Chapter 68
Chapter 68
Episode 68.
Though the majority opinion favored withdrawing the frontlines at this point, the proposal divided opinions once more following Aiden's suggestion.
But the outcome was as clear as day.
At present, Aiden's influence was undeniably strong, and his argument was persuasive.
Moreover, with the Crown Prince—the supreme commander—having granted permission, it was highly likely to be carried out unless something extraordinary happened.
Aiden pulled out a piece of parchment from his coat and placed it on the table.
A rough draft outlining the organization of the Thousand-Man Unit. The bureaucrats would refine it further through discussion.
Aiden bowed courteously to Raphelat before approaching Yuriel.
"Your Holiness, please accompany me. And before that, there's something I must tell you. Excuse me."
Before Yuriel could even respond, he gently lifted her with one arm.
After silently seeking permission from the commanders with a glance, he immediately strode toward the railing.
Yuriel stared at Aiden with a thoroughly flustered expression.
Though she should have been accustomed to his abrupt actions by now, she still couldn't quite adjust.
Perhaps her resistance had weakened after not seeing him for over a year.
"W-Wait a moment—"
Aiden stepped off the railing into empty air.
A dizzying 35-meter drop. The sensation of her heart plummeting made her squeeze her eyes shut—but by then, Aiden had already landed.
Thud. His steel-like bones and flexible muscles absorbed all the impact.
His body had long since transcended human limits.
Aiden walked over to Petra and seated Yuriel in the saddle.
She looked down at him with a slightly trembling expression.
"...Please treat me normally. Just a little."
"My haste was inconsiderate. My apologies."
Before the pursuit unit could be organized, there were several matters Yuriel needed to be aware of.
Resurrection. The divine power obtained from the abyss would be used this time.
Aiden swiftly mounted Petra and headed toward Gielran's hut.
*The Ain were far more impulsive by nature compared to humans.
Their reckless charge at Aiden was proof of that.
But their hatred was slowly fading, overridden by the instinct to survive.
A single desperate will to live now dominated the beasts' minds.
The Ain sprinted madly across the snowy plains. Their terrified, dog-like expressions mirrored their primal instincts.
Their pitiful howls called out to Fenrir.
Thirty thousand cavalrymen raced alongside the beasts, herding them toward the barrier while ensuring they couldn't descend south into the Empire.
Countless footprints carved fiercely into the snow, stretching endlessly across the plains.
"Filthy slave bastards! Whose land did you dare covet?!"
"Die! Die!"
"Fire!"
Mounted archers loosed volleys of arrows as they rode.
Twang, twang, twang, twang, twang! Even random shots struck true—every inch of the dense beast horde was a target.
The humans who had once trembled in fear were nowhere to be found. As if enjoying a hunting season that came every five years, the soldiers gleefully slaughtered the beasts.
Spears plunged deep into flesh.
They chased down fleeing creatures, lopping off heads and trampling them under hooves.
"Kill them! Kill as many as you can!"
"No! Aim for their legs!"
"Yes! Target their thighs!"
When collecting the corpses later, those still alive could be sold as slaves for a hefty profit.
Laborers, pleasure slaves, specimens for mages' experiments, gladiators—the uses for Ain were plentiful, ensuring a lucrative haul.
The soldiers vented their battlefield stress without restraint.
Amid the indiscriminate massacre of the routed forces, a chilling howl snapped them back to their senses.
Though it came from far ahead, the sound pierced their minds like a blade.
Goosebumps erupted across the soldiers' skin.
"G-Greyfang."
"It's Greyfang!"
"Slow down!"
"Reduce speed!"
But it was too late. The riders' faces twisted in horror as something black approached from the direction of the dawnlight.
The ground trembled violently. Accumulated snow quivered, and horses reared in terror.
Even those at the rear could clearly see the approaching figure.
It was simply too massive.
A quadrupedal beast standing at least ten meters tall. Its pitch-black fur absorbed the twilight, gleaming faintly.
Blue eyes trailed afterimages like tails as it moved.
A cold howl echoed. Though not frenzied, the sound froze their hearts, leaving the riders rigid.
The lead horseman saw the black wolf.
Before he could even turn his mount, he was flung skyward—horse and all.
Clawed to ribbons, he sprayed crimson blood midair.
Chunks of flesh and entrails rained down on the riders behind him.
One soldier stared blankly at his comrade's intestines draped over his own neck.
Then he met the same fate.
Fenrir began tearing through the cavalry indiscriminately.
With each swing of its massive paws, horses and men were cleaved apart, littering the snowfield.
"Scatter! Spread out!"
"Disperse!"
At the commander's order, the riders fanned out wide.
Though most were panicking, their bodies remembered the drills repeated thousands of times.
"Widen the gaps! Maintain distance!"
"Do not engage the beast!"
A full retreat was impossible. If they withdrew now, the beasts might descend into the Empire.
But the hunting game was over. Their focus shifted to herding the creatures into the Eternal Snowfields as planned.
As thirty thousand troops spread out with fifteen-meter gaps between them, their formation blanketed the vast plains.
Unless densely packed, Fenrir couldn't slaughter them all.
The black wolf paused mid-battlefield, howling at the sky.
Simultaneously, thousands of greyfangs leaped over the barrier and charged across the snow.
At first glance, they seemed small—but that impression came solely from comparing them to Fenrir.
Even the greyfangs stood over three meters tall, making them undeniably lethal beasts beyond human reckoning.
They lunged at the cavalry, shredding nets effortlessly and biting horses and men in half.
Screams and blood painted the snow.
Commanders of battalions and regiments wheeled their mounts.
"Head downward!"
"Fall back to the encirclement lines!"
They recognized the cavalry's limits in driving the beasts alone.
Just a bit further down, they could merge with the originally deployed encirclement forces.
As the cavalry retreated, the fleeing Ain turned aggressive, targeting the humans.
But Fenrir slammed a paw down, stopping them.
It knew the cavalry weren't the end. Over three hundred thousand troops were advancing from behind.
They couldn't fight them all.
Fenrir had attacked the vanguard to halt excessive slaughter of its kin.
The wolf understood they'd lost the war—a result wrought by the single human who had slain a god.
The Nine-Tails' man. Fenrir repeated Aiden's name silently before turning to sprint beyond the encirclement.
It had already shattered the nearby barriers. The canyon's narrowest point would let any Ain cross easily.
An odd standoff unfolded between humans and Ain.
Archers hesitated to loose arrows despite enemies in sight, wary of the greyfangs.
The Ain could only watch as prey ran alongside them.
This scene arose from mutual understanding.
The humans sought to drive them beyond the barrier; the Ain needed to escape north into the Eternal Snowfields.
Fenrir's actions had made this clear. An unspoken proposal to avoid further bloodshed. Though hatred burned in both species' eyes, they raced across the snow without physical conflict.
Only glaring at one another.
*As Fenrir herded the Ain toward the snowfields, doubt crept in.
Why were the cavalry comprised solely of weaklings?
Among humans, there were undoubtedly powerful beings—Fenrir had sensed their presence even from afar.
Yet every rider before it now was ordinary.
Well-trained soldiers, perhaps stronger than average humans, but not the beings Fenrir had been wary of.
Those who had transcended human limits. The ones who had slain the Tiger were nowhere to be seen.
Common sense dictated at least one or two should have been among the cavalry.
If Fenrir chose to descend south now, they'd struggle to stop it.
Could this cavalry be herding the Ain into a trap? The thought struck suddenly.
If the earlier skirmish was a delay, and human snares were being set during that time, the pieces fit.
Moments later, the colossal wolf sprinted across the snow at full speed.
Several greyfangs followed.
Falling far behind the cavalry, Fenrir focused entirely on its sense of smell.
The stench of humans permeating the snow. It searched for a familiar scent among them.
Nothing. At least not ahead.
Perhaps mere paranoia? The wolf struggled to dismiss its unease.
*On a mountain ridge nestled within the Eternal Snowfields.
The Thousand-Man Unit—humanity's elite—stood encircling Aiden.
They waved their hands repeatedly, dispersing breath vapor to avoid alerting the wolf's keen nose.
Grand Marshal Landaren of the Magical Corps inscribed dense magic circles across Aiden's back. Other mages carved spells over his entire body.
Not a single patch of his skin remained unmarked.
Once the ritual ended, Aiden braced his arm against a rotten tree stump.
After tightly binding his elbow with rope, he looked at Cairo, captain of the Imperial Knights.
"Your turn."
With a gulp, Cairo drew a crimson greatsword from his back.
"Lord Aiden, we burden your shoulders with all responsibility. Forgive me."
The young swordsmanship prodigy bit his lip before raising the blade high.
Supreme aura enveloped the steel.
Then he brought it down with all his might.
Crunch! Aiden's arm severed instantly, flying into the air. Others immediately sprayed beast-masking perfume in all directions.
Not a flicker of pain crossed Aiden's face.
He certainly felt it—but agony was now just part of his daily life.
Aiden strode over, picked up his severed arm, and handed it to Yuriel.
His lifeline. The Saintess clutched it tightly to her chest as she gazed at the paladin.
"...Telling you to be careful seems meaningless now."
"I leave it to you."
With that, Aiden walked toward the ballista (siege crossbow).
Several approached, tying his body to the massive bolt. After securing him firmly, one spoke in a slightly trembling voice.
"D-Done."
Aiden nodded, and they stepped back.
All eyes were on him.
They saluted or bowed, each showing respect in their own way.
"Begin."
At Aiden's word, a knight hefted a massive hammer.
The trigger pin protruding from the ballista's rear. The moment it was struck, the cord snapped forward violently.
With a deafening roar that split the air, the bolt carrying Aiden shot into the sky.
As Yuriel immediately chanted scripture, Aiden's figure flashed midair.
Vanishing from sight, he reappeared facing Fenrir.
