Slaying the Lich Lord (1)
"I've destroyed the teleportation trap. This sector is no longer under the enemy's mana detection field."
Bernard wiped the sweat from his brow as he reported. The hero, who had been constantly adjusting his monocle and scanning the surroundings, let out a sigh of relief and nodded.
"If we'd been even an hour later, enemy reinforcements would've swarmed in via teleportation."
"Wasn't it pretty leisurely?" Rose asked, tilting her head.
Walter shook his head with a serious expression. "That one hour was bought by marching nonstop, like a mountain run. We scraped it together bit by bit by pushing the pace—we can't let our guard down now."
It was the Demon King's army outpost located exactly 47.5 kilometers from the summit of Ambyeok Mountain, where they'd fought their first battle since the start of this expedition. Before the war, it had been firmly Audrich Empire territory, but now it was home to the Demon King's outpost and fortress. The outpost was remarkably well-built, complete with high-level mana traps, a clear sign of how long it had been under enemy occupation.
"Anyway, no enemies teleporting in now, right? Let's push straight ahead."
Margaret smacked her lips, looking somehow unsatisfied. She'd been unable to recover arrows from the corpses due to their breakneck pace, leaving her quiver with barely a dozen shafts rattling inside. Five of those were crossbow bolts Bernard had shared from his own supply.
"Just as you say. We're making faster progress than expected, but we can't afford delays. We don't even know how many minutes it'll take to sever that thing's head."
Walter accepted Bernard and Margaret's points—they made sense. Before hurrying toward the Lich Lord's fortress, he turned back to Rose with a worried look. In a way, she'd expended the most stamina today; while Bernard had been busy disarming traps, she'd sat down to catch her breath.
"You okay? Not too heavy?"
"If I was gonna whine about this much, I wouldn't have come along."
Rose thumped her chest confidently with her fist. A metallic clang echoed from the thick full-plate breastplate where her fist struck.
"Up you go—I'll give you a hand."
Walter extended his hand to the crown princess. Rose shook her head and tried to stand on her own, only to wobble as her legs buckled, tumbling backward onto her rear.
"You alright?"
Margaret, who had started ahead, glanced back and asked. Rose stuck out her tongue in embarrassment, her face flushing red.
"Y-yeah, no problem. No problem at all. Uh, Walter, though."
"What? Grab my hand and get up."
"A hand's nice, but gimme one more chocolate bar first. Feels like I'm low on calories—big trouble."
At Rose's request, Walter reached into his pouch and handed her a chocolate bar. Rose munched on the tasteless ration meal and began shuffling forward at a slow pace.
It wasn't that Rose Caprice or her leg strength were weak. She was an iron wall with the stamina to match her fame, capable of bounding across plains for hours in heavy armor, toppling foes left and right. But Walter's plan for this mission had forced the entire party to traverse Ambyeok Mountain at 1,200 meters elevation under enemy threat—with all their gear and supplies intact. After cresting the peak came dozens of kilometers of marching, followed by no rest before mopping up enemy remnants and pressing on. Even unarmed, ordinary folk couldn't manage it.
Walter bit his lower lip watching Rose push forward, hiding her exhaustion. He knew her personality inside out. Half-hearted pity now would feel like an insult to her pride. Instead of coddling his lover, he teased her lightly and urged the group onward.
Not just Rose—all four were utterly spent, barely holding on as they reached the Lich Lord's fortress. But that was no end to the mission; it was merely preparation to carry it out.
"If I were the enemy commander, I'd strike us right now—in this exact state."
Bernard muttered in a voice too drained for complaints. Walter, leaning on his holy sword like a cane, silently agreed.
Margaret looked relatively fine compared to the other three. Bernard, Walter, and Rose had superhuman stamina even among humans—hard to believe they were the same species—but Margaret's edge came from her fundamentally different race.
"We slowed the march to avoid total exhaustion, didn't we? Walter's timeline is razor-thin. We have to enter now."
Margaret spoke regretfully but resigned. The Lich Lord's fortress stood on this barren land, not a blade of grass in sight. Surveying the desolate highland plateau around them—like a wasteland—she reaffirmed her resolve to make this mission succeed. Once, this had been Empire soil. Humans destroyed nature too, but not this blatantly.
Atop the wasteland loomed a crude 15-meter black fortress. Roughly hewn like shattered obsidian, it looked designed to corrupt everything around it—and it did.
"Damn it. Fine. Once we breach this gate..."
Bernard placed a hand on the fortress's main gate and sighed. In that instant, the door he touched slid smoothly inward on its own.
The four stared in shock as the gate slowly opened. After a brief silence, Margaret spoke first.
"It's a trap."
"Trap."
Walter agreed.
"Anyone can see it's a trap."
Rose chimed in. Bernard kept his hand on the door, debating whether to close it.
Walter shrugged. "Shall we go in?"
"No choice, right?"
Margaret agreed. Rose nodded, while Bernard alone clutched his blond hair in disbelief.
"What, did you leave all the balls across the border? You're seriously saying we go in after that?"
"Not just talk."
Margaret strode toward the gate. The elf princess was seriously pissed today, for various reasons. Bernard backed off, knowing better than to argue. No one—not even the Empire's emperor—could sway Margaret when she was this heated.
Bam! The fairy lord kicked the gate open, revealing the fortress's stark interior. A vast, empty space walled in the same obsidian as the exterior. Guarding it alone was the Lord of Darkness, the Lich Lord.
A demon who had lived for centuries as an undead black mage and supreme necromancer, his mortal soul long forgotten. Not the strongest executive in the Demon King's army, but formidable nonetheless. Slaying him today would rank among the party's greatest feats.
Margaret marched boldly into the fortress without a hint of fear. Nocking an arrow, she aimed at the robed corpse shambling about. The ragged Lich Lord turned, flashing a grotesque smile at the elf.
"You've come. Faster than I expected. I'd welcome you to my fortress, but what you really want is—"
Margaret fired with a bored expression. The arrow plunged straight into the defenseless Lich's eye, eliciting a sharp scream.
"Damn it! Don't you have the courtesy for introductions? For someone as ancient as me, that's no way to duel!"
"This isn't a duel."
Margaret calmly nocked another arrow. "It's an assassination."
"Assassination my ass! You smashed everything in your path—how's that assassination?!"
"Then tell me: what kind of trap is this, welcoming us like we're expected?"
"I should be asking you. Do you think I'm on the Demon King's level? You obliterated all my forces and assets en route—what trap could I possibly prepare?"
"Your main force should be coming."
"Sure, eventually! Or maybe the news just reached them. You rushed here like lightning to prevent any traps—then worry about them? You're the type who habitually overestimates enemies! Insane! If I'd known vermin like you would raid me, I never would've built here!"
The Lich Lord's genuine outrage convinced Margaret he was telling the truth. Leaving the gate open wasn't bait or a trap—it stemmed from despair, watching the assassin party barrel in like a walking catastrophe, helpless to act.
"Then resist thoroughly. Today, you'll taste the death you deserve."
Margaret delivered a villainous line. As her arrow tip targeted the Lich again, the four heroes had taken positions, battle-ready.
"If resisting is what you want, I'll take at least one of you with me. Come on!"
The Lich spread his arms wide, dark black magic oozing forth. Walter shot Margaret a reproachful glance.
"Why provoke the corpse?"
"Would it go down easy without provocation? Shut up and give orders!"
"Rose, vanguard as usual. Bernard, fall back—support with magic tools mainly. Margaret, you're with me on the charge."
"Got it. One shot."
With few arrows left, Margaret had no intention of just sniping anyway. Her last hit to the Lich's eye hadn't been lethal; damaging a black mage with arrows was tough. High-level mages' damage reduction absorbed distant attacks heavily. Common knowledge among experts: close the gap against skilled casters.
"Raaagh!"
The Lich targeted Margaret with a preemptive strike. Black curse orbs erupted from his rotten hands toward the elf, but she held steady, arrow trained. She trusted her backup.
Rose instantly shielded her, deflecting the curse with her shoulder pauldrons. Unharmed, the black magic ricocheted to the ceiling and dissipated into the air. The Lich gawked upward in disbelief.
Rose ducked immediately after, clearing Margaret's line of fire. Margaret loosed her arrow, slung her bow, drew her sword from her waist, vaulted over Rose, and charged.
"Think one block ends it?!"
Confirming Rose could no longer protect the elf mid-leap, the Lich crowed in triumph. Fresh black orbs launched from his hands.
"Dizzying. Firing obvious attacks head-on, hoping I'll take them? Your strategy's nauseating."
Margaret grumbled. Facing the direct assault, she leaped skyward, spun half a turn gracefully, and landed lithely. The Lich's shot missed her strike zone wildly—hitting Rose's head as she rose.
"Ow! What the hell?!"
Rose rubbed her unscathed head, complaining. The Lich must've been furious. His "masterstroke" saw one dodge effortlessly, the other tank two hits and whine—questioning his mage prowess entirely.
Meanwhile, Walter drew his holy sword, tapping the blade while adjusting his monocle.
"This thing's totally drained. Used too much holy power carving those goblins earlier."
Rose shook her head incredulously at him. The headshot curse had stung; she was still checking for bumps.
"What? So you're sitting out?"
"I'll jump in soon. Look at Princess Margaret right now—do I really need to?"
To counter the elephantine elf princess's momentum, the Lich reluctantly drew his magic blade and resisted. First clash: blades met below knee height—dead even.
Second: elf blade pressed the Lich back. His swordsmanship couldn't match the fairy lord's.
Third: clash at eye level. The powerless magic blade flew from the Lich's grip, clattering to the floor.
The Lich cupped his hands, unleashing black lightning at the close-range Margaret. Horizontal bolts from his rotten palms engulfed her, but she swiftly enchanted her sword with protection, holding it horizontally one-handed to endure the black magic.
"This... is a proper attack..."
The elf groaned. Her barrier wasn't weak, but the Lich's full-power beam slowly pushed her back. Her feet slid on the slick obsidian: 30cm, 60cm, 1m.
Rose tensed to intervene, but Walter just tapped his sword, awaiting holy power recharge.
"Bernard! My swords!"
Margaret shouted. Bernard rummaged frantically. "How many?"
"Three!"
"Lord have mercy, that trick again."
Bernard hurled three daggers to the elf as ordered. Margaret caught all three in her free right hand. As distance opened, she dropped defense, ducked the beam—which hit the wall behind and winked out like a candle.
While the Lich posed for his next spell, Margaret stabbed two daggers into her boot sheaths. Longsword in left, dagger in right, one dagger per boot. She clashed her boot blades menacingly, ringing eerily.
Seeing the enraged fairy lord leap over a meter high, razor-sharp toes aimed at him, the Lich truly regretted not fleeing to the Demon King—even if it meant abandoning pride.