Fast and Vicious
Fast. And vicious.
The whip moved like a serpent, aiming straight for Yoahim's throat. It planned to coil around his neck and snap his bones. Getting caught would be dangerous. Yoahim quickly retreated, trying to slice the whip with his sword.
"You idiot! You think that'll cut it?!"
Delly laughed loudly, flicking his wrist with blinding speed. The whip tore through the air with a sharp crack, wrapping around Yoahim's sword in an instant. If he stayed like this, he'd lose the blade. Delly knew it. Yoahim knew it too.
Yet Yoahim was smiling. As if he'd been waiting for the sword to get caught.
"Lightning...!"
"What?!"
An attack was coming. Delly flinched in surprise, yanking the whip back. By a hair's breadth, a powerful surge of electricity raced along the whip...
"Huh?"
...but it didn't.
"You moron. You fell for that?"
Yoahim closed the distance in a flash. He kicked off the ground with explosive force, thrusting his sword at Delly's throat.
"You think I'll let you?!"
Delly swung the whip with all his might. It whipped through the air with thunderous cracks, smashing everything nearby to pieces. A skeleton unluckily caught in its path had its skull shattered. But Delly ignored it, swinging even faster.
It looks wild, but it's not.
The whip, slicing the air with precision, was slowly herding Yoahim into a corner. If he just kept backing away, he'd eventually be cornered and defeated without landing a single blow. Yoahim knew this, but he hesitated to act. Deflecting with his sword would mean losing it. Grabbing it barehanded would shred his palm. Charging in blindly would turn him into mincemeat before he could even swing once.
Is there a way?
His mana was nearly depleted. He'd already burned through most of it spamming fireballs, then used shield and lightning bolt on top.
One spell left.
Could one single spell turn the tide?
Fireball's out— not enough mana.
Fireball was Yoahim's strongest spell, but it guzzled mana. He couldn't cast it now. Shield was defensive and useless here. Lightning bolt lacked punch. Magic missile was a joke.
Yoahim had few options. But that was fine. One spell would be enough.
"Slippery like a rat! But you've got nowhere left to run! Die!"
Delly lashed out with the whip. It was stained with countless bloodstains and bits of flesh—proof of the many foes it had felled.
Yoahim stared straight at the incoming whip. One second left. No, even less.
And he uttered a single word.
"Blink."
Crack!
The whip struck empty ground, kicking up dust and scattering gravel. Delly blinked in disbelief. Yoahim, who had been right in front of him, was gone.
Magic? Had to be. But what kind?
Before he could even retract the whip, he felt a presence at his back. His body shuddered.
Behind him! He's behind me!
"Too late."
Slash!
The sharp sword severed Delly's throat. His head should have tumbled to the ground, rolling away...
"Wha... huh?"
...but it didn't.
"Wh-what?!"
Delly reached for his neck—or tried to. No matter how hard he strained, his hand wouldn't reach. He flailed desperately, grasping at empty air. His vision blurred and warped. The world spun like a carousel, sounds echoing as if he were in a cave. Something was wrong. Most of his senses were malfunctioning.
Why?
"Cats sense objects and balance with their whiskers. Cut them off, and they lose equilibrium, right?"
Yoahim casually dropped the sharp object from his hand. It clattered to the floor. Delly's dizzy gaze focused on it, and his eyes widened in shock.
"You demons are the same. Your horns sharpen your senses, but break them, and everything goes haywire."
Delly tried to focus, but his trembling eyes kept his vision hazy. One horn lay on the ground. The remaining one barely kept him conscious. If both broke, demons passed out—and couldn't function without aid until they regrew.
Delly thought amid the vertigo. Why didn't Yoahim kill me? He could have slit my throat right then.
Instead, he'd cut off one horn. If he wanted Delly helpless, he'd have taken both.
Why? Why? Why...?
His thoughts slowed. With one horn left, just staying conscious was a struggle.
"Delly, I've got a proposal for you."
"Proposal...?"
"Yeah. Hand over your subordinates to me. Transfer command."
What? Delly couldn't process it at first. Yoahim kindly repeated himself for the dazed demon—while slowly sawing at the remaining horn.
"Transfer command of the undead legion to me."
"Gaaah! Graaaah!"
A demon's horn was a nexus of sensation. Sawing it bit by bit? Like pulling out nails one by one—excruciating.
Yoahim was torturing and coercing him.
"Will you hand it over?"
Yoahim's goal had never been Delly's life. Killing him wouldn't end the fight. A normal unit might surrender if their leader fell, but Delly's were all undead. They'd fight until he ordered them to stop—because it was a command.
Undead followed any order, no matter how absurd. Even one to betray their lines entirely.
Yoahim needed to minimize losses to press on to the next village. So he'd seize command from Delly. Impossible for a regular army, but viable for undead.
"Choose. Leave you one horn? Or die in agony here. Surrender the legion, and you live. If you want, I'll even help you defect to Haellagos's side."
Delly wasn't stupid. Battlefield promises between enemies weren't kept. Yoahim would behead him the moment command transferred.
He knew. He knew it all.
Yet...
"Gaaaaah!"
His mind was a wreck. Yoahim kept slicing, urging a reply. At this rate, the horn would be gone in minutes, and he'd black out.
Staying sane was impossible now. Yoahim's voice echoed in his head.
"Choose. Not much left. Gonna lose it all? I'm. Giving. You."
Emphasizing each word deliberately. Like a devil's whisper, sweet and maddening.
"A chance. To escape the pain."
Escape. Freedom from this hellish torment.
Delly's eyes snapped open. He stared at Yoahim through shaking vision.
One word. Just one.
"I... I'll give it..."
"Give what."
"Command! I'll transfer command! Please! Please!"
"Order your troops properly. Tell them to follow me from now on."
Snip. Another chunk fell.
Delly lost it completely. In a frantic, desperate scream:
"Cease combat! Cease combat! All of you, follow this man from now on! He's your new commander!"
Delly passed out.
The undead halted instantly. They turned to Yoahim, awaiting orders.
Yoahim raised a hand, stopping his own troops.
Nearly nine hundred undead from both sides now stared at him.
"Thrilling."
It had been a massive gamble. Coercing the enemy commander to yield control. Only possible because they were undead, but still riddled with risks. If Delly's will had been stronger, or the horn hadn't snapped clean, or if undead couldn't transfer command arbitrarily...
Dozens of what-ifs. But Yoahim had won.
His forces intact—and doubled.
"Good thing undead are easy to maintain once summoned."
Necromancers spent mana to summon undead; exhaust it, and they despawn. To prevent that, constant mana feed was needed. Even top necromancers struggled with hordes. High-tier undead drained more, and even liches couldn't sustain legions solo.
But undead could siphon mana from foes in combat. Yoahim's doubled army posed no issue.
Mana problems? Combat would fix them.
And he still had three villages to take.
"Apostle! Sasha is in awe! You can win like this too!"
Sasha sparkled with admiration, as always. Yoahim turned away from the burdensome gaze—and spotted Leon's dissatisfied scowl.
"What's your problem?"
"Apostle, a traitor once will betray twice. Why not just kill them all? Say the word. I can slaughter every last one."
Crazy bastard. He just wants to kill.
Yoahim ignored him.
"What about this one? Take him prisoner?"
Sasha pointed at the unconscious Delly.
Yoahim replied flatly.
"Nah. Kill him."
"Ah... Got it."
Sasha seemed to think killing a surrenderer was cruel, but no choice. Kills meant EXP.