Chapter 170
Chapter 170
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 170
Chapter Title: Einherjar
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*
Defeating a single archdemon didn't magically wash away all the threats in the North. Fernandez ground his molars together as if to shatter them, forcing his steps forward while feigning calm.
He felt like he could collapse at any moment. The reckless mana usage, the outburst of divinity, the demon's corruption and its lingering aftereffects, days without sleep, and the brutal fight. The fact that he hadn't passed out yet was bordering on a miracle.
But there was no time. Time had never been on his side, not even after his regression. Every hour he spent resting would translate directly into the deaths of sixty more men.
"My lord. Then I shall..."
"Deal with your subordinates."
Fernandez pressed his weary eyes absently as he spoke. Orion bowed his head without a word. That was only natural. His underlings were Sadarkelia's minions, the kind of men who would stab him in the back the moment they realized he'd betrayed her.
"After that, I will come to seek you out, my lord."
"See to it."
Orion backed away slowly and headed toward his workshop. That was where the sacrifices, his attendants, and his disciples were. Fernandez glanced at him briefly before turning toward the harbor.
'I'm done for.'
His leg buckled for a moment, nearly sending him stumbling. It wasn't just fatigue. Cold sweat poured down his forehead and soaked his entire body like a waterfall. Click, click, click. His teeth chattered on their own, and he fought desperately to keep from biting his tongue.
This place wasn't safe. It wasn't somewhere he could rest and manage his pain in peace.
"Kh... ugh."
A ragged breath escaped his lips. His mind blurred for an instant. He was walking on the verge of blacking out. His left arm trembled uncontrollably. The Demonica's divinity was slowly repairing his flesh, reconnecting his nerves. It was miraculous, but not welcome right now.
The excruciating pain had nearly made him rip off his entire left arm. The trauma from forcibly shoving mana circuits into place, the corruption from circulating hellfire mana. And now, the spiritual and physical agony as that corruption was purged by divinity.
"Friend. You alright?"
Fernandez lifted his bloodshot eyes to the fence. Loft leaned against it casually, looking down at him.
"Where've... you. Hoo. Been?"
"Couldn't exactly show myself to the demons, under the circumstances. Haha."
Loft shrugged and hopped lightly over to his side. Fernandez glared at him through half-lidded eyes, catching the flicker in Loft's gaze. Loft let out a thin whistle.
"That was a most satisfying battle, friend. Your potential is becoming more and more terrifying."
"Those who fear me... are usually. Hoo. My enemies."
"Well, are there any eternal allies in this line of work, friend?"
"No."
Fernandez stared at Loft and slowly placed his hand on his sword hilt. Loft clapped at the sight.
"Impressive. Truly impressive. Even in that state, you're gearing up for a fight? I picked a good man."
"What do you want."
"I've come because your direction seems off this time, friend."
Loft raised a bony finger and waved it through the air. Bluish orbs gathered around it, swirling in place.
"Do you know how many souls that pig swallowed? And most of them were the great warriors of Einherjar?"
"Not interested."
"Haha. Hear me out. You'll be intrigued."
Loft pulled a chair from somewhere and sat down in front of Fernandez. Fernandez planted his greatsword into the ground and stood rigidly, glaring at him. His head throbbed and his soul wailed from the pain.
"One day, Bótan gathered our brothers and spoke. He'd read the future in the stars, that one-eyed fool declared. Let's gather the souls of great warriors to prepare for the end."
Loft hummed in a distant tone. With a gesture, one of the blue orbs popped, projecting an image of a one-eyed warrior with a spear. An old man with a raven on his shoulder.
"The end... Ragnarok. The serpent devours the world, the wolf bites the moon, the world burns, ice covers it, the sea swallows the land... Our brothers resolved to prepare for the world's end. We stirred feuds between clans, making them turn spear and sword on each other forever. Eternally."
Visions of countless warriors clashing filled the air. Whenever warriors paused their fighting to offer hands in peace, 'gods' appeared to punish them.
Playful words flashed in the air. 'Cowards shall fall to the abyss.' 'Only the greatest warriors shall ascend to the heavens and live eternally.'
"Yes. We were bastards. This continent could have been more peaceful than this. More people could have lived. But war is a forge, friend. How many heroes were tempered in its fires?"
Winged women descended, raising fallen warriors from the battlefield and carrying them skyward. Loft chuckled at the sight.
"We called those gathered heroes 'Einherjar.' Weapons we forged solely to slay demons at the end of days. If earthly wars were the forge, Einherjar was the armory. At least until a thousand years ago."
Hardy warriors swung weapons at each other across vast plains. In that eternal prison where none were harmed, a giant watched over them. The one-eyed god Bótan...
A shadow crept up behind him.
"Ah, my foolish brother. Bótan, Bótan... That idiot. The moment he fell, Einherjar was finished. The warriors became demon fodder, swallowed whole. We lost every card to prepare for the coming end. And all that remained was..."
The warriors burned and tore apart, fading away. Loft's eyes shook. It was a gaze of pain, or perhaps mockery. He stared blankly at the lingering visions for a moment before speaking in a parched voice.
"The horrors of the material world we'd created."
The North, which had waged nothing but war since ancient times under the grand cause of averting the end, now faced the coming winter having lost most of its driving force.
Even if it didn't fall immediately, annihilation was inevitable for them. Nearly all clans hated each other, and under the guise of 'tradition,' men yearned to die on the battlefield.
Madness alone remained. Fernandez thought of the burning map of the North. The North, betrayed by its high god and stripped of purpose, was merely a victim consumed by madness.
"Stop it."
"The end?"
"Our mistakes."
Loft turned to Fernandez. Fernandez maintained his composure despite the horrific pain radiating from his left arm.
"These poor souls... Our children..."
More orbs gathered at Loft's gesture. The souls Ksharlagrax had spewed out upon death—ones it had devoured over time—drifted in the air. Loft touched them one by one as they clustered in his hand.
"Help these young ones."
"We have things more important than duty."
"Ah, a deal. Fine. But look— what I can offer you isn't all that useful anyway... How about a favor?"
"A favor?"
"Whether you want it or not, you'll stop Sadarkelia. And that's the same as my goal. That's not a fair trade, is it, friend?"
Loft cackled and clapped his hands. Wind whipped through the area, tousling his wild hair.
"Your friends you're worrying about will be fine."
"What have you done?"
"I just sped up our new friends' steps a bit. They'll arrive before it's too late."
Loft cackled.
"So, you don't need to go back to them. I used a bit of the power left from devouring souls. Now, walk in another direction. Farther north. Deeper in."
"Where?"
"The Hall of Einherjar. The entrance to Valhalla."
Visit the quarry first. Loft sketched a map in the air and poked one corner.
*
Hoo, thick cigarette smoke scattered on the wind. Kirhas Hearttaker watched the battlefield from a high hill. The few remaining Hazat Palan cavalry lined up behind her.
Enemies surged forward, and the frontline barely held. Her eyes moved sharply. Four demons total. All else considered, the battlefield was evenly matched.
"Not as bad as I thought."
The Hazat Palan warriors were outnumbered. The enemy legions were twice their size, but with the sea at their backs, the warriors fought with their lives on the line.
Surrender wasn't an option, nor was flight. They just gritted their teeth, roared, charged into the blood-soaked fray, rampaged, and died.
-Snort.
Her horse snorted. Kirhas stroked its mane. A fierce aura emanated from behind her. The scouts deployed with her pawed the ground, desperate to charge as they watched their brothers die.
"Damn it, we can't wait anymore! You bitch!!"
One warrior urged his horse forward. In that instant, Kirhas's left hand flashed like lightning.
-Shing...
The warrior couldn't advance. Cold steel pressed against the soft spot under his throat. He shuddered at the chill. She spoke no words they understood, ruling them purely by presence.
"Not yet."
The warriors didn't know the common tongue, but they read the meaning in her actions and eyes. She tilted her head slightly, meeting their blazing gazes.
"Not yet. When the demons fully breach the line and their mages complete their spells. When the battlefield is at its worst—that's when we strike."
Kirhas could read the flow of battle. It was her innate sense. She spun her sword and sheathed it. With steel-cold eyes, she watched the field.
One demon finally reached the line. It bellowed wildly, shredding tribesmen and rampaging. In that moment, golden hair billowed as it charged the demon.
"Abel..."
Kirhas bit her lip lightly, watching her. Abel confronted the demon alone—and was overwhelming it. Incredible prowess. She was the pillar holding the faltering line in deadlock.
So, the line wouldn't fully collapse. Whenever she appeared at its critical point, the situation stabilized miraculously. They had to trust her and wait.
'Thirty minutes.'
Troop consumption would drop arithmetically. As soldiers fell one by one, the gaps would highlight their numerical disadvantage. Thirty minutes—Kirhas's intuition judged that their maximum endurance.
-Rumble...
Then, from the rear lines, a red flash erupted. A man with two demons struck his staff into the ground, emitting crimson light. The spell had begun. Kirhas's eyes gleamed.
Now.
"Charge. Follow me exactly. If we pierce deep, we're done for."
Kirhas spurred her horse down the hill. The warriors hesitated at her sudden assault but soon unleashed their ferocity and followed.
Hammer and anvil don't end with slamming shock into the enemy's rear. The anvil phalanx must hold the line, the shock must shatter the back ranks, enemies must react to the assault, interceptors must protrude—all timings must align perfectly for this advanced maneuver.
No pre-planned strategy from command, no trained troops. It hinged on Kirhas's judgment alone. A high-wire act with disconnected infantry and language-barrier cavalry.
Worse, cavalry numbers were minimal. For maximum impact on the rear, they had to hit at an angle, slash, and withdraw.
A reckless deep penetration risked entanglement in their formation, leaving them to wither in the enemy's heart due to numbers.
Thus, Kirhas had to lead. The greatest field commander of the Great Wilds. From canter to gallop to full sprint. Her horse accelerated. Enemies began turning at the sound.
-Thunder of hooves!!
Normally, such a charge was impossible. Horses are skittish, fearing sharp weapons and men. But Kirhas's command, her presence, emboldened it.
She gripped the reins expertly in one hand, drew her sword in the other. Amid the warping speed, she swung calmly.
-Slash.
Horse speed and her motion synced perfectly. A pristine strike. The warrior's head soared, blood fountaining as it rolled.
"Raaah!!"
The charging warriors crashed into the rear. To infantry, cavalry shock is disaster incarnate. Enemies were trampled, limbs crushed and split.
"Don't stop!!"
Kirhas roared savagely, slicing thinly through the ranks. Any blocking her split in twain, spraying blood. She carved forward.
Enemy rear: mage and two demons. Other demons engaged upfront, unable to turn back. This was her targeted moment.
Then, the mage's staff flashed red again—
"Guh... hack?"
Her body flew. Kirhas clutched her numb legs, fighting to steady her vision. Time slowed. Her horse lay in shattered pieces.
Demon attack? Magic? Confusion swirled. Can't stop here, can't fall... She, Abel too... My lord would be disappointed.
-Boom!
"Gah!"
Time resumed. Kirhas crashed down, barely recovering amid the impact. Armed men approached with murderous eyes.
'The warriors...?'
Her charging cavalry...? She scanned quickly. The charge was perfect, but their training lacked. Most were bogged down in the formation, dying.
'Failure...'
Kirhas gripped her hilt, grinding her teeth. Too many enemies.
*
"Isn't that our sister, brother?"
From the west battlefield edge, in the woods. Fabiano blurted it out while watching. Distance was considerable, but Demonica sight distinguished faces even from here.
"Hm... Yeah."
-Rustle.
Burly men emerged from the brush. Extreme march left them filthy with dirt, dust, leaves. The largest stroked his chin, eyeing the field.