Chapter 90
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 90
Chapter Title: The Overlord's Resolve
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Use it yourself.
With only those words, Alter launched a preemptive strike at Maltiel. His staff, gathering a pure white light, didn't even wait for the boy to come to his senses.
Leaves were engulfed in flames, and a hot wind caressed the boy's cheek. Lightning flared, stretching toward the sky, and an unidentifiable pressure settled over the ranks.
“Rex, the artifact!”
As if he had been waiting for just that command, Rex took a deep breath and brought a hand to his chest. Soon, fine particles emerged from his chest, forming the shape of a large horn.
“Everyone, on the sound of the horn, we strike at once! Our opponent is an Overlord—don't miss this chance!”
He wasn't confident. He didn't know if this was the right plan.
But there was no time for such complaints. The trees covering the mountain screamed in unison. The leaves adorning the slope floated into the air, and the Overlord descended beside Alter.
Then, the sound of the horn echoed through the mountain.
A large fissure began to form in the ground where Maltiel and Alter stood.
From within the black fissure, white bones surged forth. The bones that crawled up from the crack instantly climbed Maltiel's legs, coiling around his dark body.
“So, it was a bait.”
Maltiel ignored the white clutches climbing his body and reached out. Alter's head was right in front of him; if he stretched just a little further, he could kill the 8th Circle high mage.
Mages were always beings who brought great variables to the battlefield. Maltiel decided to eliminate the mage before him right now, even if it meant his entire body would be bound by bones a second later.
‘Situation assessment and analysis can wait. Getting rid of the 8th Circle mage in front of me is the priority.’
*Flap—*
The next moment, Alter's robe pulled taut as his body was thrown backward. One of the soldiers, who had started charging at the sound of the horn, had pulled the old man back.
It was a rough, inconsiderate grasp, but thanks to it, the old man's head remained attached to his shoulders.
Maltiel's fist, wreathed in black light, cut through the air. The moment Alter's hair was grazed by the black light, it was severed and vanished.
“Tsk.”
The next moment, Maltiel's body became immobile.
The bones that had shot out from beneath his feet had locked onto his body like shackles.
Maltiel shifted his gaze to look down at his feet. To identify the void that had suddenly opened and the bones that crawled up from it.
Countless skeletons were piled within the fissure. They exuded a ghastly chill as they stared up at Maltiel.
‘Magic? No, I can feel mana, but it doesn't feel like magic. An artifact, perhaps.’
[The Horn that Calls Them]
The horn, blown with all of Rex's might, could create a fissure wherever the user wished and summon undead made of bone.
These undead could disassemble and reassemble their bones to transform into more efficient forms of soldiers, and if needed, they could even become bone dust or solid bone masses to bind an opponent's hands or feet.
Depending on the user's creativity and capability, it could be used not only to overwhelm enemies with a skeleton army but also to pulverize into dust and scatter like a fog to obstruct vision.
An artifact whose possibilities were endless, with no drawbacks to speak of—something close to omnipotence itself.
However, Maltiel knew little about its true nature.
‘...Artifacts often have unpredictable effects and repercussions. Attempting a half-baked analysis is pointless.’
Maltiel decided not to concern himself with the skeletons climbing up from his feet.
No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to figure out the nature of an artifact he was seeing for the first time, or the power it contained.
What could be discovered through reason and inference, and what could not, no matter the effort.
Maltiel knew how to clearly distinguish between the two.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
The soldiers swung their axes and swords at Maltiel. Fear tugged at them from below, but not a single soldier hesitated or froze.
“How pitiful.”
*Crack…!*
Cracks began to form in the white bones binding Maltiel's body. The undead that had crawled up from the fissure had bound the Overlord's movements for a moment, but that was all.
The next moment, the skeletons holding Maltiel tight shattered to pieces, their bone dust rising around his body like a cloud. Maltiel's wings contracted sharply.
It would not take even a second for Maltiel to annihilate the soldiers charging at him, risking their lives.
“Hey.”
In that moment.
Piercing through the soldiers' scream-like war cries and the sound of shattering bones.
A boy's voice rang out.
‘…’
Maltiel's thoughts came to a halt for a moment.
He released the power gathered in his wings and slowly turned his head in the direction of the voice.
At the end of his gaze stood a boy with pure white hair.
“...!”
A tremor ran through his dark body.
“You've made an unbelievable mistake! Is Bel Artois the only one with the capacity to think?!”
He shouted instinctively, without realizing it.
A broad smile settled on Maltiel's face. At the sight of a smile filled with malice and cunning, the boy broke into a cold sweat, his body freezing in terror.
*Crack!*
While Maltiel gave the boy a chilling smile, the soldiers' axes and blades tore into his skin. Red sparks, like those from steel striking steel, flared up all over the Overlord's body, and soon, black blood flowed from the wounds.
But that was all.
None of the soldiers could reach Maltiel's core.
“Foolish.”
“...All troops, retreat!”
The white-haired boy hastily pulled the soldiers back. The soldiers, drenched in cold sweat, quickly slung Alter over their shoulders and ran to hide in the forest. Amid the bustle, the Overlord standing at the center of the terror slowly took a step toward the boy.
His own safety? The bothersome high mage? The unidentified bones that suddenly burst from the ground?
Whatever it was, none of it was worth considering compared to the life of the boy before him.
‘This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’
Maltiel had fled from Vellaland to survive. Anyone could see that staying there would have only led to a death more meaningless than a dog's.
Grisha was there, Bel was there, and above all, the Sword Saint was there. It was clear that if he had fought the boy there, he would have accomplished nothing and died due to the interference of those three.
But what about now?
The most problematic one, the Sword Saint, had gone after Mikael, not him, and Grisha and Bel were tied down in Vellaland.
The boy was now completely defenseless.
Maltiel made a decision.
“I admit it. I have been defeated.”
He would give up on escaping.
Losing four Overlords in a single day was undoubtedly a massive blow. Perhaps because of today's defeat, the demon race might lose the momentum to rise again and fight the allied forces.
On countless battlefields, the demons would be helpless, eliminated by the allied forces. The allied forces would easily string together many victories.
Even if he didn't risk his life, today would be a momentous day for the allied forces. That fact would not change.
Two Overlords were already dead, and it was a foregone conclusion that Mikael would soon die by the Sword Saint's blade.
Even if he survived, having lost three Overlords, it was practically impossible to maintain the current front lines spread across the continent.
Before long, most of the fronts would collapse, and the allied forces scattered across the continent would gather in one place.
The demon race, having lost over forty percent of its strength, would soon be pushed onto the defensive.
The allied forces would go on the offensive to choke the life out of the demons, and the balance of power, which had not shifted once in thirty years, would finally be reversed.
Maltiel alone could not reverse this tide. The winds of change had already begun to blow.
“Nevertheless, there are still things that can be done.”
*Ruuuumble…!*
From behind Maltiel, a giant hand crawled up through a large fissure.
A bone giant, large enough to swallow even the orc Rex in one bite, revealed itself from behind Maltiel. The giant reached its massive hand toward the demon before it.
*BOOM!*
The next moment, it shattered with a massive shockwave.
Maltiel hadn't used any special magic. He had simply contracted his wings and then spread them powerfully.
“This crazy…”
The boy had no choice but to close his eyes against the immense shockwave Maltiel had created.
“Are you not satisfied? Three Overlords should have been a historic victory... Which moron sent you here?”
“...Bolt!”
Alter's staff, hidden with the soldiers in the shadows of the trees, flashed with light once more.
A bolt of lightning, scattering erratically through the air, pierced Maltiel's head.
Black blood erupted like a fountain, hissing as it touched the residual lightning.
*Rustle.*
Yet, the Overlord's steps did not halt. Every time he stepped on fallen leaves, they rotted and disintegrated. The abundant leaves instantly turned to dust, scattering beneath the Overlord's feet.
Maltiel instantly regenerated the flesh and bone of his neck.
His dark face still held that unsettling smile.
“The situation is in our favor! We have the artifact, and we have Alter! Soldiers, do not be afraid! Hesitate, and you die!”
The boy did not waver and encouraged the soldiers.
“Indeed, the situation is advantageous for you.”
Once again, a white flame erupted from between the shadows of the trees. This time, Maltiel spread his wings to envelop his body. As the black wings and the lightning bolt collided, red sparks burst forth.
Maltiel sliced off his own burning wing with his claws. A new wing sprouted in an instant.
An orc holding a horn and an axe jumped out in front of the boy. The warrior with resolute eyes was prepared to protect the mage with his life.
“There are too many variables on this battlefield that are disadvantageous to me.”
Maltiel looked at the orc, one of whose arms had been replaced with a prosthetic, and stopped in his tracks.
The red-skinned orc was nothing special. The large axe and mechanical arm were somewhat impressive, but that was all. For a soldier guarding the boy, he was exceedingly ordinary.
But the horn he held in his hand... felt somewhat alien.
‘An artifact.’
Maltiel had no choice but to stop. Because he could not predict what power was contained within that artifact.
“An 8th Circle high mage, an unknown artifact, soldiers who are all reasonably skilled... and you, Bin.”
His voice echoed chillingly.
“It seems it would be better to wipe the board clean.”
The monster, who always wore a leisurely, mocking smile, put on a heavy, serious expression for the first time.
The monster pressed its black palms together as if in prayer, then carefully brought its hands under its chin.
An icy silence fell over the battlefield.
The burning leaves, the passing wind, the sun looking down from high above.
All fell silent, able to do nothing but stare at the Overlord.
“...That crazy bastard.”
The white-haired boy let out a low sigh, as if he had foreseen what was to come.
“All troops, flee this place!”
Soon, a desperate shout rode the burning leaves and branches, filling the mountainside.
“Hooo…”
Amidst the shouting, Maltiel closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and quietly focused on the flow of mana within his body.
“Torn flesh. A molar swallowed. A broken tusk.”
The incantation rode on his black tongue, vibrating the air. Soon, something like pure darkness began to leak from between the palms pressed under Maltiel's chin.
“Annihilation.”
Magic chooses its master based on a single criterion: talent.
Outstanding and distinguished talent. Magic did nothing more than bless it.