Chapter 79
Chapter 79
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Reunion with the First Companion
-----------------------------------------------------------------
[Let's go, Hero! We can't fall behind Lucille!]
Cheon-ho agreed. He held his breath, glared straight ahead, and moved both hands along with all the hands in view at once.
Crackle!
Eight thunderous knives shot forward in an instant. Spreading out in a fan shape, they pierced the undead horde with terrifying penetration.
But that wasn't all. The moment he launched all eight knives, Cheon-ho kicked off the ground and leaped. He cloaked fresh thunder over Mitra's blade and, instead of swinging to unleash lightning, plunged right into the heart of the undead. He slammed Mitra into the ground with force and detonated his power.
Rumble rumble rumble crash?!
Chain Thunder activated.
It wasn't just from Mitra.
Chain Thunder burst from each of the eight knives already embedded in the ground. Merging with the massive chain from Mitra, it turned the surrounding area to ruin.
Crash! Rumble rumble crash?!
Thunder incarnate. Blue lightning crashed down over the thunderclap exploding from the earth.
Cheon-ho's current maximum capture for Chain Thunder was nine.
But with nine strike points chaining into each other and exploding, it formed a colossal lightning storm that devoured nearly a hundred of the horde.
Lucille stared blankly at the miracle unfolding before her eyes.
The combat angels charging after Cheon-ho froze too, eyes round and unblinking.
The lightning faded.
Cheon-ho drew breath again.
The horde of nearly a hundred undead was wiped clean.
A few seconds passed.
[You! You! You!]
Mitra let out a cheer.
No one was happier about Cheon-ho's growth than she was.
Eizel blinked once after staring blankly at the sight, then turned to Aurael, who stood beside her with an equally dazed look.
"Senior, what do we do? Pop some popcorn?"
"Was there popcorn?"
Aurael murmured back in her daze, but Raguel, quickest to regain her wits, shouted.
"Not yet! They're still coming!"
Just as Raguel said. The blizzard obscured vision, but undead hordes were rushing in from the distance. The ones they'd just felled were mere vanguard—at a glance, the main force was several times larger.
"Kajiel! Guide the refugees! Orenol! Load as many as the wagons can carry and go! Eizel! Check the refugees for wounded! Everyone else, support the Hero!"
At Saschiell's command, they all sprang into action. Mitra shouted too.
[The refugees are heading toward the Sillipian Fortress, called the Shield of the Sillipian Plateau! Buy just enough time, and we'll join you—Hero?]
Cheon-ho kept catching his breath at Mitra's call.
He circulated his internal energy—mana—rapidly with the Heavenly Demon Divine Art.
The power came at a heavy cost. Equivalent to detonating nine Chain Thunders at once.
"Hoo."
But confidence welled up alongside it.
Cheon-ho himself was growing stronger. As Mitra said, surpassing human limits toward transcendence.
"Hero!"
Lucille hurried over. Cheon-ho gave her a quick nod, regripped Mitra, and summoned new thunder.
"Hit 'em and fall back moderately."
"Yes!"
Lucille reformed her blood swords. Cheon-ho brushed one lightly, then fixed his gaze ahead.
* * *
"Open the gates!"
"Let the refugees in!"
"Battle stations! Battle stations!"
Soldiers shouted across the Sillipian Fortress.
The Sillipian Fortress stood at the midpoint of the passage linking the vast open grasslands to the Empire's heartland.
Even with the world eroded by the Great Labyrinth—no Empire mainland squarely behind anymore—the narrow pass's terrain advantage endured.
Amid endless plains of grassland, no spot defended better than the Sillipian Fortress.
"Open the gates!"
"Open the gates!"
The massively thick, heavy gates—which took ten burly men charging together to barely budge—creaked open slowly.
Pandemonium would normally ensue, everyone shoving to get in first. But the angels up front prevented that mess.
In the Great Labyrinth's mid-layers, where most nations lay in ruins, angels commanded immense respect.
Truth be told, the fortress flung its gates wide so readily thanks to the angels.
For Labyrinth World humans, ignoring a group with angels was unthinkable.
"What about the Heroes?"
As refugees streamed into the fortress, Eizel zipped to the rear and asked Raguel.
She, guarding the back, narrowed her eyes at their approach path—then raised her voice.
"They're coming! They're on their way!"
They hadn't wiped the undead hordes clean.
Too many for that.
Hundreds.
No, thousands surpassed without effort.
"Hurry! Shut the gates!"
Raguel yelled. The angels hustled faster, cramming the hundreds of refugees inside like sardines before sealing the gates.
"What about the Heroes?!"
Eizel pressed urgently. Raguel flapped her wings in frustration.
True enough. Fliers enough that calling the group airborne wouldn't overstate it.
"Light the moat!"
A presumed commander bellowed. Soldiers ignited it. Some special oil or gas fueled it—even through the blizzard, a firewall erupted along the moat.
"Hero!"
Eizel called down to the wall's base again.
Cheon-ho's group, sprinting below the dozens-of-meters-high wall, spotted the closed gates and chose evasion over fight.
Combat angels led by Saschiell soared up en masse. Cheon-ho leaped from the ground; Lucille grabbed him from behind. Her four wide wings carried them atop the wall faster than Saschiell.
"Ooh!"
"Ooooh!"
Angels swarming in drew gasps from the wall's warriors. Some dropped to knees in prayer.
But Cheon-ho whirled toward the undead the instant he landed.
High up, he could see far—the numbers hit home. Tens of thousands easy, factoring in distant reinforcements.
Cheon-ho scanned again. Roughly sizing up the fortress scale and garrison count.
[Don't worry, Hero. Sillipian Fortress ranks among the Empire's mightiest.]
Soldier numbers and quality unknown, but the fortress stood firm.
Cheon-ho nodded at Mitra's words, pausing to breathe.
Lucille slumped flat, heaving for air.
A hulking brute in thick overcoat stomped up.
"Percival, tasked with north gate defense at Sillipian Fortress."
Mid-thirties by look. He paused, but his eyes asked plainly: who, whence.
Allies with angels, sure—but beyond that, blank slate.
No leisure for chat. Undead already battered the wall's base.
Cheon-ho raised Mitra high instead of intros. He unleashed Hero's Aura.
Golden waves rippled out. Soldiers in range gaped. Lucille's color even improved.
Percival gawked at his hands, faintly aglow gold—then eyed Cheon-ho. Zeroed on the sword: golden-gemmed blade. He gasped.
Holy Sword Mitra.
Empire's guardian blade!
Soldiers clocked Mitra too.
Eyes swung back to Cheon-ho wielding it.
Bearer of Mitra.
Master of Mitra.
"Defend! Repel them!"
Cheon-ho roared. Percival shook alert, barked orders anew. Soldiers plastered the walls, pelting undead ignoring the firewall.
Their drill screamed days—no, weeks—of undead assaults.
Cheon-ho swallowed hard. Eyes shut brief, mind honing in—Heavenly Demon Divine Art circulation ramped.
Then—
"Mitra?!"
New voice from behind. Unheard by Cheon-ho before. But Mitra felt it. Emotions flooded him.
Shock.
Amazement.
Joy overwhelming both.
[Lucas?!]
Cheon-ho turned.
Spotted the elf barreling toward him—Mitra—near flight.
Lucas Britannia.
Leon's—and Mitra's—first comrade.
* * *
"Mitraaa!"
[Lucasss!]
Both voices brimmed with joy. Sadly, Mitra's didn't reach Lucas.
Hence his approach calling her name yielded bewilderment.
Had he misseen?
Forgotten him, maybe?
Raw anxiety etched Lucas's face. Cheon-ho met his gaze square.
Man.
Elf.
Geezer.
Labyrinth World elves? All women till now. First male—and aged.
'Handsome, though.'
Elf standards held. Prime silver fox.
'Worded weird, like a diss.'
Stray thoughts aside—battle underway, misunderstanding to clear.
[Lucas: me and Leon's first comrade. Still alive!]
Mitra on tears' edge. Cheon-ho voiced for her.
"It's Mitra, all right. She recognizes you too, Sir Lucas."
Lucas blinked, nodded.
"Right. Hasn't regained her strength yet."
First comrade knew his Mitra lore.
No metal plate: deep brown leather armor. White hair swept back, brow bare.
Face lined, but spine ramrod, shoulders broad—no frail vibe.
"Lucas Britannia."
"Park Cheon-ho."
"Ah, otherworld hero."
Words flew brisk.
Wall base boomed. Battle proper ignited.
"Not chat time. After."
Angels plus Mitra? No identity probes now.
"Hold line! Lucas's bow fights beside you!"
His fortress-quaking bellow drew roaring cheers from ranks.
'Damn, presence.'
Hero's inaugural comrade.
Troop-rallying charisma aside—moves all bespoke uncommon.
[Our fight too.]
Lucas's cry stirred old ghosts; Mitra thrilled. Cheon-ho eyed Lucille's state, hugged the wall. Lightning rained below; he tracked Lucas.
True to word: archer. Towering bow. No quiver draws—just string pulls nonstop.
Plenty. Formless shots pulped wall-base undead swarms.
"Ha!"
"Huh!"
"Ho!"
Pulls barked shouts. Troops routine with it—some echoed.
'Strong.'
Strong he was. Shots smashed undead sure. Fire rate blistering, wall traversal swift.
Cheon-ho's eyes narrowed. Simple.
'Sure strong, but.'
Off. Moderately so?
Strong, un-overpowering.
Stock strong.
Ordinary warrior? Whatever. But inaugural hero Leonhardt's prime mate.
Not endgame—genesis crew. Start to finish!
'Leon solo carry?'
Floor 4 Leon phantom rivaled Father-tier.
Maybe Leon outlier-potent.
[No.]
"Mitra?"
She sniffed his doubt, voice sweat-drenched.
[First comrade yes... first dropout too.]
"Dropout? Hurt?"
[No, er... no wounds per se, but gap too vast......]
"Ahh, gotcha."
Clear now.
Game no-show reason. Starter viable—later joins eclipse, party eject natural.
'Power creep casualty.'
Truth reframed: his vanilla motions tugged pity.
Sensible, really.
Hometown buddy globe-talent? That'd shock more.
'Hang on—centuries flown.'
Levels galore by now?
Slack-off chance, sure.
She caught it, faltered.
[Er... likely......]
"Likely?"
[Age......]
Centuries longhaul even elven.
Mana-realm or not—melee folk age-frail common.
Plus vanilla-strong baseline.
Cheon-ho bit lip unwitting. Lucas's arc bloomed mind:
Youth Lucas adventuring with Leon.
Sizing newbies against self.
Deadweight verdict—hero-unhelpful—self-exits party.
Post: grinds steady, inching power slow.
Centuries hence.
Aged frail anew.