Chapter 221: Act 155 – Dawn (8) (Second Update)
A beam of magical light pierced through the layers of darkness, rising into the sky—
The light illuminated the vast earth, its edge shifting over the ruins, outlining the remnants of the south gate of Firburh.
The indifferent face and stiff lines of Vurn, the leader of the Fireland Corps, constantly changed under this illumination. The tall man stood motionless in the night, his hands crossed over the hilt of a sword engraved with a demon’s skull, his heavy gaze fixed ahead—the forest on the horizon seemed to form a faint ink line in the darkness, mist creating a thin layer of night fog, but from the other side of the dark came the sound of rustling footsteps, crunching like echoes from hell.
But it was a massive army advancing in perfect unison.
The long-haired, sensual, and beautiful female mercenary leader had actually misjudged; Vurn had never been a knight of Erluin. But a long scar marred his neck, stemming from memories of his past—he was actually a retired cavalryman who had fought in battles between Karasu and Madara. Therefore, he closed his eyes, almost able to discern the source of that rustling sound from the depths of his soul.
The oceanic expanse of Madara—an endless, infinite army of skeletons. The sound of their bony footsteps fell like a heartbeat on his heartstrings.
Stars of red fire appeared in the darkness, multiplying, flickering like will-o’-the-wisps behind the fog. The mercenaries picked up their weapons and stood up from the ruins, their faces grave. Behind a hastily constructed fortification on the ruins, more and more people crowded together, no one speaking, their voices seemingly swallowed by the approaching rhythmic footsteps—everyone held their breath, watching the scene:
The Undead Army slowly revealed itself from the darkness.
Some approached Vurn; they were members of the Fireland Corps. Even a few wizards from within the corps were among them; in past battles, they had always played the role of the brain of the mercenary band—but whether this battle was worth fighting, they had long hesitated. The crucial question was whether they were willing to offend the young viscount. But at this moment, as they saw the skeletal army, which surged over the land like a tide from the darkness, they collectively inhaled sharply.
That was Madara, the vibrant rose and thorns in the darkness, representing an irresistible momentum, as if it embodied the breath of death that everyone had to ultimately face—
“Captain?” one of the wizards, his pale face half-revealed beneath a hood, asked in a low voice.
Vurn remained silent.
“Captain, their numbers are in the thousands,” he reminded quietly, “and with us and others, there are just over two hundred. Besides, the people outside the corps are simply unreliable. Are we really going to fight these skeletons to the death for a mere promise? Even if it means losing all our brothers?”
“Where can we escape?” The tall man turned his head, glancing at him calmly. “I know their habits better than you. This city is already surrounded on all sides—I’ve learned a lesson in Karasu: never try to guess how many undead there are, for it will always be more than you think.”
He lifted his head and looked ahead: “Though they are numerous, they are just low-level skeletons, freshly summoned from the grave. As long as we hold out until dawn, they will naturally retreat.”
“Captain?”
Vurn raised a hand to cut off his subordinate’s words: “Our only hope now lies with that young lord. The presence of two golden-tier beings is enough to lead us out of this siege; send a magical signal to inform that lord: for two hours, the Fireland Corps will not die or retreat—”
The tall man waved his hand: “Raise the corps’ banner; even in death, I want to see it waving under the dawn—”
“Hmph! Since that young noble has asked me to hold out until dawn, let me see how this first light penetrates through the layers of darkness—” Vurn replied, fully understanding Brendel’s intentions: “If he can do it, then whether I serve as captain or not is irrelevant.”
The wizards paused, exchanging glances.
Two hours later.
It was dawn—
……
“Ancestors?”
Medisa halted, frowning. The young woman, holding her spear, turned her horse’s head, tensing every nerve as she watched a figure standing before the undead-constructed defense line, clad in a black cloak adorned with silver scales, exuding a chilling presence. She did not understand why he had suddenly said such a thing. But before the era of the Ancestors’ co-rule, there was indeed a legend from ancient myths—a legend that in the tumultuous dark age, the Knight of Azure led the first ancestors out of their refuge, defeating the Duskgazer Dragon, known as the ‘Final Catastrophe,’ thus marking the beginning of the chaotic years—
But how could the lord be an ancestor?
Aside from the dragon kin, the golden generation had long lost their bloodline, fading into legend. Even the silver descendants had already been regarded as beings of pride before this era. After the age of the Dark Dragon’s rampage, bloodlines scattered across the land; even the continued existence of the silver kin had become uncertain. How could any ancestor still walk the earth?
Unless Brendel was of the dragon kin.
But the elf girl immediately shook her head, dismissing this suspicion. Even newly born dragonlings wouldn’t be as weak as the lord. Despite thinking this, she suddenly felt a bit guilty towards Brendel, her cheeks flushing as she quickly apologized to him in her heart. But she turned her horse’s head and coldly asked, “What nonsense is this?”
Bai raised his head, the cold metallic mask half-smiling half-crying, but beneath the mask, a pair of golden flame-colored eyes made Medisa feel an inexplicable unease—the undead held a scythe, motionless—but the silver elf girl quickly blinked, fearing being enchanted. This masked figure, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, chuckled in a deep voice:
“Just as I’ve said, it means just what you understand on the surface.” The voice of the Black Knight resonated with metallic echoes.
“Nonsense!” Medisa looked left and right; this undead general was far stronger than she had imagined, but she stopped, and the mercenaries’ assault hesitated as well. The elf girl found herself unable to decide whether to request support from the lord; the streets were thick with smoke from the battle between Brendel and Cabais, and she was unaware of what was happening behind her, but feared to distract Brendel due to her presence.
But even in this stalemate, the nobles’ personal soldiers could not enter the inner city; if that was the case, it was better to buy some time. She bit her pale silver lower lip: “The golden bloodline has long been lost; there are no ancestors walking on the earth.”
Bai smiled slightly; he answered calmly, “Indeed, the ancestors were of golden blood, but Miss Elf, you have forgotten—there is also the existence of ‘fools.'”
The silver elf princess couldn’t help but smile slightly: “The Dark Dragon? How ridiculous! Do you really believe the lord is the Dark Dragon? Such a lie has no significance! No one would believe it—”
“It has no significance,” Bai shook his head, “but in Madara, there is a saying: ‘The dark master shall return; he sees into hearts and knows all things.’ You should have heard this ancient prophecy; it originated from Minren’s Black Prophecy. They are your mortal enemies, right?”
“And what of it?”
“Nothing much; I merely encountered a witch named Babasha in Ridenburg,” Bai casually replied. “You know, witches are always more attuned to the dark powers than ordinary people.”
The silver elf girl shook her head: “But you seem to have forgotten that the Dark Dragon was once our greatest enemy. Compared to witches, I am more familiar with its presence; furthermore, there is a passage in the Black Prophecy: ‘Darkness shall be born from the inhuman, and the honorable people shall perish in the flames.’ The lord is human, a descendant of the Flame King Gilt, one of the honorable people—this point you cannot deny, right?”
“That is true.” Bai lifted his scythe, resting it on his shoulder, nodding to himself.
“Do not incite discord any further; who exactly are you?” The other party seemed unconcerned about her stalling. Medisa instinctively felt anxious. She had already decided to launch another attack; if still unable to do anything, she would have to request assistance from the lord.
A light laugh came from beneath the metallic mask: “I remember I said my name is Bai. Bai Tiyamas Qiuyue is my name. I am the scale of war, the impartial judge of hearts—”
The undead general placed a hand over his chest, slightly bowing.
“Surely you are the instigator and provocateur,” Medisa coldly replied, raising her spear—but unexpectedly, he moved faster than she did. Just as she prepared to act, Bai, with his head bowed, seemed as if he saw it with his own eyes. He swung the scythe from behind him forward, a black light sweeping toward Medisa. The elf princess gasped and bit her teeth, retreating, but was still struck by the latter part of the attack. The collision of the black light with the ethereal shield surrounding her body unleashed a dazzling explosion, air rushing outward, causing nearby mercenaries to fall back. The girl let out a muffled grunt, suffering considerable injury.
“Very strong soul power; no wonder you are a spirit of the silver elves—”
Bai observed the flickering spirit fire around Medisa’s body, remarking. Simultaneously, he raised his hand backward.
The ‘Bone Spines’ squad received the command to advance immediately, drawing the bone spears from their backs and entering attack formation. Meanwhile, the mercenaries were still thrown into disarray from the prior attack, unable to react. Struggling through her injuries, Medisa looked up to see this scene, a hint of panic flashing in her pale silver eyes. She gritted her teeth and cried out: “No—”
But the undead general had already coldly lowered his hand.
With a soft sound, the vibration of the air echoed in her ears.
A row of bone spears soared into the air—
The silver elf girl’s panic transformed into determination in an instant. This young princess pressed her hand against her chest and shouted: “Ptyoona—!” (Ancient Elvish: Wings of Spirit—!)
Her voice was like a melodious sound of wind chimes that penetrated the battlefield in an instant, and simultaneously, everyone saw the spirit fire surrounding this young knight erupt instantaneously—it unfolded like a massive pair of wings, once spread open in the night, wrapping around with soul power, creating layers of shining hexagonal transparent networks against the dark backdrop. In an instant, the entire street was enveloped under the silver elf girl’s wing shield, and the bone spears that fell from the sky struck these transparent crystalline nets, exploding into dazzling light spots with every impact, but nearly every bone spear was intercepted and instantly turned to ashes.
The mercenaries looked up, the flickering light illuminating their faces, but whatever the case, they understood—they were saved.
Bai calmly watched the scene, his golden eyes flickering: “Ancient combat technique of the silver elves—”
He smiled, relaxing his grip on the scythe.
Once the soul fire unfolded, Medisa found herself without any further protection—
……(To Be Continued. For more chapters, please log in, support the author, and support legitimate reading!)
