Chapter 284 : Impact
Chapter 284: Impact
The Dragon-Eagle cried, the Deep Divers roared, the warriors trampled the earth, and the Fishmen crawled and surged forward.
A massive rock giant rose from the ground—it was a Personal Guard who had liberated his Holy Relic.
Even the towering Deep Divers only reached the giant’s waist. With a roar, black tentacles extended from a Deep Diver’s palm and lashed against the rock giant, the immense force staggering even its massive frame.
As though enraged, the rock giant opened its mouth in a silent roar and swung its arms. A boulder broke free and smashed into the Deep Diver, sending it flying.
The giant thundered forward on its stone legs, charging at the Deep Diver. Any Fishmen that tried to block its path were shattered to pieces by its unstoppable momentum.
With a sharp “Buzz~,” one of the Personal Guards spurred his warhorse forward. Both his hands whipped a long lash, and wherever it struck, Fishmen were split in two. Charging straight at a Deep Diver, his whips suddenly elongated, wrapping tightly around the monster.
The Deep Diver howled, stomping the earth, grabbing the whips with both hands. Ignoring the searing cuts, it yanked the rider off his horse and slammed him hard into the ground.
From afar, a sudden beam of light pierced the Deep Diver’s head clean through.
Though its body still moved, without its head the Deep Diver lost all sense of direction. The tightened whips constricted further, slicing it into countless chunks.
One by one, the Personal Guards liberated their Holy Relics and engaged the Deep Divers directly, while behind them, Councilor Julian led the legions forward.
The knights spread to the flanks while the infantry formed ranks in the rear. When the Fishmen came within range, they raised their repeating crossbows—five bolts each—and loosed a deadly volley.
These weapons, specially supplied by the Monastery, exploded on impact, blasting the front ranks of Fishmen into blood and shreds.
But the ones behind did not care. Indifferent to their companions’ fates, they charged on, throwing themselves against the legion.
After several booming volleys, the soldiers discarded their crossbows, drew the spears planted beside them, and braced them in layered rows until the front line held them level.
At the center of the formation, Julian raised his sword and commanded, “Advance.”
Step by steady step, the soldiers pressed forward, their spears skewering Fishmen one after another.
Julian rode with them, his gaze grim.
Fishmen could be controlled directly by higher-ranked beings, driven into fearless charges. Humans were not the same. Under heavy casualties or prolonged hardship, morale would falter and eventually collapse.
Blood and flesh sprayed. Blades flashed from shadows, slicing through intestines, gnawing on limbs. Pain tore through the body, numbness and terror gnawed at the heart.
That was why, back in the Monastery, the decision had been made to unleash three Super Colossal Catapults at the very first clash, wiping out eighty percent of the Fishmen.
These warriors were elites, undefeated under Lord Pegira’s command, their morale still ablaze even now.
But this battle was unlike before. The foe was a race that ignored casualties, fighting to the very last under their higher-ranked master’s will. If the allied army lost its first engagement, the warriors’ unbroken confidence would shatter.
And even after the catapults’ devastation, more than thirty thousand Fishmen remained.
Their numbers still far exceeded the coalition’s.
Yet there was no choice. However many remained, they had to win.
Even so, worry gnawed at Julian.
This force was not even the largest horde of Fishmen. A swarm of one hundred fifty thousand was considered only medium-sized, according to the Church’s intelligence. Victory today had come only thanks to the three Super Colossal Catapults.
But there would only be one such bombardment. What about the next battle?
Breathing deep, Julian cast aside these thoughts and roared. Behind him, the squires raised their banners high. Infantry dropped their gore-covered spears, drew their swords, and plunged into close combat with the Fishmen.
At this stage, nothing remained but brutal melee.
High above, Richard, mounted on his Dragon-Eagle, saw the carnage below.
Seven Personal Guards targeted the Deep Divers directly, drawing them into battle among the Fishmen. As Grand Knights, their combat was so fierce that no Fishman dared approach.
Behind them, the warriors of York Territory advanced like a grinding wall, slaughtering as they pushed forward. On both wings, Richard and Earl Gregor’s legions began to clash with the enemy.
Richard inhaled sharply and tightened his grip on the Dragon Spear.
Suddenly, Crulud twisted his body mid-flight, dodging six streaks of violet light.
“Found him!” Crulud bellowed.
Richard turned his gaze, spotting a Fishman Explorer in a deep pit. The monster looked up at him, six eyes weeping streams of violet magic.
“This battlefield is saturated with magic! He can’t draw on external power—only his own reserves!” Crulud roared, diving.
“Understood!” Richard shouted back.
Power surged from Crulud beneath him, glowing blue patterns coursing over Richard’s body. The Dragon Spear thrummed, its stone tip blazing with light. As Crulud swooped, Richard swung the spear down.
A pale-blue slash arced forth, lightning crackling along its edge.
The Explorer did not move. Its frail hand lifted slightly, and the strike vanished as though it had struck an invisible wall.
“What—?” Richard gasped. Against Deep Divers, this attack would at least wound them.
“It is his will!” Crulud roared back. “As frail as his body is, his will is equally strong! Unless you break it, you cannot harm him—you cannot even drain his magic!”
“How do I break his will?” Richard demanded.
“I don’t know!” Crulud thundered.
Richard clenched his teeth and roared, “To hell with his will! If I grind his body into ash, he’ll still die! Smash him to death!”
“Then hold tight!”
Crulud soared upward, climbing until they pierced the clouds.
“I’ll give you all my excess magic. One strike—either he dies, or you do,” Crulud said.
“And you?” Richard asked.
“I am a magical beast, a child of mana. I will not die to one Explorer,” Crulud replied.
Blue light flared across Crulud’s wings, flooding into Richard, dyeing his eyes sapphire.
“Hahaha! This is the battle of bravery, the battle to protect the weak!” Richard laughed wildly. “Marl said the noise must be grand—then let him see we’re no cowards at the feast!”
Crulud folded his wings, plummeting. Magic blazed around him, twisting into the shape of a massive spear that streaked toward the earth like a burning comet.
The Fishmen below felt their scales bristle. They tried to cower, but the Explorer’s will crushed their instincts, forcing them to charge onward.
In the pit, the Explorer seized a twisted sword and stabbed it into his chest. Purple blood gushed forth. With his frail hands, he wove the blood into a ritual array. From it thrust a colossal arm covered in pale-cyan scales, webbed membranes stretching between its fingers.
The palm stretched upward, as if to seize the falling spear.
Impact.
Blue flames exploded, magic pressure flattening Fishmen, rupturing their organs, bursting their bodies. The scaled arm disintegrated—scales, skin, flesh, then bone—before vanishing entirely.
The earth quaked. Waves of azure swept out, and Fishmen struck by it screamed, their eyes bloodshot, scales flushing crimson as they went berserk.
Marl saw it all—the spear from the sky, the Explorer slain, the Fishmen driven into madness.
Their lives now burned on a countdown. Before death claimed them, they would attack in a frenzy.
By rights, the armies should brace for defense. Already Julian had given such orders. But Marl did not.
Instead, he cried aloud, “Count Richard has slain the Fishmen’s commander! As he upheld the oath of the Oath Knights—bravery without fear!”
“Knights loyal to Count Richard! Remember this valor!”
Golden light swelled in his eyes. The power of the Divine Word filled his voice, guiding the wavering hearts of the knights toward Richard’s oath.
“Knights loyal to Count Richard! At this moment, emulate him! Show the world the valor of Oath Knights!” Marl thundered.
The knights’ gazes flickered, but soon golden light shimmered within their eyes. They shouted “Bravery without fear!” and, ignoring York’s defensive line, charged.
Marl’s face turned pale.
For years, Richard had cried the oath with his knights. They echoed him out of loyalty, not conviction.
They were brave because of their loyalty—but not because they had truly embraced the three oaths: bravery without fear, protection of the weak, and spreading of justice.
Their knightly path was rooted in traditions spanning countless years. How could Richard’s brief time make them believe from their hearts?
Now, Marl exploited their shaken hearts, twisting their wills, forcing them to accept the oaths—if only for a short while.
It was deceit. It was forgery. It was temporary.
But there was no time. To continue Richard’s way would take years. How long until a true Oath Knights Order was formed? Until it was admired across the land?
If the oath could not resound here, how would they repel the Fishmen? Julian knew it—how could Marl not?
So even if twisting the will of thirty knights damaged his soul, he would still do it.
Next…
Marl exhaled deeply and drew forth a ring.