Chapter 186
Chapter 186
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 186
Chapter Title: Ragnarok (1)
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*
Javelins, arrows, and axes flew toward her. Kirhas deflected the projectiles aimed at herself and her horse as she charged forward. Not everyone could pull off what she did, so by the time her cavalry reached the palisade barrier, their numbers had halved.
-Thud thud thud thud.
“Uwaaaah!”
Her horse foamed at the mouth as it galloped on. Horses were skittish creatures, highly sensitive to the size of their herd. Every time an axe embedded itself, the surrounding mounts shattered and collapsed, sending the survivors into frenzy and panic—some charging ahead, some barreling forward, others fleeing.
The cavalry's numbers kept dwindling. The enemy's resistance was fierce. The palisade loomed right before them. A warrior racing beside her gasped out.
“Captain! We gotta go around!”
“Turn back and we're dead! Keep charging!”
“Damn it! These bastards can't get over that wall! They want us to smash into it and die?”
“Spear!”
At her shout, the warrior yanked a cavalry lance from his saddle and tossed it to her. Kirhas snatched the shaft mid-air with one arm, gripped it firmly, then drew her arm back long.
“Charge! Don't stop!”
Kirhas bellowed fiercely as she clutched the shaft. Northern cavalry lances were no different from sturdy infantry spears. With no development in mounted lance techniques, they lacked the structure for lance charges.
So, keeping the shaft from slipping depended solely on her grip strength, balance, and combat sense.
-Kwaaaang!
Kirhas slammed into the crudely built palisade. Her resilient waist absorbed and dispersed the impact cleanly, channeling the full force of her charging mount straight into the barrier.
“Urgh... hngh!”
But flesh was flesh, no matter how tempered. The heavy, frozen logs crumbled and splintered under her blow, but she was flung from her horse, tumbling to the ground.
Her vision spun. Kirhas groped at her numb right arm while scanning her surroundings with unsteady eyes. The palisade had shattered, and her cavalry was thundering through the gap, streaming past her.
“Good... I didn't fall behind.”
Warriors atop the barrier scattered in panic, while resistance forces inside the camp surged out to form a phalanx. But no improvised infantry could hold off cavalry in open terrain.
Her riders had drilled with her over the past few days, gaining some proficiency in cavalry tactics. They couldn't compare to the beastkin horsemen of the Great Steppe or the mounted samurai of the White Kingdom, but in the North, being versed in “cavalry tactics” was a massive advantage.
“Hoo... I'm fine, fine. Silver Benefactor endured far worse wounds than this... and pushed through.”
Her right arm's bones were twisted, her shoulder dislocated. Agonizing pain sharpened her mind. She gathered her limp right arm and hauled herself to her feet. This wasn't the time to lie there.
“So, I'm still good. Still good. I've got work to do.”
She had to expose the turtle's head, buy Silver Benefactor time to hunt. Kirhas eyed the warriors leaping down from the barrier toward her and coiled her body.
Fear mingled in the warriors' eyes—not terror of battle or death, but despair and dread at the presence lurking behind her.
So this is what a demon-ruled world looks like. Kirhas thought, meeting their gazes. In the other worlds where Fernandez had triumphed, was this the daily scene?
-Shing.
She couldn't let that happen. Silver Benefactor was nothing like the past he described; in her eyes, he was the only just soul in this filthy, treacherous world. So the world he sought to build would be brighter and warmer than that one, at least.
Her longsword sang as it cleared the sheath. She wasn't used to fighting left-handed, but having one good arm was a boon. If she could fight, she'd tear out the enemy's throat with her last pair of fangs.
Fernandez always said the body was expendable. So... she was still good. For his desired world, she'd end this life smiling, even thrown away as a pawn.
So, still good.
*
“Abel.”
Fernandez gazed at Abel standing beside him. She stared down at the battlefield, rooted in place.
“It's dangerous.”
The direction she pointed to with her finger held the warriors Kirhas had led. The cavalry charging the phalanx had clashed with a demon that burst from its ranks, grinding to a halt.
A halted rider was little more than a tall foot soldier. A skilled cavalry unit might have maneuvers to break such a deadlock, but not these men. And the demons were multiplying.
“Still early, too early.”
It was a battle of time. The enemy's numbers were clearly thinning. Not just from combat losses. They were butchering their own indiscriminately to summon more demons.
So, a time fight. Demons were powerful asymmetric forces, but few in number with clear limits to their firepower projection. Aeren's troops avoided direct confrontation, so more enemies fell to allies than allies to demons.
In the chaos of battle, the sole rule was numbers. Nothing else. Raw power influenced more off the front lines than on. In a battlefield spiraling into utmost disorder beyond any commander's control, troop count was the only true measure of victory or defeat.
Thus, a blunder. Erik's command echelon had summoned demons to gain intel superiority over Freya's efforts, sacrificing troops—and summoning more demons to replace them.
A vicious cycle of evil. To shore up one blunder, they doubled down with another. Erik surely knew it too.
-But a time fight.
Victory was slowly tilting toward Aeren. With Kirhas creating a two-front war, the enemy camp—fully encircled—had no choice but to split its forces.
Yet it wasn't a complete victory to claim in a day. And at dawn, Erik's scattered forces—his main army—would arrive at this camp...
'The encircled forces get counter-encircled, and the slaughter begins.'
Fernandez eyed Kirhas's troops. They'd shaken the enemy lines, but not fatally. Sharper. Heavier. The enemy needed total, irreversible chaos.
Disperse them maximally; whittle down to the last dregs, then hit with everything to draw eyes—leaving only Erik's guards and his corrupted northern god by his side.
To open the gate, Erik had to live. But sufficiently threatened, enough to think failure loomed if he didn't.
“Abel. Aid Kirhas. That front can't collapse yet.”
“I've been waiting!”
Abel shot off like an arrow. Without turning dragon, her impact was limited. Fernandez sought no more than relief for Kirhas.
But he had one last piece left.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a flare. Magical powder filled the shell; once the fuse lit, it exploded after three seconds in a massive flash.
-Snap.
Fernandez snapped his fingers, casting Flint Spark. Flame ate the dry fuse with a hiss. He reared back his arm and hurled it skyward with all his might.
-Bang!
The shell streaked beyond the night sky. For an instant, red fire burned in the camp's heavens before winking out. Frontline warriors had no time for the sky, but any observers beyond would see it clear.
“Do it, brother.”
This was his final threat, prepared for Erik.
*
-Bang!
The flare painted the sky red before fading. Figures in the nearby woods watched silently, faces cast in long shadows.
-Clank.
A helmet's visor dropped with a heavy thud. The lead man swiftly checked his armor's joints, flicked his wrist, and drew his rosary.
-Rattle. Chains coiled around steel gauntlets with a chill rasp. He held the rosary before his eyes, crossed himself, and whispered.
“When falsehood and deceit, the world's temptations and trials assail us.”
“”We only beseech.””
His followers chorused behind him as one. They checked their arms, eyes fixed ahead.
“When we wander amid worldly powers and the hatred of the wicked.”
“”We only beseech.””
Whispers became prayer, prayer swelling heavy and fervent.
“We bring not peace, but sword and fire.”
“”This penance of evil, at the Lord's side.””
“Until this life becomes the beacon of the pledged, we only beseech.”
“We shall burn demons, heretics, witches.”
Eyes blazed from the visor’s darkness. A mission unlikely to end in survival. Greater threats than met the eye, and Fernandez had briefed: the hell-gate would surely open.
They ended prayer short, crossing themselves. Life left to the secular world upon joining the Church's secret order; for them, death equaled martyrdom.
Inquisitors closed no eyes peacefully in midday beds. Old inquisitors headed only to hells prowled by cunning demons.
Recalling this, they charged the enemy lines.
*
Erik stood before his tent on the camp's highest ground, watching the crumbling front. Intel ops were pointless now. Just hold one day—one single day—and victory was certain.
The foes were threatening, but that was their death throes, vomiting final strength. Even if they won this fight, no backup. Northern demons, sans focal point, would skirmish; northern civilization would fall; Sadarkelia the final victor.
Thus, the enemies' thrashing was meaningless, unpredictable. What a blunder. No worse hand. They were moths to the flame, seeking heroic death or mutual ruin.
And those “men” were unpredictable too.
“No reserves left, boy.”
Bard scowled. All demons drawable from the line exhausted. No true reserves. Even if any, what use? Erik scowled back at them.
“Why not commit such beings to the front if they existed?”
“...What?”
“Beings that mighty, able to butcher demons—if the enemy had them, why hold back from battle's start? What do you think?”
Bard scowled at Erik's words. Spouting nonsense so casually?
“Not Freya. This is my read.”
“What's that mean?”
“They thought Freya was the brain. Goddess or not, clear motive to thwart us.”
Erik watched a band of warriors slicing demons blocking their path, racing this way. Ten minutes left? Maybe less.
“No. Freya was just the 'eyes.' Their brain... whoever it is. 'He' dug deeper, more meticulously, waiting for this moment.”
“What nonsense, whelp. Time to pull back. If we escape alive, these humans—no matter how rampant—won't last a week.”
“Escape where?”
Erik eyed Bard with contempt. Enemies everywhere, no routes. Dawn still hours off; before his legions arrived, they'd be annihilated.
Those warriors. Suddenly appearing—like einherjar—deployed here, now. Absent at war's outset...
“They knew us too well. Terrifyingly. Our... strategies... our goals.”
“Shut it. Won't go? Fine, I'll solo. Their target’s this camp. Good for us. You stay, die to the mortals!”
“You waited for this. My total downfall. Impressive. Checkmate. I lose.”
Erik ignored Bard, gaze turning to the brush—where “he” surely watched. And—
-Slash.
An axe cleaved Bard's neck.
“Guh... hngh?”
“I'll open the gate.”
“Fool... that... that's...”
“Yes. Unleashing uncontrollable demons on this plane... an end far from what you desired. Our failure, Bard.”
“You... you...”
Bard, head severed, glared at Erik with bloodshot eyes. Blessings he'd borne shattered one by one, sucked into Erik's body.
“Yormungandr...!!”
[But isn't this side more fitting for Ragnarok, Bard?]
A coiled serpent glyph bloomed in Erik's eyes. Bard felt his divinity drain fully, mind fading.
-Crack. Crunch.
Headless, his flesh twisted, scattered, reforming. Bones snapped, organs spilled, muscles warped into a gateway wrought of body.
-Hooo...
Lukewarm, sticky wind licked the hollow. Then darkness settled. Slowly, murky green smoke seeped through, swelling. The gate grew, poised to swallow Erik too.
Erik's tent splintered; atop it, the gateway of twisted flesh emerged. A portal supplanting a living god in the material world began to stir.
[Ahh... I feel alive.]
Beneath the gate, Erik slung his axe over his shoulder and grinned.