220. We Are the Bedrock (1)
At that moment, evacuation efforts were in full swing outside Ribue. A long line of citizens, stretching from the farmland outside the outer walls, was clamoring to enter the city.
Rene clicked her tongue as she watched the scene. Too late. The people of this territory were not accustomed to evacuations. Even during the height of the war, Ribue had never been on the frontlines, serving only as a rear outpost.
And far away, beyond the ridge in the darkness, flames were rising in the distant west. Somewhere out there, an unknown legion was advancing even now.
“Father…!”
The Duke drew his sword and stood up immediately upon receiving the message. The Greatsword Nobles following him were experts who had survived every kind of battlefield, and without hesitation, they too drew their swords at the Duke’s sudden order to march.
A considerable force—perhaps nearly the entire military strength of the territory—had risen to stop the march of the wraiths, who were surging from somewhere beyond the west.
“Lady of the Duke. You must take shelter.”
“Uncle.”
The Palace Mage, Antaen, had quietly approached and spoken. His aged face was pale, perhaps from fear. Rene bit her lip and shook her head. With the Duke absent and only a small garrison left in the territory, if she fled too, there would be no one left to defend the land.
The need to focus on defending the territory hinted at the defeat of the military forces sent out. Rene shuddered at the sticky implication that had instinctively come to mind.
The territory was under attack. Not by the Sultan beyond the frontline, but by wraiths of unknown origin.
“Even if you don’t take shelter, please head to the palace. It would be better for everyone if you observed the situation and issued commands from there.”
“Yes, I will do that.”
Antaen, his face still pale, staggered ahead as he led the way. Rene clicked her tongue as she watched him. Even Antaen, once a formidable Combat Mage, seemed to have grown old and timid. She followed him, glancing at the line of refugees.
* * *
“Borua! What’s the situation?!”
“Individual skirmishes aren’t going badly! But the enemy’s numbers are endless!”
Duke Erbe, mounted on his horse, heard Borua’s shout. The Duke’s legion was an elite force, tempered through countless battles. The onslaught of skeletons and wraiths was unfamiliar, but not impossible to handle.
The real problem was the mages. Mysterious magic was erupting sporadically from all directions. Should he call for Antaen? Erbe pondered as he watched the slowly retreating frontline.
-BOOM!
Every time a storm of flames swept through, fragments of bone and cloth exploded. The fiery storms that engulfed the frontline consumed everything indiscriminately before dying down.
It wasn’t particularly advanced combat magic. But the forces were woefully inadequate to engage in a magical battle. And whenever a gap appeared in the frontline, the wraiths would inevitably fill it. The frontline was being pushed back.
If they were pushed back any further, they would collide with the refugee column. Beyond that lay only chaos. The troops, already stretched thin, couldn’t hold the line for more than a day. Only after the evacuation of the citizens was complete could they make a stand by the city walls.
“Where is the Chieftain? Where is the Chieftain?!”
“He’s away!!”
A Beastman Warrior shouted in response to the Duke’s call. It was an unfortunate absence. The sudden attack by unknown wraiths, and the Chieftain gone at just the wrong time…
Suppressing his unease, the Duke turned to Pascal, who was inspecting the frontline.
“Officer Pascal! Can we consider this a declaration of war by the Wraith Legion of the wasteland?!”
“The use of magic, troop movements, and the soldiers’ attire are completely different from Asit’s. Duke, this is undoubtedly the army of a necromancer!”
“Damn it, what are you talking about? A necromancer?!”
“Look at their weapons! Sickles, pitchforks, pickaxes… These aren’t soldiers, they’re peasants. Or rather, they were once peasants!”
Pascal’s sharp eyes scanned the surroundings. It was too late. His mission had been to stop the necromancer before they could unleash some vile scheme. But the situation had already escalated to an extreme.
Cockroaches. Sparks flew from Pascal’s eyes. A single heretic. A single cultist, given enough time and resources within civilian society, could wreak this kind of havoc.
That’s why they should have been eradicated. Pascal was wracked with guilt. Even if not all of them were Vaitas’ people, at least they had been followers of the Temple of the Gods. Tenant farmers who had sought a new life outside the Temple’s domain.
Even if it meant burning hundreds of innocent bodies, not a single evildoer would be tolerated. The teachings of the Inquisition Office had warned of situations like this. Hundreds of lives were undoubtedly heavy. But when the comparison was clear, it became a cold game of numbers.
If burning hundreds of innocent people could save thousands, even tens of thousands, from the harvest of a single heretic, then it was an acceptable loss. Any evil that arose from this would be his burden to bear.
Pascal was a true Heretic of Vaitas. Anger burned like flames in his eyes. The mage cast another wave of fire onto the frontline. Reading the flow, Pascal turned his horse.
“Duke! I will pursue the mage. Hold the line! If it falls, the people of the Principality will all be buried under ashes!”
“That’s my concern! You go do your job!”
Pascal nodded briefly and spurred his horse. The horse galloped toward the mage lurking somewhere beyond the frontline. Pascal drew his Saintmetal Greatsword and kissed the blade.
“Macto Superlaudo.”
Their judgment belongs to the Lord. But it is my duty to bring them to His court. The Heretic repeated this as he raced through the darkness.
* * *
Fernandez watched from the hill as the wraith legion advanced. Their numbers were at least in the thousands. Without a Burial Priest from the Necropolis, maintaining a legion of this size would have required a significant sacrifice.
‘You were too hasty, Manderson.’
The soul of a skilled Dark Mage held great value to demons. Manderson must have pledged his soul to the demons to raise this legion.
At least a dozen settlements were abandoned. The missing residents, holding farming tools, had turned into corpses and were advancing towards Ribue. At first glance, it seemed like a formidable force, but its limitations were clear.
No matter how skilled a mage is, they couldn’t sustain this legion for more than a day. This is beyond the capability of any individual.
Thus, Manderson, who had staked his soul to pull off this stunt, had set himself up for failure, unable to last even a day. While it was enough to divert attention, it fell far short of burning or dominating all of Ribue.
By dawn, they would turn to dust. And the highly sensitive Heretica would stop at nothing to uncover the mastermind behind this. If they were going to cause this much chaos, they should’ve anticipated the backlash.
‘What’s the scheme here?’
Fernandez quietly observed the battlefield from atop his horse. Beastman warriors and the principality’s forces were fiercely holding back the Legion of Wraiths. Despite being outnumbered, the qualitative superiority of the troops wasn’t something easily overturned.
‘What were they hoping to achieve?’
The damage was too severe to be a reckless act of desperation. Manderson isn’t that foolish. At that moment, flames erupted in the middle of the frontline.
“……!!!”
A firestorm struck the frontline, obliterating both the skeletons and the principality’s forces in an instant. The frontline was pushed back once more.
Fernandez narrowed his eyes as he watched the scene. The magical energy and spell formations burning within the flames. The composition and resonance of the magic……
‘Explosion magic.’
-It’s not necromancy. This is the work of Philainneil University from the Empire.
‘It’s not Manderson’s magic. There’s another mage here. A combat mage from the Empire. Quite skilled…….’
-Palace Mage Antaen.
“Damn it.”
Fernandez groaned. Pieces of the puzzle began fitting together in his mind, forming a new, entirely unexpected picture.
‘The Empire’s envoy arrived just before the heresy incident occurred.’
-The investigation into the heresy started too quickly. As if someone had tipped them off in advance.
‘Philainneil University is a tactical academy directly established and operated by the Imperial Palace.’
-They must have connections to the Imperial Palace. And the Imperial Palace…….
‘They don’t want the western expedition.’
A trap, a trap, and another trap. The Duke had walked right into the snare laid out by the Imperial Palace. When did they start planning this? Probably from the moment Antaen reported on the meeting. He’s the Duke’s closest confidant and was right beside him during the negotiations.
Perhaps, the dark mage in the western settlements was bait prepared by the Imperial Palace. The Imperial Palace wanted to make the Duke the scapegoat at any cost. From the Emperor’s perspective, shifting the blame for the failures of the 50-year war would be the most favorable outcome.
Even if Fernandez hadn’t contacted Ribue, Ribue would have fallen. The Duke would have been branded as a heretic conspiring with dark mages and annihilated. But immediately after receiving Antaen’s report, the Imperial Palace swiftly drew up a new plan.
Using the pre-prepared bait to ruin the Duke’s plans…… diverting attention…….
“Rene Philippa……”
If the Duke were assassinated on the frontline, the only successor would be the Duchess. And if they captured her, they could turn the entire principality into a puppet government. The Imperial Palace’s plan was meticulous, sticky, and deadly.
At this point, all of the principality’s forces and knights had been deployed to the frontline. The Duchess would be left alone, managing the people. If the mage on the frontline is Antaen, then where is the dark mage who instigated this chaos……!
“Kirhas. Head to the frontline. Assist the Duke.”
“Your Excellency, but what about you?”
“I have other matters to attend to. Do whatever it takes to ensure the Duke’s safety. He must not die yet.”
“The battlefield situation isn’t severe enough to threaten the command. Perhaps I should assassinate the mage instead?”
“No, we must prepare for their assassins. The Imperial Palace is targeting the Duke. If the Duke falls, everything falls apart.”
Go. Kirhas didn’t question Fernandez further. The order had been given. She nodded with determination and rushed towards the Duke’s command post.
Fernandez briefly watched her retreating figure before galloping towards Ribue’s outer walls.
* * *
Heretica specializes in search and pursuit rather than combat. But that doesn’t mean they lack combat prowess. Pascal cut through the risen corpses of skeletons and ghouls.
Saintmetal deals fatal damage to necromantic minions. Each time his white greatsword shimmered in the moonlight, skeletons fell like autumn leaves.
-Thud thud thud thud thud!!
The residual magic flickered before his eyes. The foul stench of dark magic pierced his nose. The sticky stench, malice, and lingering resentment emitted by the wraiths surrounding him shook his mind.
“Come out!! Face the judgment of the Lord!!”
Pascal swung his sword in burning rage. The skeleton blocking his path collapsed weakly. Then, sparks flew. His horse’s eyes burned, and it convulsed and collapsed.
“Ugh!”
A fall during a gallop. He rolled several times before finally stopping. He immediately rose, sword in hand. His hands trembled from the impact, but his eyes still burned with unwavering fury.
“Inquisition Officers are only feared…… when those scum lurk within civilized society.”
The skeletons retreated. From afar, a robed mage pointed his staff and spoke. Pascal stepped forward on trembling legs.
“A lone Inquisition Officer is nothing more than a warrior who wields a sword well. Sometimes, they forget that and charge in as if they’re invincible. Pathetic.”
“No.”
Pascal took a deep breath. The fall had broken his ribs. Breathing and standing were excruciating.
But he took another step. Forward.
“A single sword. A light, empty body. Even if it’s just one warrior. The reason you fear Inquisition Officers isn’t because of our influence in civilized society. Heretic.”
He drew his sword and stepped forward. Towards the mage’s silhouette, his sneer stretching long.
“We swore that even if we burn ourselves, our light would serve as a beacon for civilized society. So fear us, as we burn you wicked ones, for our lives are torches.”
“Arrogance. Will you still act like that after death?”
“Death is not the end for us, but the beginning for the Lord’s world. Our lives are the foundation.”
-Whirr.
His breathing was ragged, his pulse rapid, his hands trembling. What would Diemonica have done? Pascal laughed bitterly. Diemonica would’ve died horribly in a far worse battlefield than this.
“Pray, heretic. To any god, with any words. Just pray fervently.”
The night was deep, and there was still a long time until dawn. The moonlight illuminated the skulls of the wraiths. On the white plain, the Inquisition Officer charged towards the mage.
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