Chapter 409: Inside the Black Wave
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 409: Inside the Black Wave
It is commonly said that a single knight can match a thousand soldiers.
But what if the opponent is ten thousand?
The Count had resolved to kill his opponent, according him the respect due to a true knight. Thus, he unleashed the Ten Thousand Wraiths.
‘Die.’
Become fertilizer.
Become nourishment.
Become prey.
And so, become a part of me.
The Count’s magic circle produced a singular effect: it manifested his internal spell world into reality. Through this, the wraiths gained physical form—wraith soldiers.
It was a surging wave built upon bodies of black soot. The wraiths, now a literal black tide, fell only to rise again, pushed back only to surge forward once more.
Gwoooooh.
It was a mass that let out horrific shrieks at irregular intervals. They held no formation; they simply ran as a chaotic, clumped mass. Because of that, they couldn't move with true speed. Rather than the orderly march of an army, it was like a mountain of filth rolling forward.
Watching them, Encrid thought they looked like a swarm of ants. Of course, each of these ants was the size of a human, and getting swept away by them meant certain death.
Would he be the only one to die?
The soldier behind him, currently scratching his forearm raw, would die too.
"Mother! Mother! Where are you going?!"
The soldier suddenly shouting into empty air, lost in a hallucination, would die too.
"Mazenda, I shall join you soon."
The soldier mimicking his own strangulation in a fit of sudden, deep depression would die as well.
It was a total mess. Whether it was magic or sorcery, Count Molsen's dirty trick had landed a devastating blow. Not everyone had lost their minds, though. Some soldiers remained sane.
"Hey! Who are you following, you idiot? Mazenda is my sister. She never had anything to do with you, and she's alive and well!"
One of the sane soldiers slapped the back of the self-strangling man's hand as he spoke.
"What is this? What's going on?" another soldier muttered, looking left and right in utter bewilderment, his voice laced with panic. He was perfectly fine, which only made the sight of his comrades' madness more terrifying.
Encrid didn't know the exact nature of the spell the Count had cast, but he understood the general situation. Even if a single spell could blanket the entire battlefield, those who left the area would likely escape the influence of the soot. But the longer they held out here, the more they would be corrupted.
With this level of influence and scale, wouldn't the effect vanish if he simply cut down the caster?
It was an intuitive realization. Unless they carved their way through this tide and killed the Count, no other solution existed.
That was why they had to move forward. And that was why Rem, upon hearing his command and seeing the horde of wraiths, had told them to form up.
"I refuse," Ragna was the first to reply. As he spoke, his foot slipped, and he stumbled slightly. Ragna's physical condition was far from normal; overusing Will naturally took a heavy toll on both mind and body.
"Brother, has something ominous lodged itself in your head? Shall I extract it for you?" Audin asked, his voice dripping with his usual brand of concern. It seemed he thought Rem had fallen for the mage's tricks, and he was offering a "kind" intervention.
Audin cracked his knuckles, his own body bearing quite a few wounds. His previous opponent had been formidable, after all.
Sachsen was in no better shape. He was still paying the price for his failed attempt to assassinate the Count earlier. A hole had been torn in his stomach. Though he had quickly applied ointment and bound the wound with a specially crafted bandage, his body was in no condition for a prolonged battle. The wound was festering, and a cold sensation was rising from his abdomen.
Rem was in a similar state, feeling nauseous—a side effect of borrowing someone else's sorcery.
But among them, Encrid was in the worst condition. While he hadn't suffered any backlash from using Will, he had pushed his physical body far beyond its limits. It was the natural consequence of his duel. To become a knight, Liebart had grafted monster muscles onto himself and lunged with everything he had. To withstand that, Encrid had squeezed out every last drop of his strength.
Encrid also knew that luck had been on his side. If he hadn't managed to manifest the Will-based technique he called 'The Eye that Sees an Inch Ahead', he would probably be greeting the morning sun right now, repeating this day all over again.
Even as they spoke, the black wave crept closer. It looked like a rising tide of black oil. Just looking at it made a wave of disgust well up inside. Some of the wraith soldiers stumbled and fell, yet they still tried to crawl forward, clawing at the dirt with their fingers.
Kill. I will kill you. They were souls radiating nothing but pure murderous intent. Above them, a mass of tangled limbs and torsos of wraiths churned. It was a sight that went beyond mere disgust, inducing outright nausea.
They all said they refused, but this was not a situation where they had the luxury of choice.
"Let's take the shortcut," Encrid said simply.
Rem continued in an easygoing tone, "The Captain goes first, I'm second, and the lazy bastard is third. The stray cat and the religious fanatic can fall back, follow us, and cover our rear."
His tone was businesslike. Rem's explanation was far from kind, but Encrid understood immediately. The days he had spent learning from the man had not been in vain.
"The Three-Wave Formation?"
When Encrid asked, Rem nodded. It was the name of a tactical formation they had faced once before—a tactic demonstrated by the joint efforts of the Centaur Colony and the horse demonic beasts.
Draw attention with the first wave, strike with the second, and crush with the third. The waves would grow progressively stronger. What Rem was trying to do now was repeatedly execute the Three-Wave Formation while the three of them rotated positions.
"Let's go."
Encrid did not hesitate. Even if they explained and analyzed it a hundred times, they had no time to practice. Above all, the horde of wraiths was already upon them.
Gwoooooh!
It sounded like a ghoul shrieking from the depths of a deep well.
‘Real combat is the best training.’
Recalling Rem’s old words, Encrid swung Silver down. Pivoting on his left foot, he executed a Heavy Sword Style Crown Splitter.
Whoosh.
The blade claimed the air and fell.
"Loosen up!" Rem shouted from behind, but the sword had already been unleashed.
Thwack!
The head of the first rushing wraith caught the blade and split in half. It was a black, amorphous monster with limbs but no eyes, nose, or mouth. As Encrid's sword split its head, black mist gushed out from within.
It's dead. He felt it intuitively.
Then, the wraith behind it lunged. They did not stop. They cared nothing for the death of the one in front.
"To the left!" Rem shouted.
In front of Encrid, a wraith was forming something resembling a sword and swinging it. It wasn't an angle he could evade simply by stepping aside. Yet, he stepped aside anyway. It was impossible to do this without an immense amount of trust, but Encrid took the step boldly.
Immediately, a mass like a flash of light fell from the right.
Crash! Crunch!
It was the sound of Rem's hammer crushing the wraith's head. Following that, Rem swept the axe in his right hand parallel to the ground at a steady speed.
Riiip! Rumble!
Rather than a single, forceful strike, it was a technique of pushing and dragging the blade. Every time a wraith caught the axe blade, it was sliced apart. Even a passing glance was enough to tell that this was no ordinary skill. With his body balanced and arm strength supported by his core, Rem utilized the force of his feet pushing off the ground. Thus, the axe blade moved forward without stopping.
After those two attacks, Rem also slipped to the right. Another horde of wraith soldiers filled the space Rem had vacated.
Gwoooooh!
Over the shrieks of murderous intent, a heavily chipped blade fell. It was Ragna's sword.
Whoosh.
The sword, bisecting the space vertically, cut through three tangled wraiths. One of them flailed, reaching out to grab Ragna's collar. Its hand failed to reach, and Ragna, having swung his sword, stepped back.
"Again!"
Even before Rem could shout, Encrid perceived and understood the flow of the rotation. How many times had he sparred with them? Well over several hundred times. Thus, he filled the empty space and blocked the front.
To "loosen up" meant to focus on absorbing the impact. In other words, pulling back was more important than striking. Having grasped the core concept, Encrid did exactly that. Holding the sword grip loosely, he used the form of the Soft Sword to slash, deflect, and push away the heads of the wraiths.
One wraith leaped into the air, but a long pole came flying from the periphery.
Whoosh, thud!
The flying pole impaled the wraith and sent it flying backward. It looked like a javelin throw, but it was actually a spear picked up from the ground and hurled with precision.
"Keep moving forward, Brother," Audin called out.
Behind him to the left, Sachsen's hands moved without rest. Holding a single longsword, he stabbed and slashed the surrounding wraiths one by one.
Their roles were clear. Encrid and Rem held the front, while Ragna in the center provided the killing blows. Audin was the foundation supporting the entire structure, and Sachsen moved wherever a gap appeared to fill it. With Audin and Sachsen covering the rear, the three in front only had to charge straight ahead.
The horde of wraiths surrounded and swarmed them. The world turned black. The sky vanished, leaving only darkness, but their sharp senses allowed them to clearly perceive the positions of their comrades.
Encrid relied on his senses. The other four did the same. At this level, there was no way they would accidentally slash an ally's back—unless, of course, they did it on purpose.
A wraith's claws fell. Between its long talons, it stuck out a long tongue, sharp as a spear. Rem's axe sliced through it. The axe blade, flying diagonally, split its head at an angle. Watching the severed head fall, Encrid drew his gladius and deflected another wraith's hand.
Thud!
It felt like striking heavy mud rather than metal. A chunk of the hand caught by the gladius was gouged out. There was no need to follow up; as he turned aside, Ragna's sword was already moving.
Encrid forgot everything else. He simply moved forward. The five of them became one, carving through the wave of wraiths.
Among them, Rem and Audin were the most fatigued. One played the role of the foundation, while the other maintained the balance in the middle. As much as the five of them disliked each other, they had clashed like madmen in the past. The number of times they had actually fought was staggering. Though the results of their disputes were usually brawls, it had made them intimately familiar with each other's habits. Since it was a fight they would lose if they didn't understand each other's breathing, they had mastered it out of necessity.
The coordination among the five was incredibly natural. Though it was their first time doing this, they were no different from an order of knights that had trained together for over a decade.
*
Krang saw it, Marcus saw it, and Pel and Aisia were also seized by an ominous feeling. Anyone would feel a sense of dread looking at the black wraiths, the soot, and the dark clouds blanketing the sky. Moreover, they had seen the wave of wraiths engulf Encrid and his group.
Encrid and his crazy platoon were going to die. On the surface, that was the only possible conclusion.
"It's a spell! It won't last long!" Aisia shouted with deliberate calmness. It was a reminder to herself as much as the others.
She was an Associate Knight of the order. Though she didn't cast spells herself, she had plenty of experience dealing with mages. She intentionally forced her mind to stay cool and think. How long could such a large-scale spell be maintained? Not for long.
She was right. However, even if it only lasted as long as it took for a single candle to burn down, both armies would suffer near-annihilation, and the soldiers possessed by the wraiths would likely turn into something other than human.
Aisia couldn't know that far ahead, though.
"We must break through and pull back!" she commanded.
Krang was still staring at the spot where Encrid had vanished. Did he really die?
"Damn it, Your Highness!" Marcus shouted.
The battlefield was descending into madness. The Count had to be possessed by something. Even for a mage, was such a feat truly possible? Should they have called the knights?
Pel adjusted his grip on Idol Slayer. Should I go in? he thought, looking into the wave of wraiths. It seemed possible. No. For now, holding out was the answer.
The horde of wraiths was more than enough to engulf Encrid's group and still overflow. From what Pel could tell after slashing one or two, the rushing wraiths were immune to Idol Slayer’s special properties. In that case, he would just have to defeat them one by one.
Aisia had the squires under her command form a tight circle. Then, she stepped forward. She slashed to the left, spun around, and thrust to the right. With two strikes, she destroyed two wraiths. Without even having time to look at the one spewing mist, Aisia flipped backward. It wasn't an acrobatic feat one should perform in plate armor, but because she wore partial armor, she pulled off the near-miraculous backflip.
Right after she evaded—Thud!—a wraith leaped into the air and slammed down where she had just been standing.
Without a moment to catch her breath, Aisia drove her elbow sideways into a wraith soldier that had crept up on her.
Crack!
It felt like hitting a stone. Even the bodies of the wraiths were hard. Having struck it, she used the momentum to plunge her sword in the opposite direction. A vertical slash, reinforced with her weight, cut down another wraith.
Aisia felt a chill run down her spine. How long can we hold out like this?
If it was a battle against time, was holding out the only answer? While those around Krang managed to hold on, they were not ordinary soldiers.
"Save me!"
"Aaaargh!"
Wraith soldiers with physical forms lunged at the sane soldiers. Objectively speaking, their individual skill was nothing impressive, but the problem was their numbers. They were endless. They kept coming. The wraith soldiers knew no fear.
Yet, crisis often breeds opportunity. Across the battlefield, individuals worthy of being called heroes began to emerge—people who showed their true capabilities in the face of danger. An old but experienced commander was one such person. A young but courageous soldier was another. They gathered their comrades around them and held their ground.
But how long would they have to endure to survive?
A curtain of despair fell. The dark clouds blocking the sunlight seemed to foretell their tomorrow: they would either die possessed by the wraiths or be torn apart by the wraith soldiers.
*
In the darkness, Encrid forgot himself and the situation, swinging his sword again and again.
It's exhausting.
The thought arose naturally. But it wasn't unbearable. As he kept going, he found the rhythm. Instead of deflecting with brute force, he conserved his strength and twisted his blade to let the attacks slide off. What he missed, Rem covered. And if that still wasn't enough, Ragna filled the gap.
As they fought, they sometimes retreated two or three steps, but ultimately, they moved forward. If they took two steps back, they took three steps forward. If they took three steps back, they took four steps forward.
Rem, who coordinated the formation from the middle, deserved the most credit. Instead of dodging the falling hands of the wraiths, Encrid caught them with the flat of his blade and let them slide off. Deflecting and slashing. Originally, wraiths were not creatures that could be cut by ordinary metal, but having a physical form came with its own weakness. It meant they could be killed just as easily with a normal sword.
Encrid repeated the motions of stabbing and slashing, holding out again and again. His surroundings were filled with nothing but pitch blackness. Black soot, a wave of wraith soldiers, sheer darkness, black masses filling every direction, hands reaching out with murderous intent.
The entire world was filled with such things. And yet.
"Ah."
A sigh of pleasure escaped his lips. He felt satisfied simply by the fact that he could swing his sword again and again.
"Are you insane?" Rem's voice cut through the din. He had clearly seen Encrid's face. Smiling in a situation like this?
Because they had never stopped fighting and moving forward, the surrounding darkness suddenly cleared. Encrid swung his sword once into the empty air and stopped. There were no wraiths.
No, they were there. Behind them lay the countless corpses of wraith soldiers, spilling mist-like blood onto the ground. Only then did Encrid realize they had pierced straight through the heart of the Ten Thousand Wraiths.
He raised his head. There, sitting on a black chair, was the Count.
The Count glared at Encrid with wide, bulging eyes. The one who had just fought the fierce battle had a quiet, calm gaze. Encrid merely stared back, catching his breath.
But the gaze of the one who had been waiting was dyed with bewilderment. When something incomprehensible occurred, human reactions were generally similar.
"How?" the Count whispered.
For something had happened that defied his every understanding of the world.