Chapter 52
Chapter 52
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: General, You Say? (4)
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"Begone, you petty ghosts."
As Chris's voice rang out, the air around them began to shift.
Ding-a-ling—
Chris turned his body toward the ramparts, rattle in hand, arms folded behind his back.
His gaze slowly swept across the top of the wall.
The undead where his eyes landed flinched.
Tremble.
It was much like the reaction of the soldiers when they first encountered the undead.
A wail erupted from the banshee, but it was nothing like the enchanting cry that ensnared humans.
It was the kind of scream filled with pure terror.
The undead began to move.
"...The undead are retreating from the wall...!"
It wasn't quite "retreating."
What they were doing was closer to suicide.
Skeletons bolted in panic toward the direction they had come from.
Whoosh—
Crack—
Skeletons plummeted from the wall, shattering with harsh sounds.
The specters and banshees had already vanished, impossible to even detect.
A soldier who had been shouting in astonishment at the unprecedented sight clamped his mouth shut, body trembling.
He had locked eyes with Chris, whose gaze was sweeping the ramparts.
"Hup...!"
"Gasp...!"
The soldiers who met Chris's eyes drew sharp breaths and hunched their shoulders.
His gaze was overwhelmingly intense.
Frightening, immense presence.
It was a look that instinctively made one shrink back.
"Gasp... gasp...!"
Outside the ramparts, an unbelievable scene was unfolding.
The spot where Chris stood.
As if an invisible line had been drawn there, the undead were pulling back.
Not retreating on their own, but fleeing from Chris.
Ding-a-ling—
Step.
One step at a time, shaking the rattle.
Step.
As his foot hit the ground, the undead legs moved in tandem.
They backed away, widening the distance from Chris.
Even Parmon, standing behind Chris, flinched at the overwhelming aura.
"How... how do we even explain this...?"
Chris's actions resembled a battle of wills with the undead.
The key point was that undead didn't feel fear.
But look at the situation now.
The undead were backing away as if terrified of Chris.
When his eyes fell upon them, even banshees and specters averted their gazes.
As if trying to escape his sight.
No, even that seemed impossible.
Every time a whistle escaped his lips, the undead heads turned toward Chris.
Those that met his eyes staggered backward each time.
The banshee's screams fell silent, and the deathly aura from the skeletons curled inward.
Ding-a-ling—
With those words, the sound of a flute began to echo.
A melody unlike any heard before.
A mystical resonance spread outward.
In that instant.
"Guh...!"
Parmon whipped his head around at the ferocious aura surging from behind.
It was akin to the killing intent of a mighty knight.
The energy flowed from the wooden guardian post embedded before the gates.
"The guardian post, was it...?"
The statue Chris had carved from the World Tree.
Chris's voice drilled into Parmon's ears.
Ding-a-ling—
At those words, specters and banshees cowered and began to flee.
The banshees, trembling without daring to look at Chris, convulsed upon facing the guardian post and slid backward.
The skeletons were the same.
Even those mere bones trembled as if gripped by fear.
Ding-a-ling—
Chris's body swayed to the flute's melody.
Dancing with lively steps.
The rattle perched on one shoulder rang out ceaselessly.
Ding-a-ling—
Ding-a-ling—
A dance on the battlefield.
All eyes locked onto the surreal sight.
Goosebumps prickled across everyone's skin.
A sense of divinity emanated from those movements.
Each leap toward the sky sent shivers through them.
An inexplicable trembling.
"The undead are fleeing...!"
It was an unbelievable spectacle.
One man was driving away the undead.
No combat, no magic.
Just with sheer, piercing presence, the undead fled.
Scattered by the shout of the rattle-shaker, like ghosts getting a scolding.
A soldier atop the wall murmured in a trance.
"That person is..."
"A messenger of the gods...!"
"A saint sent by the heavens! The saint has appeared!"
Chris's movements grew more fervent, his aura intensifying.
To the point where Parmon, staring at the guardian post, swallowed hard.
Whoosh—
Fervent emotions coursed over everyone's skin.
Relief at being alive.
Elation that anything was possible.
Those feelings flowed toward the undead as well.
In an entirely different form.
The undead's backward steps quickened, distancing themselves from the castle.
"That's... closer to fleeing."
A man making undead flee.
A man instilling fear in undead.
How could one even describe Chris?
Parmon lowered his sword and gazed at Chris.
Chris muttered incomprehensible words, shaking his body.
Leaping ceaselessly toward the sky, rattle in hand.
Ding-a-ling—
The tone in his voice was extraordinary.
Not a rage-filled shout.
More like scolding the undead, giving them a talking-to.
Telling them to slink back where they came from, Chris was angry.
"...."
Parmon's expression grew strange.
If undead obeyed when told to leave, why had the continental war even started?
They weren't the type to turn tail just because driven off.
Yet it was happening right before their eyes.
"Ha ha..."
The battles fought to stop those undead.
Countless soldiers had died, and the number of sword swings he himself had unleashed was beyond counting.
Piles of shattered bones bore witness to that.
But neither a Sword Master's blade nor a grand mage's spells had achieved this.
Facing them without sacrifice.
"...I feel it every time, but life feels so futile."
"I feel the same."
Closel descended from the ramparts to Parmon's side.
"I thought that was the end for me."
"Same here."
They wouldn't have died, of course.
Retreating would have been tough, but not impossible.
But everyone else would have perished.
Closel let out an incredulous laugh.
"The moment I was cursing that damned church..."
"Hm?"
"I heard the sound of a rattle from the heavens."
"Ha..."
"Instead of the priests who never came, Chris descended from the sky."
Parmon thought for a moment.
It was like a scene from an epic tale of heroes.
Closel continued.
"Once this is sorted, I plan to lodge a formal complaint."
Parmon glanced bitterly at the sword in his hand and smiled.
"I'll lend my strength to it."
"A protest from Klaus and Astor... That should suffice."
The two elders' faces hardened beyond stiffness, now etched with fury.
Closel gazed into the distance and spoke.
"In any case, it's not over yet. Not a single necromancer has shown up."
Closel's doubt was natural.
It was something felt throughout the battle.
The undead that had swarmed felt uncontrolled.
Like monsters simply unleashed.
Only the bare minimum of control.
"Do you remember Chris saying there were necromancers on the mountain?"
Parmon nodded.
"I'd love to head there right now, but..."
There were too many casualties.
Most soldiers were likely wounded.
Their morale wouldn't allow further combat.
Ding-a-ling—
The rattle's echo faded alongside the flute.
No undead remained nearby.
"...It's over."
Chris, panting with disheveled hair.
As he turned, rattle in hand, Parmon and Closel gasped in admiration.
"Whoa..."
Had Chris's presence always been this immense?
He seemed an entirely different person from their last sight of him.
Once a mysterious youth, now...
"He's reached a new realm."
His piercing gaze chilled even the elders' hearts.
A memory surfaced of something Chris had once said.
- A shaman needs strong spirit energy.
It hit home perfectly now.
The two elders hurried toward Chris.
"...You've changed a lot."
Chris ignored the elders, staring where the undead had fled.
"Don't pursue them."
"...Hm?"
They hadn't planned to, but Chris's words piqued their curiosity.
Chris opened his mouth again, smiling chillingly.
"The ones who won't listen are over there. The spirits are pretty pissed off."
"...The priests?"
"Doesn't seem like priests..."
Chris waved it off as if telling him not to talk nonsense.
He had seen them flying overhead.
No one glowed except Alard.
They probably wouldn't die.
They still had work to do.
"If it weren't for Alard, they'd all be petty ghosts by now..."
Immense fatigue crashed over his body.
He hadn't slept, had offered constant prayers, and performed back-to-back rituals on the way here. It was inevitable.
"The undead won't approach for a while."
Chris confidently pointed at the guardian post.
The Great Heavenly General and the Earthly Female General.