Lich Lord Subjugation (2)
Slash, first with the left foot; slash, second a spinning heel kick from midair with the right. Then came the longsword's strike crashing down on the crown of the lich's hood. Though no drop of blood spilled from the already-corpse-like lich lord, those consecutive cuts would have turned an ordinary human into mincemeat sliced by a butcher. Margaret had infused each sword stroke with her own mana, making every deep gash excruciatingly painful for the lich.
At the moment the enraged lich let out a dying cat's screech and lunged forward, Rose stepped in front, swinging her sword in a massive arc to smash the demon's skull. A dull thud echoed, like bone struck by a giant club, and the lich's body lurched violently to one side. Rose and Margaret's teamwork was flawless. As Rose dropped into a deep crouch, Margaret planted a foot on her shoulder and sprang up, delivering a massive front kick that carved into the lich's body. The lich's robe tore vertically, and a dagger blade sank deep into its shoulder, shredding the arm muscle to tatters.
The lich clutched its arm with a agonized scream, but Margaret, unwilling to even hear it, swung her longsword in a horizontal slash that severed the enemy's vocal cords. For the lich, whose life had been prolonged by black magic and necromancy, this was a crystal-clear curse in that instant. Staggering back without even a proper scream, the lich flung up a black mana shield in a desperate frenzy, as if to say it would hold out somehow.
At that moment, Walter, who had been tapping his holy sword lightly, spoke up in a bright voice.
"Oh, the light's back! But it'll probably go out again after one use."
"Then conserve your holy power, Walter H. Hellhound. I'll hand this thing over to you half-dead."
Margaret shouted as she leaped high toward the lich's mana shield. Walter removed his monocle briefly, put it back on, tilted his head as if calculating the timing, and gave a signal of agreement. It seemed the elf princess intended to settle things properly with this lich lord.
Margaret's attacks, which actively incorporated kicks, grew even more fluid and dazzling. She started by lying back lightly and ripping the hem of the lich's robe with a low kick, then sprang up like a coiled spring while stabbing the dagger in her right hand into the enemy's mana shield. Though infused with her mana, the dagger fell short of shattering the lich lord's shield. It lodged into the black barrier in midair, floating as if suspended there.
Having jumped once into the air, Margaret used the dagger's hilt as a foothold, spinning in midair for a double jump. From far above the lich lord's eye level, her menacing double-footed kick hurtled down. Pinpointing the shield's vulnerability—now rigid from blocking the dagger—Margaret's right foot drove straight for the lich's right eye. With a sickening squelch, the blade on her boot pierced the enemy's eye. Using that foot as a pivot, Margaret spun like a compass, describing a half-circle toward the ground in a 180-degree rotation.
She barely avoided smashing her head into the floor, then let the momentum carry her body another 90 degrees—straight up perpendicular to the lich's body. Naturally, her pivoting foot twisted with her, churning the lich's eye like stirring soup. Seeing the demon's arm—previously slashed by her kick—dangling in tatters right before her, she grabbed it and hacked it off with her longsword.
"Gr... grrr..."
Only hollow groans escaped the lich's throat. This black mage, burdened with the karma of not dying at the age he should have, now endured it all at once—and soon experienced the rare sensation of his own severed arm smashing into his skull. Clutching the lich's arm in one hand, the fairy lord stomped its skull and leaped back into the air, wickedly nocking the arm onto her bow like an arrow and firing it straight at the lich's head. More humiliating than damaging, she landed gracefully on the obsidian floor afterward.
Walter glanced at Margaret, rolling his eyes uneasily.
"That was a bit nasty, huh?"
"I... might have gotten a little carried away. Sorry."
"No need to apologize to me. Bernard, let's wrap this up."
Bernard, who had been silently watching Margaret dismantle the rotten flesh, rose and hurled a hooked rope toward the lich lord. Normally, the lich's power could have easily parried or blocked it, but now—with one arm severed and reduced to a half-crippled corpse atop corpses—it couldn't even resist the hook snagging its shoulder. Bernard deftly dragged the rope like a conveyor belt, delivering the lich's neck right to the hero's feet.
The hero waited motionlessly, blade poised at the spot, conserving holy power for any future fights. Bernard's hands moved faster and faster. Like a victim caught in a psycho killer's bizarre contraption, the lich slowly realized its end was near. Moments later, with a clean slice, a flash of light erupted from the holy sword, executing the beheading the lich lord had so desperately craved.
Its end was pathetic, but this had been one of the terrifying commanders who, during the Demon King's grand autumn offensive last season, had led the spectral legions and plagued the entire empire.
"I'll take the head. Better hurry out of here, right?"
Bernard said, scooping up the lich lord's head before he could even savor the mission's completion. Bereft of blood, robe, and dignity, it now resembled any common zombie's severed noggin, indistinguishable from the rest.
"Yeah. The lich spoke as if it wasn't expecting reinforcements, but if that were true, it had no reason to resist. It might have held out hope for rescue."
Margaret nodded, lightly wiping sweat from every corner of her body. She'd had the most stamina during the march, but having shouldered the heaviest load in both magic and melee in place of her exhausted human comrades, even she wasn't at full strength now. Leaving the dagger in her boot untouched, she gripped her swords in both hands and slowly headed for the fortress exit. Blood from slain goblins and orcs still coated her, giving her the grim look of someone fresh from butchering a pig.
Rose stuck out her tongue and shook her head.
"Margaret, you okay?"
"A bit tired. But since I'm not the only one worn out today, I can't complain."
"No, I mean... it's just the four of us now. You holding up? Getting used to it?"
Margaret looked down at Rose with a deeply troubled expression. Rose shrugged innocently, as if wondering what she'd said wrong.
"I didn't join this group for fun. None of you did. Romance and enjoyment are bonuses—if not, we endure. Survival comes first. Calculations later."
"So, not entirely okay, huh."
"Fine, I admit it. Feels empty. Happy now?"
Margaret gave a hollow laugh at Rose's persistence. No one could deny anymore that Margaret felt Jeong-jae's absence the most among the four—not even Margaret herself, in her resignation.
The quartet didn't return to the mountains but pressed on swiftly toward the empire's borderlands as originally planned. They had been confident they could assassinate a single lich lord without much trouble. Infiltration had been tough, but they'd advanced through enemies without major hitches. The hundreds of monsters guarding the area were all the enemy could muster hastily.
But hours had passed since their presence was detected. Any enemy forces they encountered now would dwarf those on Ambyeok Mountain in both quantity and quality. They'd slain the lich lord, but if safe extraction was part of the mission, avoiding contact while crossing enemy territory was crucial.
By their calculations, the enemy was mobilizing large reinforcements aimed initially at the lich's fortress—so if they moved fast, they could slip away in a different direction. The first kilometer went smoothly. The first kilometer did.
Unexpected events always happened. Even in a wise hero's plan.
"That's the Shadow Knight Legion, right?"
Rose pointed at the mass of black shadows ahead. Margaret nodded wearily.
"No doubt about it. Damn. Didn't consider they might send them as an advance force."
Tactically, the main Demon King army couldn't arrive yet—but dispatching the stealthy, aggressive Shadow Knights swiftly as support made their encounter possible. The party simply hadn't anticipated the Demon King committing elite shadow knights so quickly and precisely.
"How many, Margaret?"
Walter asked, the only one maintaining calm.
Margaret narrowed her eyes at the shadows flickering about 250 meters ahead.
"Thirty by a hundred, looks like."
"Three thousand. Insane. That's a whole legion."
Rose stuck out her tongue and shook her head. The distance made it clear the enemy had spotted them too. In this dire crisis where evasion was impossible, the four—including the hero—were utterly exhausted.
"Trained humans can run 40 kilometers without issue, even armored."
Walter said. Bernard sighed deeply, grasping what he meant.
"From a rested state! We've already run over 70 today!"
"Ah, but we're not human, Bernard."
Walter flashed a slightly manic smile. Even he had no better plan. To get everyone home, they'd endure pain and pressure dozens of times beyond an elite human's limits.
"The hero and his friends. I think we're already half-ascended to godhood."
"No long talk. What's the plan?"
The Shadow Knight Legion approached slowly, warily. Distance now about 200 meters. If they charged, it'd close to zero in seconds.
"Flanking's pointless—they'll catch our rear and make it worse. Charge head-on, hit them hard enough to need time to regroup. Then smash their formation and sprint flat-out to the border. Can we do it?"
"This is crazy. Margaret, hold my armor."
Realizing she couldn't do this armored, Rose shed her heavy plate with Margaret's help piece by piece. Beneath lay thin silver chainmail wrapping her body to protect armor joints—like tight chain leggings, outlining her figure comically. But with shadow knights now 100 meters away, no one commented.
"This is the armor Her Highness just wore! Souvenir for you bastards—take it gratefully!"
Rose spat crudely, embarrassed. Walter, gripping his drawn holy sword tensely, suddenly commanded.
"Charge!"
With his order, Margaret, Walter, Rose, and Bernard surged forward in that order. The shadow knights spurred their shadow mounts in countercharge; collision was instantaneous.
First clash. Margaret leaped wide, severing two shadow horses' necks at once, clearing a path as they dissolved. Walter unleashed his conserved holy power in a frenzy, vaporizing two knights in one strike. Bernard focused on dodging and leaping over rather than killing, attacking openings but lacking instant-kill means against these durable elites. Still, binding four horses' legs with mana-infused chains to topple them was a solid gain.
Rose methodically targeted horses over knights, opening a breach. Starting beside Walter, she shifted to Margaret, combining attacks to carve through shadows. Breath ragged, legs trembling, she endured with Margaret's support, blocking, blocking, and blocking again.
The four somehow pierced the legion, fleeing madly to reach the empire's border safely. But upon arrival, ragged like routed soldiers, the imperial border guards—assuming the heroes had failed and the empire doomed—burst into tears, never imagining mission success.