the Great Marshall continued, his voice soft. "But I believe this is likely for the best. I’ve been told it won’t hurt, though I can’t offer you any guarantees beyond the fact that you will no longer feel fear." With that, he gently guided her to a nearby chair. The woman looked around with wide, tearful eyes, her beautiful face contorted with anxiety. A shadow of distrust was evident, and as the last fragments of rational thought surfaced within her, it was clear they were accompanied by an undercurrent of terror.

The Great Marshall rested a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head with a somber, weary smile. "This is not your fault," he said gently. "You acted under orders from that young man. He is far more adept at warfare than any of us ever imagined." He gave a bitter smile. "No one blames you, but for His Majesty’s sake, we must ensure that you remain of use. Tragically, as you are now, you’re of no value."

"Can I help?" she asked in a trembling voice, a glimmer of hope igniting in her eyes. The Great Marshall nodded with a faint smile. "It would be a tremendous service to His Majesty. All you need to do is sit here and let the Crusaders assist you."

Li Meilin’s face lit up like that of a child as soon as she learned she could be of help to His Majesty. Her joy was so overwhelming that she seemed to forget all the fears and worries that had consumed her.

"Stay in your seat and let these men take care of you," the Great Marshall instructed her, patting her head lightly before turning to leave the tent. As he exited, he made sure that no one outside could see into the tent. Standing at the entrance, he closed his eyes, his expression grave and discomforted. Passersby, curious about what might be happening inside, dared not voice their questions aloud.

A sudden, piercing scream shattered the camp’s silence. A number of guards rushed toward the sound, only to find the Great Marshall standing at the tent’s entrance. His hands gripped tightly at the tent’s flaps, preventing even the smallest glimpse inside to discern what might be happening.

As quickly as the scream had started, it abruptly ceased. Many of the experts questioned whether they had truly heard it at all.

Cold sweat beaded on the Great Marshall’s forehead as he too noticed the deafening silence. No sound came from within the tent—there was nothing. The surrounding atmosphere felt as still as a graveyard. Yet there was no mistaking it: just moments ago, Li Meilin had undeniably screamed.

Suddenly, the tent flap lifted, and the Great Marshall took four steps back as cloaked figures emerged one by one. His gaze swept over the group, and when he counted six cloaked individuals in total, he inhaled sharply. Not one of them spoke a word. They revealed no skin, no identifying features, and moved with eerie, deliberate slowness as they headed toward the Imperial Palace.

When the Great Marshall glanced back into the tent, he saw four drops of blood on the chair where Li Meilin had been sitting. Nothing could be more telling—both Li Meilin and the Crusaders had vanished. As for how they had done it, only the Crusaders knew.

Watching the Crusaders retreat toward the capital, the Great Marshall wiped the sweat from his brow, his expression tense. The bloodstained chair, almost as unsettling as the Crusaders themselves, lingered in his vision. Clapping his hands together to summon aid, he instructed two experts to enter the tent.

"Remove this chair and bring me a new one," he said gruffly. As the task was carried out, the Great Marshall quickly seated himself. Resting his hands over his eyes, he began to contemplate a way to deal with Yan Xiaobao.

"The fool crafted an impressive defense, but he made a crucial mistake," the Great Marshall said, a wry smile spreading across his face as realization struck. "Bring out the archers and advance them. Rain arrows upon these beasts trapped in their own defenses. To counter our archers, they’ll be forced to abandon the barriers they’ve built around themselves. Once they leave that narrow opening they’ve created, our soldiers will find it far easier to overwhelm them."