Chapter 100
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 100
Chapter Title: 23. Spirit Realm. (4)
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Centered around Mercenary Leader Allen, the four mercenary corps moved with nimble precision.
They exited the cathedral and immediately fell into their prearranged formation, advancing steadily. …The fog remained as thick as ever, like wandering through a dream.
The mercenaries moved in utter silence, their only sound the ragged rasp of heavy breathing. For these green recruits who'd only ever bashed in the skulls of scrawny bandits, this sudden spike in difficulty brought a heavy weight of dread. …Of course, none of them devolved into the pathetic hysterics of some shrieking maiden who'd never held a blade.
The Blind Saintess felt the eerie aura grow stronger the closer they got to the inner castle. And now, a sinister energy began to seep out, slimy and insidious.
"Leader, the gate seems to be inside the inner castle."
At the odd-eyed one's words, Allen grasped the broad strokes of the situation. For some reason, the baron had opened a gate to the Spirit Realm, and whether by accident or design, it had been left wide open.
…This fucking mage, does he think this is a mage tower…!
Even if a mage tower had hordes of wizards to clean up failed experiments, no such elite manpower existed in this backwater town. Or maybe he'd been so cocky he thought he couldn't fail.
…And before long, a chilling whisper began to reach the mercenaries' ears. Whispers from spirits wandering the Spirit Realm. Their content was brutally savage.
- I'm going to steal your body and tear it to shreds.
- Die! Die! Die!
Unbridled hostility and rage directed at the living. It was nothing like the seductive siren song whispers. …This had to be humanity's primal malice laid bare.
Sometimes a thick wave of killing intent brushed their skin like a tongue's lick, making even Allen flinch. He'd shed his coward's shell and grown a stout heart, but that didn't mean surprise vanished entirely.
"Ugh, fuck, that startled me!"
The hairy beast Gis, terrified of ghosts, trembled and yelped at every whisper and intent. Even those not particularly ghost-shy felt much the same.
Thankfully, no undead appeared for a good while after leaving the cathedral. …But the moment that thick killing intent prickled their skin, a faint undead lunged with a tearing shriek.
"What the fuck!"
One startled mercenary spat curses and reflexively swung his club. The pale gray undead crumbled like a snowman hit in the eye, spilling ash, then vanished in a blink.
"Fuck, that scared the shit out of me…!"
It felt like one had popped right in their face. Anyone would react the same.
After the first undead, more appeared in the forms they'd held in life—sudden, anywhere, anytime. Sometimes dropping right from overhead, dumping their creepy ash all over the mercenaries. …Sure, they vanished without trace, but it was still gross.
They weren't that strong, but their sudden appearances demanded constant vigilance.
…And then, when they were quite close to the inner castle.
Suddenly, a horde of undead came charging from ahead. At least dozens by a quick glance.
The Red-Robed Mage, as if he'd been waiting, hurled a prepped mana orb right into the horde's center. It exploded with a boom, scattering undead.
But the fog dulled the blast's range. …Still, it wiped out about a third in one go.
As the mercenaries smashed the undead wildly with their weapons, something black and massive slithered silently into view from the horde's direction.
Like the Grim Reaper incarnate, this spirit wore a pitch-black cloak billowing around it, a massive scythe in its left hand and a large gray haft in its right.
The mercenaries froze at its terrifying, overwhelming presence. This was no mere undead.
Antondra. Also known as the Soul Harvester—.
This denizen of the Spirit Realm devoured aimless wandering souls. Naturally, it attacked the living too, harvesting their spirits.
Before the Antondra could swing its massive scythe, Elena's elemental magic slammed into it first.
—!!
Ashen powder spilled from the exploding cloak. But it showed no pain, swinging the scythe anyway.
The front line raised thick shields to block, but the force was too much; they couldn't hold steady.
In the end, Kallisman and Gis both toppled, shattering the front line. But blocking that one strike was key—it opened a counter chance.
Cautious Archer Georg drew his bowstring taut, holy water dripping from the arrowhead, and loosed it at the monster's head right after its attack.
The holy arrow struck true, exploding on impact.
It tried to regenerate amid the paang, but Allen yelled to hit it before it reformed.
The Rubber Swordsman and Blind Saintess from the second line struck first, targeting its arms with weapon and haft. Hot on their heels, trainee Viktor and rookie Cori hammered its torso. As the staggering Antondra toppled backward, the group pulverized it further.
Only then did it slowly dissolve into black ash. It wasn't fast, but its destructive power was overwhelming. A single scythe graze left deep gouges even on thick shields.
…Normally they'd take a short breather after combat, but Allen pressed on. While Allen's Mercenary Corps fought the Antondra, the others had been swamped by endless undead. And they still poured in.
"Keep advancing. Pick up the pace—!"
- Die! Die!
- Aaaah!
- Give it here! Give it!
Fighting each one individually would burn the whole night, so they had to bulldoze straight to the inner castle without stopping.
Allen reorganized all four corps into a wedge formation. It left the rear vulnerable, but as long as they didn't halt, the back was safe.
Not quite a cavalry charge, but powerful mercenaries slamming with shields would scatter weak undead instantly. …The Antondra was the issue, but if one appeared, pull back the other three corps and reform quickly.
"Charge until I say stop—!!"
Allen bellowed until veins bulged in his neck. The mercenaries advanced at a brisk trot.
Barely fed yet moving nonstop, their breaths already reeked of acetone, ragged and foul. …No choice. Lives on the line—no mercy for anyone. Dead serious; they'd squeeze every last drop of strength.
After pushing hard for a while, the group finally reached the inner castle walls. Near the Spirit Realm gate, undead swarmed in huge numbers. Soul Harvesters prowled too.
The inner gate stood open anyway. Tie up the Antondra briefly, and they could rush right in.
Allen called the Red-Robed Mage and another mage.
"You two, focus only on that thing. Ignore the rest. Just keep it off us! …Can you cast while moving?"
Approaching at a trot, it was nearly upon them. No time for talk. They had to try.
The two mages chanted their strongest spells. The Antondra closed in, raising its scythe.
Simultaneously, two spells flew—one from the Red-Robed Mage hit center mass, the other's grazed the left shoulder.
A brief opening.
Mercenaries near it flinched in fear, slowing. Allen roared a curse.
"You fucks, when did I say stop—!!!"
They bellowed back, realigning the formation and sprinting faster.
The regenerated Antondra raged, swinging its scythe—then the Blind Saintess, on Allen's order, leaped like a comet, smashing her fist into its face.
————!!!!
The blow sent it reeling backward. The group trampled past safely.
Allen hated breaking formation, but no choice here. With the Blind Saintess away briefly, Cautious Archer Georg filled the Odd-Eyed One's spot, swinging his bow like a club to scatter undead in showers of ash.
The mercenaries pierced the fearlessly charging undead and finally entered the inner castle. Of course, undead lurked inside too. …But noticeably fewer, as if even they shunned this place.
Only then did the group ease their pace, catching a breath. Still smashing undead skulls nonstop, but compared to outside, far more room.
…Yet the moment they entered, a brutal aura pierced their spines—even Allen, dulled to it, felt it sharply.
Something was definitely here.
The gate to the Spirit Realm—.
Time to shut down this damned soul business for good.