Chapter 210
Chapter 210
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 210
Chapter Title: Even If I Lose the Light 5
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“Damn it!”
“You goddamn monkey bastards! Are you even trying?!”
The naga sorcerers were furious at the Herald Clan members fighting half-heartedly. The Heralds were openly slacking off, leaving the nagas to take all the damage.
“What do you want? We’re doing our best here.”
“Go out and block them!”
“We’ve got undead—what, you want us to do it?”
Necromantic corpses eventually rot and collapse after time passes. Even if you gut them and preserve them, mummies still get soaked in the rain, flies lay eggs, and they decay in an instant. That’s why in armies with necromancers, the undead take the front lines.
Necromancers’ principle is to use those undead that will rot away anyway as meat shields and arrow fodder for as long as possible.
However...
“That’s not working!”
The naga sorcerer moved the undead onto the rooftops. But the moment the undead climbed up, something came pouring down.
Bisected undead bodies. Azadin was swinging his axe-spear, slicing them apart. No living soul would want to climb up there with the undead falling like autumn leaves.
“Your clan’s mess—clean it up yourselves!”
The nagas demanded the Heralds handle the aftermath. But the young Heralds had no intention of stepping forward.
‘That axe-spear Azadin’s got is scary as hell.’
‘Azadin’s one thing, but there’s Arael up there too.’
‘Anyone here confident they can handle Arael?’
‘You nuts? I sparred with Arael once back in the day—couldn’t even touch her.’
‘No reason to step up for those man-eating monsters.’
The Heralds all knew Arael’s power well—they’d each been taught a lesson by her at least once.
Then.
“Well, well. Seems my kids are causing you some dissatisfaction.”
A chilling voice came from behind the Herald Clan members.
“Huh?”
“L-Lord Sion!?”
Sion Etar—the man who’d become an elder of the Etar Bloodline at a young age—appeared behind the rowdy clan members fussing with the nagas.
He brought masked attendants and stared down the ones slacking off.
“Uh, this is...”
“Well done.”
“Pardon?”
“They’ll let their guard down now, won’t they? Excellent work.”
With the nagas watching, Sion Etar didn’t openly rebuke the blatant slackers—instead, he praised them. But the praise only chilled the listeners to the bone.
“Follow them like this and hit them with a pincer attack at the clearing ahead. Let’s go.”
“Yes!”
Sion Etar personally led the Aragasa youths in pursuit of Azadin and Arael.
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“Tch.”
Azadin’s feet stopped.
A clearing stretched out before them. The Bthuma army had demolished buildings near the palace canals to create a wide open space, fortifying it with bastions around the edges. To approach those bastions, they had to cross the clearing.
“Open ground. Dangerous.”
They’d toyed with enemies by leaping from building to building until now, but they’d reached the limit of rooftop hopping.
The clearing—torn up by the Bthuma army to block naga canal approaches—now blocked Azadin’s group. And the bastions overlooking it already bristled with troops.
Unlike the slacking Aragasa elsewhere, these had iron discipline. An elder was among them.
“You’re here!? Traitor Arael!”
“Elder Altua.”
Arael recognized the elder fortifying the bastion. A stern middle-aged woman in a monocle stood atop it.
“Yes. Arael! I doted on you so much, and this is how you betray...”
-Thunk!
In that instant, a dagger buried itself in Elder Altua’s forehead.
A dagger—not even an arrow—flying true from over a hundred paces away? The attack came without warning, sending chills through the onlookers.
But the real shock was that Altua didn’t die with the dagger lodged in her brow.
“Gah! Y-You bitch!”
Altua yanked the dagger from her head and glared at Arael.
“What have you done?!”
“Doted on you.”
“What?”
“I’m stronger than you now, Altua. You’re no cute little thing—just an old vampire. But I’ll dote on you my way. That’s the privilege of the strong!”
Arael said that, brought her hand to her mouth, and whispered something into her palm. Black energy began seeping from the dagger wound. Nether tongue.
“Ugh... guh... Kyaaah!”
Altua screamed. Crimson-black blood clots poured from her wound.
The clots became eyes, blooming like flowers across Altua’s body, destroying it from within.
“Ahh!”
Altua’s flesh crumbled. Her leg bones turned to eyeballs, unable to support her weight, and she collapsed. Yet eyes kept spawning, turning her into a massive, writhing sludge.
“Ugh.”
The Herald Clan on the bastion recoiled in horror at Arael’s gruesome power dismantling their elder.
“There. A bit cuter now. Ptui.”
Arael drew her obsidian blade, sliced her tongue to control the Nether backlash, and spat blood-mingled saliva.
“...Gasp.”
Everyone who saw it was aghast. And that wasn’t the end.
“Rise. Gazing shadows!”
Arael cast her spell, and eyes began opening in the clearing’s shadows.
Eyes in the shadow of debris piles, unremoved corpses, canal edges—they blinked, took form, and stirred.
The Herald Clan murmured.
Their goal was to block Arael’s intrusion and capture her group here. But Arael was far stronger than expected. A fight now meant unavoidable clan losses...
Then Arael shouted.
“Listen up! If we fight each other now, at least a hundred of us die! No need for that, right!?”
“What are you saying?! Traitor Arael!”
“I challenge the Two-Leader. Hatir must prove himself as Two-Leader!”
Duels over Herald rank were common among the Aragasa. They valued hierarchy, but ability even more.
But never over the Two-Leader’s seat.
“Foolish talk! The Two-Leader’s position isn’t decided by dueling alone! It’s...”
“It’s what?”
Arael’s question silenced the Herald Clan.
Bloodline. Saying that lacked conviction even to them. Their answers faltered.
“It should be decided by how much you can contribute to the clan’s future.”
“Then you should duel all the more? If we fight and all these clanmates die, the future looks bleak.”
But then an arrow flew at Arael.
Shockingly, it didn’t come from the front bastion opposing her group—but from behind.
“No chance!”
Moon’s Indim struck the arrow flying at Arael’s back, but it exploded midair, forcing him to stagger.
Immense power.
“Guh. Sion!?”
“Well, well... such bravado.”
The arrow came from Sion Etar and his men.
With nagas and their undead army in tow, Azadin’s group was instantly surrounded by a massive force.
“Arael. You can’t be Two-Leader. The council doesn’t want you.”
“Ridiculous. Who wanted your elders in those seats? Guys who lucked into good families...”
“Without our great ancestors’ feats and grace, where would we be? Ah, of course. I get it—as Acre the traitor’s daughter, you want to ignore your parents’ merits and be judged on your own ability. That’s why you’re threatening clan lives with this tantrum, right?”
Sion Etar reminded all that Arael was traitor Acre’s daughter. Then Midiam stepped forward.
“No matter how great the parents, you can’t assume the kids are too.”
“...Midiam?”
Sion looked troubled as Midiam spoke up.
Arael being a traitor’s daughter let him dismiss her claims as self-serving.
But Midiam—from the Five Great Bloodlines’ Etar Bloodline—changed everything. What could seem more sincere than her risking more loss than gain?
“The Five Bloodlines blindly backing current Two-Leader Hatir is why we’re in this mess, isn’t it? We wanted the clan to prosper—not become slaves to Nether reapers. The council and Two-Leader twisted our will and pushed their agenda. Challenging the Two-Leader’s seat to protest—that’s fair. Lowly Heralds prove themselves by duel—why not the exalted Two-Leader?”
Murmurs rippled through the clan.
“Who’s that?”
“Etar Bloodline’s daughter.”
“...Hmm.”
None dared voice it aloud from fear, but the Heralds agreed with Midiam.
Non-Five Bloodliners resented the Five. And now one of their heirs said it outright.
They could dismiss others as envy from the have-nots. But an actual successor...
“Midiam. Come back. I can still cover for you.”
“Brother Sion. You really think this has a future?”
“What are you saying? It’s already succeeding. We, the oppressed, will rule this world.”
“I want the world before this. Not one with Nether reapers prowling and nagas butchering humans! It’s like wanting a shop’s jewels, burning it down, and bringing ashes. That’s what this is.”
Listeners nodded at Midiam’s words—Sion had only hurt himself by engaging.
“You really siding with traitors?”
“The real traitors are your council.”
Azadin stepped in front of Midiam, gripped his axe-spear short, and swatted something away.
A thin needle flying at Midiam. Sion’s sneak attack.
“Can’t even persuade one clan girl—resorting to ambushes.”
“...Azadin. I didn’t want this. But you leave me no choice.”
Sion gestured helplessly.
As naga sorcerers pushed undead forward, attacks began from the rear.
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