Chapter 283
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 283
Chapter Title: Lich (3)
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Freg was a Level 7 user.
A powerhouse not easily found anywhere, the kind of figure only someone like Merdein—who the Empire had poured decades of effort into—could lay eyes on.
Even just reaching Level 6 meant you could live high off the hog anywhere, but Level 7?
His standards were sky-high as a result, his pride piercing the heavens.
Having seen so much of the world, he had a measure of understanding to go with that pride, and he couldn't hold back his anger at narrow-minded fools—a peculiar yet utterly ordinary human, in his own way.
And such a man was watching the battle unfolding before him, lips trembling, too entranced to even notice.
Kraaaaaah—!
Tens of thousands of undead rampaged like mad.
Even after spending so long in Merdein, hordes this massive weren't a common sight.
'At least Level 3s, with the stronger ones hitting Level 5. And plenty of Level 6 commanders mixed in.'
Yet those undead... Level 3s were getting shredded without question, but even the Level 5s and 6s were being cut down like wheat.
The wildest one on the ground was a blond man with blue eyes.
With dazzling platinum hair and blue eyes brimming with thick killing intent, he darted through the undead ranks, unstoppable.
Somehow unleashing the full power of wind at will, he had become one with it, scattering sword flashes amid the horde.
'H-How many skills has that guy learned...?'
His swordsmanship was extraordinary at a glance, paired with footwork as light as an elf's from the rumors.
And that was just the start. One moment he'd shoot forward like a rapier thrust, the next wield an unstoppable greatsword like the setting sun.
He'd deflect enemy attacks with silken softness using flowing swordplay, then zip past in lightning-quick strikes.
And finally, that Supremacy Step that looked down from the heavens, even sending faint tremors through the earth.
'They all look like skills... especially that swordsmanship. It's the Empire's knight order techniques. That interspersed style—is it Herlante swordsmanship? And even Beltan style!'
Skills that would spark bloody bidding wars at any auction house.
Skills. Ah, yes. Truly cheat-like powers.
The ability to learn them anytime, anywhere, with just a skillbook.
But it wasn't as convenient as the world made it out to be.
If you could just cram skills in and get stronger, why didn't everyone do it?
Why did all the powerhouses head to Blackout, cherry-picking only the absolute best skills?
The reason was simple.
Skills were like grafting extra limbs onto your body.
Not some asura gaining power with three heads and six arms.
The more limbs you added, the exponentially greater the mental strain to control them, and in embodying it all, pointless movements crept in unbidden.
In other words, the more skills you learned, the weaker you paradoxically became.
'And yet, a mere third-year Blackout warrior controls all that power...?'
Anyone who cared to know already knew the identity of that blond blue-eyed man.
The unlucky soul who had plummeted from the lofty skies.
The discarded prince, Aiden.
No way had he trained in skills from childhood.
Just picking up a sword would've set the palace abuzz.
Meaning he'd only started four years ago, when he was permitted to descend to Blackout—and with that alone, he wielded swordsmanship like this.
'As expected of imperial blood.'
But his shock didn't end there.
Hiiiieeee—!!
A banshee's wail echoed out. The leader type, commanding other banshees—a Level 6 ghost-type undead monster.
But something far more ghostly than it shredded the banshee's translucent body to pieces.
From the White Whale Mercenary Corps, Maya.
She'd been vanishing and reappearing in bizarre movements even Freg couldn't track, darting across the battlefield. Then assassinating only the strongest undead in the packs.
She crushed a giant skeleton commanding hundreds from the inside out.
A ghoul on the verge of evolving into a higher form lost its limbs to the sky.
Ghost-types actually fled in fear of Maya.
Unbelievable.
Undead fearing a human, of all things.
Undead never flinched from humans.
They died before they ran, period.
Yet ghost-types sobbed and bolted the moment they spotted Maya from afar.
Kwaaaang—!
And occasional thunderous booms rang out.
A holy knight named Bern, clad in radiant golden divine power, swung a battle hammer and tower shield like a berserker.
'Bern...'
A famous holy knight.
Back when the Ariclotos Church held massive sway, he'd been captain of the holy knight order.
Freg had even been deployed alongside him on missions several times.
He'd been only Level 4 then, while Bern was already Level 7.
Freg had always thought he'd hit Level 8 someday.
Reach that sublime realm and play a huge role in purging Merdein.
But over a decade ago, he'd stepped down as captain for no apparent reason and half-retired into the wilds.
Taking only occasional priest escort gigs, never again swinging that hammer hoarsely on any battlefield.
And now, out of nowhere, he'd joined the White Whale Mercenary Corps and was hurling that golden hammer once more.
What on earth had happened to him?
What could make him smash undead skulls with such a joyful face from his glory days?
At least it was clear it had to do with the black-bandaged priest moving with him and the White Whale captain.
"Monsters, every last one..."
Even the priest—who'd seemed the easiest mark—was unleashing holy magic, conjuring sights Freg had never witnessed.
One swing summoning a hammer that shook heaven and earth, only for it to split into hundreds of smaller hammers pulverizing undead skulls.
It reminded him of Bern.
'So that's what they meant by trusting their priest?'
Freg had seen priests burn undead with divine power plenty of times, but smashing skulls with divinely summoned hammers? Never in his life.
And the final star of the show, the most eye-catching figure on the field.
White Whale Mercenary Corps captain, Jun.
Half-floating in midair, he'd been massacring the most undead from the start.
Lightning crashing like heavenly wrath.
Inky mist slamming undead into the dirt on contact.
Flames surging like tidal waves across the city.
No undead survived those, and even now, none dared approach the bell tower.
"Whew, good. That's cleanup done. Hey, Freg. Your turn now."
After about ten minutes of slaughtering undead, the mage left those words and slipped inside the bell tower.
"What the... crazy bastard."
Freg.
Not the type to look like a side character anywhere.
Even he couldn't help feeling a touch of emptiness before the spectacle.
He'd thought he'd seen every heavenly genius out there, but no—there were levels beyond.
Inside the bell tower, Jun watched his comrades still battling outside, a satisfied smile on his face.
"Hm. As expected of Level 7s—they're not getting tripped up by low-level scrubs anymore."
He'd anticipated as much, but not that they'd perform this well.
Tens of thousands might intimidate anyone, but for Level 7 elites, it was different.
Attacks from all sides rarely exceeded five at once, and as long as you watched for surprises, it was manageable.
How do you guard every direction every instant? That was the Level 7 realm—making it possible.
'Overwhelming area dominance. A must-have for any competent Level 7.'
After watching his comrades through the tower's gaps for a while, he turned to his own task.
This spot had unusually many paths snaking through—perfect for undead to swarm and encircle allied forces in seconds.
And as if they knew, countless undead blanketed the area.
Jun and his crew would hit them first; then the magic circle he was setting up would handle the rest. That was the mission.
About thirty minutes.
Time taken blocking undead entry, now with Freg and his crew joining in.
Jun pulled his eyes from the completed magic circle and turned to his group.
Time to head back.
"What... is this...?"
"What the hell happened here?"
A chunk of the city had turned into a flat plain.
Just yesterday, scouts had reported ruins—now only pitch-black earth remained.
Perfectly smoothed, like lava had swept through.
The spot where Jun and his crew had struck first half a day ago.
Supposed to be crawling with tens of thousands of undead, yet not a trace left.
"H-Hey, Freg. You know something? What happened here?"
"Something tremendous..."
Somehow enlightened, Freg just shook his head weakly at the vanguard's question.
"What the...?"
Freg, who was all but a corpse without his pride—what had deflated him like this?
His reaction only made the questioner feel uneasy for no reason.
As the man walked off, Freg finally dropped his hidden expression.
"Heh heh. Stick by them, and at worst you won't die. Plus, contribution points will rack up!"
Freg. Strip away the pride, and he was a sly tiger who could play corpse when it suited.
"You all worked so hard, Jun."
"Just doing what needed doing."
"I hear you always say that."
How did rumors about this guy spread so far?
One day he'd look into it. For now, Jun sat facing the Saintess.
"Thanks to you, we reached Merdein's heart so easily."
"That's too kind."
The White Whale Mercenary Corps had shone in this battle, but not on her level.
Nearly ten million undead weren't swarming all at once because of her.
"..."
Through the tent's opening, he gazed at the path they'd cleared.
Orange pillars floating like suns here and there.
Dozens of them lit up Merdein's demon-tainted skies.
"You purified all those zones on the way here too."
"Purify is too strong a word. Just temporary measures."
The Saintess was holding back the undead horde nearing ten million.
She was why Jun and the troops could rampage and still rest.
"My power's thanks to you all too. You cleared the nearby undead, letting me wield this much."
She looked a bit weary saying it.
Small wonder.
Sustaining massive holy magic non-stop.
'Too bad. If Eleanor could use Sun Church divine power...'
He could've shared some with the Saintess. A wild thought that'd horrify other priests, but Jun spoke up.
"About ten days left to the destination."
"Yes. We'll reach Melen Castle around then."
Lich.
A fierce battle with the Level 8 raid boss wasn't far off.
The decades-long grudge nearing its end.
But the Saintess still didn't know.
'Damn God of Death. Time to face you isn't far either.'
The real enemy to kill was someone else.