Chapter 285: Final Battle (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 285: Final Battle (1)
High Elf. Age: stopped counting after 200. She was a mage considered undeniably the finest among her clan's youth.
Hup.
Immediately upon landing, she glanced around. The nauseating stench of corpses filled the air.
‘So many died.’
A great number of mages entrusted with the clan's future had been wiped out by the Sword-Control Technique. They had tried to defend with magic, but it was no easy task. Kang Geomma's sword technique was an astonishing style that cut through magic itself.
Yet none of this mattered to her. As long as she survived, the High Elf clan would not fade into the shadows of history.
‘Even after so many died, plenty are still alive.’
The vitality of High Elves was tenacious. While not truly "immortal" in the sense of being unkillable, they certainly were "ageless." At around two hundred years old, she was still considered a novice who had barely completed her coming-of-age ceremony within the clan.
By that same token, having lived so long meant they could survive in any environment, somehow or another. Even the losers who had broken away long ago due to internal strife among the High Elves—the so-called Dark Elves—had stubbornly grown in power for all to see.
‘Our High Elves will enjoy even greater glory in the Human Realm.’
The corners of her mouth twitched upward. If she distinguished herself, Lord Kuarne would surely grant her a fief. She clenched her fist tight.
“Kill them! Kill!”
“Form up and move! Take cover from their magic, and advance one second after their casting finishes!”
From all directions, the clashing of steel and magic roared fiercely. For the most part, the demons' magic detonated relentlessly while the humans desperately fought to hold the line.
However, the heroes' defense was surprisingly resilient. Even as limbs flew through the air, they did not lower their shields until their very last breath. Some even died standing, gripping their armaments tightly in death. Right before breathing their last, some gasped out their final words to the comrade beside them.
“Remember... me...!”
“Dammit, Swift-Foot Joseph! I’ll remember you!”
Witnessing such valor, the surviving heroes rallied their morale and continued their desperate resistance.
Killing and dying. A continuous loop of futility. The line between life and death, light and darkness, grew faint.
A sinister smile spread across the High Elf’s lips. The scene she had longed for was right before her eyes. Excitement heated her veins.
‘Yes. The more you struggle, the more fun it is. Waiting quietly with your necks stretched out takes all the joy out of the hunt. Struggle more, struggle harder, you filthy humans.’
Suddenly, her long ears twitched like an insect's antennae. She sensed a presence. The High Elf turned her head.
Step.
An old, frail-looking Elf stepped beside her. High Elves were small in number, so everyone knew each other's faces. Yet this Elf's face was a complete mystery to her.
‘Ah. Could it be...?!’
She hurriedly paid her respects.
“Are you an Elder, sir?”
This person was no ‘mere’ villager. He had to be at least of Elder status. Since Elders usually resided in the Nephilim Shrine, seeing their faces was rare.
“……”
The old man glanced at her briefly before turning his gaze toward the battlefield.
‘They fight better than I thought.’
Majin casting magic with a snap of their fingers, and humans fighting back, screaming with all their might.
Human blood was red; demon blood was blue. A bizarre purple mixture bled into the earth.
‘Their blood mixes so easily, yet...’
The owners of that blood could not mingle, locked instead in mutual destruction.
“...Haa.”
He let out a heavy, conflicted sigh. At that, the young High Elf peeked up at him secretly. She was now convinced he was an Elder. Plump, well-fed flesh was proof of high status, and his clear skin literally glistened with prosperity.
“Is something troubling you, Elder?”
“To kill, or not to kill. That is my dilemma.”
The old man spoke as if chewing over the thought. The High Elf giggled flatteringly.
“Have you not been starved of blood while staying in the Shrine? How fortunate that Lord Kuarne has graciously provided this opportunity! Please, partake in the blood and slake your thirst.”
“Gracious Kuarne, you say...”
The old man looked up at the sky. Kuarne sat cross-legged above, quietly watching over the scene. He seemed to be waiting for the right moment to ripen.
‘His true objective isn't this war. That gaze... he is looking at something far beyond it.’
The old man lowered his eyes again to look at the High Elf. Then he asked once more:
“Gracious Kuarne. Is that truly how you see him?”
“Of course! He opened the path to the Human Realm to liberate us demons, didn't he? And that's not all! He has promised to fairly distribute fiefs based on our contributions once this war ends. Ah, of course he won't forget to purge the traitors among us either—like those Dragon bastards or the Dark Elves.”
The High Elf gnashed her teeth.
‘Dark Elves.’
That was a particularly touchy subject for High Elves.
Other demons lumped them together simply because they shared the title of 'Elves' and condemned them all. Because of this, the High Elves had been sharpening their blades. In this war, they would sever the throat of the Heavenly Sword, Kang Geomma, and wash away that disgrace.
“Anyway, Elder, I shall go join my kin now. May Lord Kuarne’s grace be with you as well.”
The old man nodded slowly.
“Thank you. Thanks to you, I've made up my mind.”
The moment she heard his answer, she sprang forward. Her steps were light. She couldn't wait to bathe in that bright red blood. Even if this battlefield was a life-or-death struggle for others, to her, it was no different from a picnic.
Fwoosh!
A dull, burning ache flared around her solar plexus. Blood gushed up her throat. Her trembling eyes shifted downward.
A gaping hole had been blasted through her chest. Flames writhed sluggishly around the circular rim. Through that hollow circle, she could see the landscape behind her. The elderly Elf she had just been talking to was walking toward her at a leisurely pace.
“Until I spoke with you, I was constantly torn over which side to align with. To be honest, I was leaning toward siding with the demons.”
The High Elf’s knees gave out. The old Elf looked down at her with indifferent eyes.
“But you gave me certainty. You drove home the point that even if I sided with the demons, I'd end up slaughtered by Kuarne anyway. So what choice do I have? I have to team up with the other side.”
“Y-You... who the hell are you...?”
The High Elf managed to squeeze out the words. As if he had been waiting for that exact question, a fierce smile appeared on the old Elf's lips.
“Log. The chieftain of the Dark Elves you so thoroughly despise.”
Log made a simple flick of his hand, and that marked the High Elf's final moment in the living world. She collapsed onto the ground, pink entrails spilling out. The light vanished from her pupils, and her breathing faded away. Only then did the vivid screams and shouts of the battlefield flow through her long, lifeless ears.
“Whew. So it turned out like this in the end.”
Catching his breath, Log jerked his chin toward a spot nearby. That was the signal. Dark Elves concealed among the ranks of the High Elves struck out at the demons. Specialized in surprise attacks, they cleverly exploited every flaw in the demonic formation.
“Kraaa!”
Having consumed highly nutritious bean meat, their skin was as fair and white as milk. On the surface, they looked identical to the High Elves. One had to look closely to catch the subtle differences. But this was a battlefield; no one had the luxury of idly inspecting another’s face.
The demons, drunk on slaughter and high on adrenaline, fell into panic. Friend and foe were hopelessly intertwined. High Elves who had been fighting side-by-side with them suddenly reversed their stance and stabbed them in the back.
From the front, the heroes advanced like a surging wave. The demons' eyes darted frantically. Their attention was split; they had to guard both front and rear simultaneously.
“Y-You sneaky point-ears! You betrayed us after all!”
Screaming so, an Orc brought his club smashing down onto the head of an innocent High Elf. Blood splattered across the tusks protruding from the Orc's lips.
CRACK!
A ruthless strike. Orcs and Elves never got along in the first place; this had only ever been a fragile, temporary truce.
“W-Wait! We aren't the traitors—!”
The Orc crushed a second head. Eyes turned blood-red, he huffed hot air through his nostrils and roared out a battle cry.
“Ughaaaaah! Point-ears! DIE!”
Starting with that Orc, the horde of Orcs began smashing any long-eared head they could find, like a chaotic game of whack-a-mole.
“Damn it, you brainless idiots!”
Left with no choice, the High Elves fought back. At this rate, they would all be slaughtered by these brainless swine.
‘Which ones started this...?!’
The High Elf Elder-in-training searched with burning eyes for the cause of this mess. Soon enough, his eyes locked onto figures with their ears wrapped in scraps of cloth.
‘It's them!’
They were the Dark Elves. Having hidden their ears using earmuffs provided by the Association, they barely managed to avoid the clubbing frenzy.
The Elder-in-training opened his mouth to shout something, but a brutal club crushed his head downward. Teeth shattered and flew; pressure popped his eyeball right out. Instant death.
The Elder-in-training's eyeball rolled across the ground and came to a stop at Log's feet. Though the severed optic nerve could no longer transmit images, it remained fixed on the sneer playing across Log's lips.
“That's why you have to stand in the right line.”
Dark Elves. Habitual betrayers. Today was no different from any other day.
* * *
Recruiting the Dark Elves was my own personal gamble. They had a long, storied history of treachery. If I remembered correctly, wasn't that the very reason they were banished from the Elves in the first place?
That was why Director Seong tried desperately to persuade me right up until the day before the battle. Dark Elves cannot be trusted. They're a wild card. Therefore, they must be locked in a dungeon. That was the gist of his argument.
I pushed forward with my decision anyway. Even with all the heroes gathered, the tide of battle was stacked against us. In that case, taking a gamble was the better play. Whether it turned out to be a boon or poison was something to worry about when the time came.
It might have seemed like a somewhat irresponsible decision. But hey, so what?
From the very beginning, the demons lacked solid cohesion. I exploited that weakness, and one way or another, my gamble paid off. The results proved it: my choice was right.
Their alliances were like a ticking time bomb. An extremely precarious relationship, ready to explode at the slightest spark. They had only joined forces because their goals happened to align.
And right now, a tiny spark had caught the fuse.
Clop, clop, clop.
The heavy thrum of hooves tore up the earth. A pack of half-human, half-horse Centaurs charged furiously, kicking up clouds of dust.
“Hyah!”
In short, they were the demonic side's cavalry. Their pride lay in their terrifying mobility. Getting trampled under those hooves meant being pulverized like minced meat.
But if it's a battle of speed, they picked the wrong opponent.
I kicked off the ground with explosive force. Accelerating, I shot forward in a straight line. The Centaurs faltered for a fraction of a second, seemingly unprepared for someone to charge head-on into them.
That hesitation was brief. Far from slowing down, they snorted fiercely as if accepting my challenge, pumping their four legs even harder.
Right before impact, I leaned back almost parallel to the earth and slid across the ground. Lowering my posture to the absolute limit, countless hooves flashed past my vision in rapid succession. Hundreds of pairs of hooves stomped air.
The thick cloud of dust obscured my sight. Of course, that wasn't a problem. I had expanded my five senses infinitely using the ‘Mindscape Domain.’
Sliding straight through, I quickly reached the dead center of their formation. The Centaurs reacted half a beat too late, unable to overcome the momentum of their own speed.
Springing up from my core, I grabbed the long cord of Murasame and carved a low, full-moon arc with the blade. The steel bit viciously into their hocks like a venomous viper. Screams erupted alongside sprays of blood.
Neigh! Forelegs reared high into the air. With their hind legs severed, they lost their balance and spilled onto the dirt. Roughly thirty of them collapsed—more than enough to throw their formation into chaos. Those with severed tendons thrashed madly with their front legs, tearing through their own ranks. It was a sight that perfectly fit the phrase "untamed horses going wild after being stung by hornets."
“S-Stab him!”
They scrambled to fight back, but their crossing paths caused them to collide repeatedly. A formation tangled like a ball of yarn takes time to reorganize. That was the fatal weakness of cavalry.
I drew Ten-Thousand-Year Frost from my waist. Taking a short breath, I pounced like a tiger upon the sprawled-out colts. The blade glinted like fangs catching the direct glare of sunlight.
Slice!
The slaughter continued. My entire body became drenched in blood. The Centaurs were sliced apart into asymmetric halves of human and horse, like a poorly split ice pop.
As the butchering went on, a sense of brimming vitality filled me. My chest pounded. My blood boiled. Today, the weight of the Sashimi felt especially right. The more blood it drank, the more vibrant the blade's vitality became.
Ah. As expected, a Sashimi blade is meant for butchering meat.