Chapter 14
Chapter 14
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Crisis is Opportunity is Crisis (5)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
***
Boom! Scraaaape! Thud!
“Grrrrrr!!! Raaaaagh!!!!”
The impact hit harder than expected, confirming my suspicion in an instant.
‘They bought it!!’
There was shock, but no clinging or pulling sensation—that proved the mutants weren’t registering my makeshift bunker as a threat.
‘The current wave charging in mixes humanoid types with beast-possessed ones, all sorts of varieties. That means their rush speeds vary wildly. These ones pushing now are probably the fast four-legged types. Once they sweep past, there’ll be a brief lull before the next wave hits. That’s when I pull back!’
“Cough!”
A metallic glob of blood surged up my throat. Most of the impact had channeled through the shield into the ground, yet here I was.
Crack!
“Argh!”
The shield’s durability hit zero. A beast’s claw vaulted over it, slicing into the weaker edge of my kite shield—angled forward—and raking across my brow. The shock of the blow dazed me more than the sharp pain.
- Speed Wagon: ....You’ve done enough. Log off.
- Holy: You’re gonna die for real..... Please!
- Highway Nacho Man: What’re you talking about. He’s still alive. A contract’s a contract.
- Holy: That’s ridiculous! This isn’t just a game! Die in Realistic Mode like that, and in the worst case, it could affect reality too....!
- Gunpowder and Blood: Contracts and trust sometimes outweigh personal safety—
Tch. So damn noisy.
“System. Chat off.”
*Ping-!*
I killed the chat, then shut down the rest of the system UI. Tossing the shattered shield aside, a strange quiet settled amid the battlefield din.
‘First wave..... all clear.’
Blood from the gash streamed into my eyes, tinting my vision red. The sense of being alone on the field lasted only a moment—far off, a new dust cloud marked the approaching horde.
‘Slow ones. Bipedal types, mostly soldiers from the fallen cities. They can think more complexly than the beast-possessed ones. No, forget intelligence—my body can’t take any more.’
I needed to fall back now, but my legs wouldn’t budge. Rooted like trees.
‘Why? Did damage pile up without me noticing?
.....No. That much shock would’ve left visible wounds where the shield pressed. My body’s fragile enough for that. So why suddenly.....’
*Ping- Ping-*
In the corner of my vision, a red light blinked—signal from the disabled UI.
*Ding-!*
[Trait - Honorable Soul:
‘The Silver Roar mercs said they’re waiting behind me. This scale..... no lone mercs could hold it. And they’re positioned ahead of the line because of me. I’ve put them in danger. I can’t retreat from here! If I hold and weaken their breakthrough, the mercs can mop them up!’
/ The honor etched in your soul refuses your retreat and chooses to hold for your comrades!]
“....This is beyond ridiculous.”
I knew drawing this trait would screw me eventually, but not this dramatically.
Weird feeling. My guts churned with rage, yet my head stayed clear. What had I done? Oh, bleeding. Deeper cut than thought. A lot of blood?
.
.
.
Blood loss dropping my pressure—excitement and tension flooding out with it, from head to toe. Tension gone, shoulders slumped.
Dazed, one thought looped: What do I do to survive?
What do I.
Do.
To.
Survive.
.
.
.
.
My abilities hit limit. First clash shredded the shield; arm propping it won’t move—right shoulder dislocated. Organs bruised from shocks.
Legs fine, just trait-locked.
‘[Honorable Soul] pins me here. But traits activate on my intent. Among options I considered, holding for comrades locked it in. Find a way to protect them *and* evade—then I can move.’
Need a way. I looked up; battlefield sharpened in red haze.
‘Rear, left flank corner. Familiar faces. Silver Roar’s actually doing something. ....Shouting? Calling me?
Next to them, the platoon captain’s unit in combat. Useless. They won’t open formation to let me through. Right flank? Collapsed. Didn’t look weak—Grade 7 mutant? Gotta steer clear rightward.
Center’s chaotic. Fighting intensifying. Winning side? Or losing?’
Focus sharpened details: Soldier thrusting spear at red wolf, teeth gritted to breaking. Young soldier clutching bleeding arm, terror-stricken. White horse knight swinging sword mercilessly at that arm....
‘Hold up. What?’
Something I shouldn’t see.
Mind snapped alert; time stretched, then snapped back. White horse? Center-grooved longsword on white horse?
Even in chaos, standout: black-maned, snow-white horse. Unique sword knight.
One character popped to mind..... but she’d never leave Kingsland?
Clang!
A mutant leaped from the pack, claw scraping the knight’s visor, knocking off the helm. Cascading golden hair spilled like a waterfall. The lady knight’s face, hidden inside, stunning even amid blood and gore.
Using the recoil, she fluidly beheaded the beast, raised her sword high, and bellowed.
“Fear not!!! Warriors of Lordric!! The King’s Knight stands with you! Who are you!!!!”
Clear yet resonant, like a war goddess—echoing to fallen soldiers’ ears. Eyes of the fear-, fatigue-, pain-crushed lit with will and vigor, entranced by her voice.
“Shields of Lordric! Answer! Who are you!!!”
“Lo, Lordric’s.... shields.”
“Lordric’s shields!”
“Those who stand vanguard for family, nation, humanity!”
Thud! Thud!!
Soldiers hammered swords, spears on shields in response.
“Then for what do you fight!”
Thud! Thud!!
“For family left behind!”
“For lives crumbling!”
“For lives yet unborn!”
“Yes! As noble warriors of Lordric, we vow our swords to the weak! Take up arms! Advance! As ever! Our sun rises from homeland’s embrace!”
‘In the battlefield..... we shall not fall.’
“In the battlefield we shall not faaaall!!!!”
“In the battlefield we shall not faaaall!!!!”
“In the battlefield we shall not faaaall!!!!”
“In the battlefield we shall not faaaallllll!!!!”
Her words: oath all Lordric soldiers and knights chant pre-battle. The Lordric war song.
“Entire army! Advanceee!!”
“Raaaaagh!!!”
“Waaaaagh!”
“Aaaaaaaaah!!!!”
Momentum shifted. Not just momentum—hearts broken and wailing now gripped spears; pain-moaning targeted enemy necks.
[Combat Hymn]: Boosts subordinate unit combat power up to 250%.
[King’s Knight Stands With You]: +3 levels to HP, stamina, defense for all allies within 400m against Lordric Kingdom foes.
And pinnacle knight skill, [Unyielding Will]’s ultimate AoE buff [Unyielding and Unbowed], plus elite hero specialized in mass buffs, command, war.
[Sun of the Battlefield]
Charlotte de Agate. She and her knights aimed from the line’s edge toward Professor’s left flank—no doubt ending the left fight in seconds.
***
Right flank collapsed faster than expected, pressuring the center hard.
‘Mutant war’s just starting. Two cities already down—Turan’s the frontline now. Good thing Turan’s trade hub; no supply worries. But behind? Cities spaced far, walls and defenses way weaker.
Winning matters, but preserving Turan’s strength too.’
Right flank: formation broken, melee chaos. Fighting infection status ailment in melee forces sacrifices. Needed quick end.
‘Make the battle turn here!’
Left flank: Boosted by endgame hero Charlotte, plus her knight order—ultimate spearhead.
Plus, Professor’s ‘structure’ split the mutants dodging it, killing breakthrough—left protruded far forward.
‘Normally risky—vanguard encirclement bait. But we’ve got Charlotte and knights as asymmetric power. No enemies behind second wave. Crush first contact, pull protruding left around to envelop rear of mutants fighting center.’
Problem: Professor’s just a grunt, no command authority.
‘No command? Make it so.’
Village schmoozing gave him another card.
‘Legs..... moving!’
Legs that wouldn’t budge now did—proof leaving wouldn’t hurt much.
Professor yanked the least-damaged shield—deeper-embedded from first wave shock—then slipped to join the creeping Silver Roar group.
“Old kid! You earned your size! Thought so, surviving that monster torrent!”
Mercs in circular formation, inching forward, clapped his shoulders as he wedged in.
Hulking Waldorf Topric, big shield and shortsword, limped as Professor stumbled in, grinning.
“Good work. Fall back and rest. Hey! We slowly maintain circle and pull back!”
“Wait!!!”
Waldorf, leading mercs, scowled at Professor’s retreat veto.
“Old kid. Don’t misunderstand—we didn’t come just for you. Not like you’re the only VIP. Saved who we could; time to bail.”
‘As expected. Lives on line, they’re sharp.’
Can’t retreat. No half-measures in this game—max gain now or regret later.
“Yeah, I get that. But looks like you left something important up there?”
“What? Old kid, head injury? Nonsense?”
“Shock rattled it? Like greenhorns on first field.”
“Hey, sobers up—two grab the kid!”
Amid Waldorf and crew’s worried curses, Professor grinned like a brat. Mercs cherish their hides most, but one thing sways them instant.
“No, definitely left something. Credit for holding frontline, fat bonus!”
To chat mercs, start with money.
***
***