Chapter 147
Chapter 147
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 147
Chapter Title: The Boundary Between Siege and Defense (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
*
The Wildprinces were warriors worth a hundred men apiece. They were the ones inevitably named when tallying the strongest knight orders in the material world—martial artists who had devoted the long lifespans unique to the long-lived races entirely to honing their skills and pursuing enlightenment.
-Shing.
The Wildprinces, clad in gleaming plate armor, drew their blades in unison and lunged forward almost simultaneously. It was the elven art of sweeping swordsmanship. One strike, then another. The wrists of the countless ghouls surging upward and the heads of the undead soldiers shattered before those blades.
"Hold the deck! Don't yield an inch to the bats! Protect the flagship! Stake your lives on it!"
Leya darted through their midst like a bolt of lightning, shouting all the while. Her gaze remained fixed on the massive fortress looming before them, but her keen senses relayed the state of the battle moment by moment.
-Slash.
The moment an undead soldier burst forth right beside her head and opened its maw, a blade shot from her sword's hilt and decapitated it. Thick, black blood splattered across the deck. Leya flicked her sword once and sheathed it.
"Hold the deck! Children of the Dawn, hold your positions and protect the people!"
Until the sun rises! Leya's cry carried layers of meaning. Until the break of dawn, when vampires weakened. Or until their goddess, the Goddess of Dawn, smiled upon them.
But she couldn't afford to shout such things while nursing doubts. Richter's bat cloud blotted out the sun almost perfectly. This battlefield wouldn't ease simply because sunlight pierced through.
Moreover, that behemoth. Gaimeirn's flagship was an insult to the goddess in its very existence. The Eternal King's madness, which had shattered and suppressed the goddess for thousands of years, had been revived, steeped in vampiric corruption.
That ship had become a vampire itself. An undead reborn, sucking hope dry in place of blood. Leya ground her molars as she stared at what had once been called the strongest vessel on the North Sea.
"Protect the people!!"
Thus, these were the only true words to leave her lips. Protect the people. Even if dawn broke, hope felt impossibly distant. It was the sole command, the sole wish, she could give her soldiers.
*
Standing at the edge of the half-ruined tower, Richter faced the North Sea's skin-freezing winds head-on. His hair stood stiff from the frozen spray, and his glowing red pupils surveyed the battlefield with arrogant disdain.
"Their struggles are pathetic."
This was a vantage no one below could claim. From this exalted height, a perch symbolic of the Eternal King, he could clearly see Leya and her fleet flailing amid the onslaught of the dead.
They were pinned between siege and defense, withering away. Like fruit crushed on a press, they spilled their red innards to feed the vampires' bellies.
A siege against the Eternal King's flagship, and defense against the ghouls surging from the sea floor. Isolated on the open ocean, they were slowly being ground down. The fear of death already hung thick among them, that sweet scent of terror teasing his nostrils.
"Great Lord, we need more bats."
A woman hissed in a whisper. Richter scowled at her. She cowered in fright and bowed her head.
"Send more ghouls. The blood sacks don't have endless blood to spill either. Useless trash."
It hadn't even been a year—nowhere near enough time to gather sufficient vampires. Infermer's losses would take decades to replenish. They held numerical superiority with lowly foot soldiers, but elite vampires couldn't be replaced in a single year.
Richter clicked his tongue, recalling his worthless kin. Those vermin hadn't endured even a moment's light before crumbling.
That light. Melisildur's accursed flash. Richter's face twisted in pain. Even he hadn't emerged unscathed from that damned brilliance. Reflexively, he scanned for the human who had summoned it.
"Where are you?"
He already knew the fool was somewhere on this ship. Not entirely intentional, but an unexpected boon. Vengeance was sweet whenever taken, though sooner was always better.
From what he'd seen in Infermer, the man stood out in any fight. Richter hated to admit it, but he felt a twinge of fear toward that human.
The mage who had ridden a dragon and shattered Gaimeirn's flagship in one strike. If there was any asymmetric force in this battle, it was him. Yet he was nowhere to be seen.
That absence unnerved Richter.
*
At that moment, Fernandez was attuning to the flows of mana stitching across the North Sea skies. Dark green mana stone dust swirled around him in rhythmic pulses, augmenting his spell.
'Maleyrn.'
With each hand seal Fernandez formed, ethereal hands sprouted from his back, each striking different seals in unison. A chain of elongated gestures. Mana flowed between them. Less like spellcasting and more like sign language piercing vast distances.
A beacon, a signal flare between peak mages. Fernandez was signaling an entity a full day's journey away.
'Maleyrn.'
Concealing one's presence was hard. Especially against a master like Cheongak Tower's Maleyrn. But exaggerating an existing presence to mislead, to goad the enemy—that was a ploy right in his wheelhouse.
Fernandez formed seals deliberately. [God], [Existence], [Maels torm], [Compass].
Repeating the same incantation endlessly.
Without cease.
Two hours passed, then three. Past midnight into the dead of predawn. Beyond the impenetrable bat cloud blotting stars and moon, his mana carried the signal, stimulating the vast celestial flows.
'Maleyrn.'
I am here.
*
-Roar.
One ship erupted in flames. Not a single elf aboard leaped into the sea. They knew it would only make them a ghoul's meal. The elven warriors steeled themselves to burn as living firewood instead.
Leya gritted her teeth, swinging her blade. The elves' stamina was flagging. Ghouls knew no fatigue, no end. Even if their strategy was mere brute force, in this fierce battle at sea's heart—with no retreat—the elves held no advantage.
"Goddess!"
Leya bellowed at the top of her lungs, slashing away. It was already her second sword. The blade dulled, clogged with vampire and ghoul blood. The unfamiliar ache twisting between muscle and bone.
"Kirhas!"
"Just a bit longer!"
Kirhas Hearttaker's plight was no better. She plunged into the fray proactively, playing firefighter to shore up collapsing lines. Whenever a Wildprince fell and ghouls clambered over the corpse, Kirhas appeared to butcher them and fill the gap.
Such carnage couldn't last forever. Elven mages' firepower wasn't infinite. They were already locked in spell duels with vampire mages.
The magics canceled each other out. Leya could scarcely believe it. Mages were finicky to train. Richter had only a year. Where had he mustered this many?
'Hard to accept, but it's reality.'
So too was the reality that Richter's petty schemes had lured them into this death trap. A graveyard chewing through her kin endlessly. North Sea's strongest force. The Golden Fleet. Drunk on that name.
-Creeeak...
The burning ship's keel groaned and splintered. Screams mingled with splashes. The sea churned like sharks feeding; below the flaming hull, flesh, blood, and bodies gleamed.
'Their numbers can't be endless.'
Their population barely scraped ten thousand—a glorified city-state. Yet each was long-lived, melee experts. On solid ground, the outcome would differ.
Without the continent's curse. If they still ruled the land. Back to their golden age, when more of them bloomed brilliant civilizations.
Leya snarled through clenched teeth. No ifs. Only cold reality now. Screams from all sides. Monster roars and gasping kin below.
-Thud.
Shadows deepened over the battlefield. Bats clustered on the signboard at her ship's mainmast forefront, birthing darkness. Slowly, from the gloom, a giant in steel plate emerged.
Leya crouched low, hand on her sword hilt. Only two blades left.
"I see your race's end."
Red eyes gleaming, Richter licked his lips. Fangs glinted between parted lips.
"The downfall of your once-splendid civilization. The demise of a mighty people. Arrogant blood sacks. Your mortality lays bare before me."
"Shut your bat mouth."
"Leya. Pitiful princess. Do you miss those cozy days under the Eternal King's mantle? I could take you in myself."
Richter chuckled stickily. His pupils rippled with cruelty.
"You boasted as this sea's strongest once. Your kind walked the path of decline, but now you've reached its end. You'll shame your ancestors, last Serpent King of your 'great' race."
"Even if this is our collective end, we are our ancestors' pride."
Hand on hilt, Leya glared into Richter's eyes. She heightened her senses to the utmost, maintaining distance. Half a step closer, and her blade would reach.
Richter knew it too. He stood motionless, flashing a toothy grin at Leya. No rush. Time favored him.
Burning ships howled around them, elves' screams rising. Like an opera, he savored the cries, humming along.
"We revived our goddess with our own hands. We chose to stand and walk into the flames. We rose ourselves to break our ancient curse and reclaim our mistakes."
"So where's your goddess now? Hmm? Descending atop your corpses once you're all dead? Goddess of the slain. I'd worship her gladly as a vampire god."
As Leya opened her mouth, a vampire dove at her flank. The front line had pushed to the deck's center. Leya twisted desperately to guard herself.
-Screech.
Something rippled—and the vampire bisected, guts spraying. Leya stared blankly. The vampire, unaware of its death, twitched into the air.
-Thunk.
It slammed into the mast's center, quivering. A greatsword with a dark blade. Leya eyed the unfamiliar weapon. Flung from behind her, cleaving the vampire and embedding dead-center.
"You've come. I awaited you."
"My preparations ran late, Queen Leya. You've endured much."
A deep, gravelly voice. Leya turned trembling eyes to Fernandez emerging behind her. Amid silver-streaked curls, deep blue eyes shone.
Fernandez strode forward, reaching for the greatsword slung at his back. With white light, the silvery blade leaped to his grasp.
Richter, pride stung by the slight, scowled at him.
"One more won't change the tide, human. You'll toil eternally beneath the sea for me, with these blood sacks."
"True. I alone can't turn this battle."
Fernandez smirked at Richter. He raised the greatsword vertically before his face, praying along the blade. Beitasser's holy sword blazed in response.
Richter's eyes narrowed at the light. A sacred relic. Threatening armament, certainly. But a personal weapon couldn't reverse the field.
"Fernandez, it's too late. If that's your escape plan, I'll allow it gladly. Flee alive. No need for you to die here."
"What talk is this now, Queen Leya."
Fernandez pulled his face from the blade, grinning. He sliced his forearm, blood dripping down the sword to pool below.
*
In the cabin's depths, dark green mana stone sands swirled into bizarre patterns of their own accord. The sands writhed like living things, etching ever-new formations of spell arrays moment by moment.
The pinnacle of modern magecraft. Feizashi Wildcast's life's work infused into this ritual circle. A living magic array. One generating spells in ceaselessly shifting patterns.
Like an artificial spirit modulating mana within fixed algorithms. Triggered by Fernandez's blood. The vast celestial weave high above, North's mana flows. A living puzzle reshaping itself to match the swirling chaos.
-Swish.
Sky mana vortexed. Richter's bat cloud spell, elven mages' outbursts countered by vampire mages' dispels. Countless spells hammered the aerial flows.
Adapting actively to every interference, mana stone dust twisted the array anew, birthing fresh formations. Morphing to every scenario, every condition—
-Crackle.
Sparks flew from the bronze throne at the array's heart, cracks spiderwebbing. The backlash from undigested spells burdened fully by the throne's mana circuits.
-Drip.
A drop of blood fell upon it. Fernandez's.
*
-Bwooooom!!
From the distant eastern horizon, a heavy horn blast resounded. The bat cloud parted beyond the horizon, glimpsing ink-blue night sky.
Everyone on the battlefield froze, eyes turning to the sound. Faint light gleamed from the horizon.
-Thoom, thoom, thoom.
Drums thundered, horns blared anew. And—
"Snow...?"
Snow began to fall. Bat clouds weren't natural. No true clouds—just magical weather wrought by bats below. Thus, no rain or snow penetrated... until now.
"Great Lord! Great Lord, the Eternal King comes!"
Richter eyed the horizon as the whispering vampire approached. His spell shattered, clouds splitting. White snow fluttered through, reaching the field.
"...Maleyrn. This breaks our pact."
Richter rasped through dry lips. He glared at Fernandez with scorching eyes. Fernandez met his gaze, still smiling.
"Your doing? Dragging in Maleyrn? Didn't know we'd allied? Or did you think he'd aid you just for 'kin'?"
"You, me, that elf queen. We're cut from the same cloth."
"What?"
"Ego, desire, goals. That's all that moves us."
Fernandez held his sword erect. The bleeding forearm had already healed. He closed his eyes briefly, then snapped them open.
"Those driven by such things simplify before purpose."
"Nonsense. Regret it. You've plunged into a hopeless fight!"
"Long tongue."
Eyes blazing, Fernandez charged.