Chapter 1009: Act 180 – The Battle of the White Lion III
Time crept silently through the forest like a ghost, slipping away moment by moment.
” Sister, where are we?”
Juliette’s eyes widened in fear as she realized the object in her hand was not a sharp sword but a delicate, boneless hand. Its owner looked up at her with a tilted head, her emerald eyes clear like a forest spring. With her black hair flowing over her shoulders and her white gown trailing barefoot on the thick green moss, she seemed like a woodland sprite.
“Sister?”
” Audith?”
” This is…”
A nightmare from ten years ago suddenly resurfaced.
“No, Audith, don’t stop! Run!”
Juliette suddenly felt her grip empty as her sister vanished like a reflection on water, replaced by a bright streak of light in the darkness—the gleam of a blade. The illusion made her shiver uncontrollably, and she instinctively raised her White Lion sword. ‘Clang,’ the swords collided, sparks flying everywhere as Juliette stumbled back a step, caught off guard.
The fully armored Cruzian knight across from her paused slightly, a muffled voice of confusion coming from beneath the metal helmet: “The White Lion sword… an Erluin person?”
How could she have zoned out?
Juliette broke out in a cold sweat. She never imagined she would make such a fatal mistake in battle. Though the relentless fighting had already exhausted both her body and mind, and though it was said that one revisits their past moments before death, was this truly a premonition of her end?
She gasped heavily—
Seven or eight swords lunged toward her. Even in her best condition, she would have needed to give her all to deflect even one of them, let alone now.
The forest burned in the darkness…
Knights clad in white robes with sun emblems on their chests emerged from the shadows, cutting down the hideous slave traders with shining swords. Yet, in their chaos, some terrified slaves—mountain folk, Sainya people—fell under their hooves. The knights showed no mercy as buildings collapsed and cries of anger and despair filled the air.
Shaking and almost naked, Juliette and her sister hid under an old, foul-smelling tent that they wished they could remain buried in forever.
Shadows of combat danced around outside the tent; flashes of swordplay and spurts of blood were visible through the fabric.
A sword found an opening in Juliette’s defense, stabbing her shoulder and causing crimson blood to gush forth. The pain made her see flashes of another traumatic event from decades past. Seven or eight knights surrounded her, their swords gleaming coldly, vigilant eyes never letting her out of their sight, refusing to give her even the smallest chance to take them down with her.
Then she felt another blade pierce her abdomen, the strength leaving her body. She knelt down, barely clinging on. The encircling Cruzian knights seemed like vicious wolves waiting to strike in the forest.
Such was the case that night in the White Deer Forest near Bruglas. The wolf pack growled in low, guttural tones, their bloodshot eyes hidden in the darkness. Juliette, with one hand shielding her sister Audith, was severely injured, her pain numbing her senses, one eye blinded by blood. Yet her hatred for the beasts burned fiercer than ever.
Through the long and arduous escape, the fear of death clung to her every moment, yet miraculously, she survived each time, all because she could not abandon her sister.
” Your name is Aurithia, young girl, are you a mountaineer?”
” This is my grandson, his name is Brendel.”
” No, there is something in you that he can never possess. Those living a life of luxury cannot understand these things…”
” Would you like to learn swordsmanship?” The elder chuckled, “Probably not possible, but I might recommend a place for you. Perhaps that person might offer you protection in my name.”
But her sister still died.
Because she was too weak.
Even after so many years, she still couldn’t protect her.
Tears involuntarily streamed down Juliette’s face, mingling with blood, trickling down her cheeks like streams of polluted water. She despised those who brought injustice to this world, despised the nobles who stood idly by while pushing evil forward, despised the apathy of all, despised this outdated everything. But she was powerless. Her sister’s death felt like an inevitable outcome of fate—she couldn’t change it, couldn’t resist it.
Even as she occasionally clenched her teeth cursing, she didn’t know whether she was cursing her own weakness or those who caused it all.
A Cruzian knight approached her, his metal armor creaking. He raised his longsword.
She had become a knight.
She was now officially a member of nobility.
But for what was she willing to fight?
What the Lord and the Princess were trying to change, was it truly the world her sister wanted?
Faced with the glinting blade, Juliette momentarily froze in confusion.
…
“An Erluin person?”
At the mention of this name, Maroly shuddered: “How could they possibly be here? Aren’t they in Fatan Port? It’s more than a hundred miles from here. Could their informants have reached this far? Did they find out something?”
He fired off a string of questions.
Clearly, the messenger knight couldn’t answer any of them. They had assumed these were the armies of the northern nobility or the forces of Huayelin, making this revelation beyond their expectations.
And how could the Erluin people be so strong? The combat effectiveness of this scout cavalry far exceeded their usual optimistic assumptions about that weak nation. Even the knights from their highlands couldn’t withstand the White Army, let alone the more elite White Knights’ Legion.
They were barely less than ten.
Where did this Erluin army come from, and what kind of people were they? Countless questions churned in Maroly’s mind.
“Did you clearly see their emblem? Is it really the Erluin?”
“Yes, my lord, it is the white lion emblem.”
“White Lion Army?” Maroly incredulously shook his head, “No, while the intelligence suggests some soldiers from the White Lion Army are indeed in Fatan Port, and the White Lion Army is certainly one of the strongest corps of the Erluin people, they couldn’t possibly reach this level. This must be a ruse by the northerners, or the Budans in disguise, unless…”
A thought suddenly surfaced in his mind.
“Unless what, sir?”
“Unless it’s another army.” Maroly asked seriously, “Did you confirm it’s the true White Lion emblem of the Erluin people?”
“I was just about to mention that, sir. The emblem was slightly different from what we were taught, featuring a broken sword.”
“Broken sword?”
Why would there be a broken sword on the White Lion emblem? Maroly was utterly perplexed. Where on earth had these damnable Erluin people come from?
He suddenly felt as if something major was about to go wrong.
Regardless of who they were, the fact that they were trying so desperately to keep him there must mean they had some kind of plan. Thinking about the combat effectiveness of that Erluin scout cavalry, he began to feel a chill. Even this esteemed knight commander of the premier White Army of the Cruzian frontline corps felt some sort of fear at an Erluin army.
Just imagining more, or even an equal number of Erluin forces joining his own knights, made him lose all confidence in victory.
When did the Erluin people become so powerful?
Or has the Empire deteriorated to such an extent?
Maroly suddenly felt a sense of despair, as a knight, he didn’t fear dying in battle. But he knew how critical the secrets in his hands were, and these secrets must not fall into enemy hands—whether those were the ghostlike northerners or the genuine Erluin people.
He turned around to see the grim-faced wizard sharing the same expression. They nodded at each other briefly.
“Prepare for a counterattack. Do not be concerned about the harassment of the scout cavalry. Whoever dares to block our advance, annihilate them. We must pass through this valley before nightfall!”
He bellowed fiercely, sword drawn, “Cruz, exterminate all enemies!”
Yet, this time, there was no thunderous response.
The scene was eerily silent.
Even Maroly himself quickly choked on his own words.
A lone figure, sword in hand, stepped out of the woods, a black wind cloak shimmering under the silver moonlight. The blade vibrated gently, wrapped in a hazy silver glow, resonating softly in the night.
A breeze stirred in the forest, and black wolves howled as they raced across the ridges.
…
Herd wolves on the journey.
For some reason, this phrase came unbidden to Maroly’s mind.
Who would have thought that the ancient tales of witches, long dismissed as children’s stories, were becoming reality?
Maroly never expected this phrase to be his last thought as a dazzling silver light erupted. The speed was so incredible, even watching the grandmaster of his knight corps draw his sword couldn’t compare. Silver streaks emanated from the burst of sword energy, an elemental force, which he too possessed, but before his internal elements could resonate with the law, a tremendous power had already suppressed it.
Absolute suppression of lower elements by higher elements within the same realm! Maroly’s face paled drastically. He didn’t have time to regret as a streak of silver already pierced through his chest. Even an esteemed Grand Knight of the Elemental Realm fell so inexplicably—not that he didn’t attempt to avoid the fatal strike, but at that moment, he distinctly felt the space around him shatter. His every movement seemed to echo through a time loop, trapped in the previous instant, locking him in an unchanging position where the sword would inevitably pierce.
Time and space like a massive fetter tightly constrained all his possibilities of dodging.
” This…”
” Time and space…”
An endless darkness surged into his consciousness, like falling into a cold abyss. Maroly felt his body topple off his drake. His last sight witnessed that figure cutting through his men, sword light slicing through everything like lines, splitting the imperial knights into pieces.
Before he closed his eyes, he already knew the man’s identity.
” Earl of Toniger.”
The hooded wizard muttered grimly, trembling slightly. In less than a quarter of an hour, dozens of knights had already perished, only a few falling to black wolves, most at the hands of the youth in front of him. Elemental knights capable of manifesting their elements had no chance of resistance, slaughtered like chickens.
This person was even more terrifying than the rumors suggested. Though young, his power had already surpassed those who have crossed the threshold of truth.
Brandel’s gaze scanned the battlefield littered with bodies, both knights from the forest assault on Juliette and Maroly’s guards, seventy-one in total, including six killed by Juliette and her companions, no one had escaped. This hooded figure was the last survivor, but not entirely alive, as there were indeed walking dead in this world.
At the edge of the forest, the black wolf pack gathered. On the back of the largest male beast sat a young, black-haired maiden with great interest watching the events unfolding. The killings were reflected in her black gem-like pupils as if watching a refined game.
Brandel glanced in that direction, frowned, then turned around. “Necromancer?”
The hooded wizard didn’t dare to make a wrong move, merely nodded silently.
“I have but one question, how many undead armies are moving around here and are they all heading to Valarch?”
These were technically two questions, the wizard grumbled inwardly but dared not voice it, answering truthfully, “Many. Some are summoned by heretics from their tomb vaults—there are numerous such tomb vaults here. Some come from Alkash mountains. These undead only partially head to Valarch; the others remain in Venn. The ancient battlefield within the Alkash Mountains naturally forms a dead nation, and the Empress was quite interested in it.”
“Empress? Which Empress?”
” Naturally, the ‘Empress’ of us.”
” Are you people from Madara?”
The hooded wizard felt Brandel’s killing intent and took a step back in fear, “Lord Earl, I know what you’re after, I can help you infiltrate Venn, you can’t kill me…”
Brandel pointed toward the distance, “See that woman? She’s Kohua, daughter of Echis. Even if I don’t kill you, you can’t leave here alive. Moreover, the White Lion doesn’t fear death but does not shed their blood in vain—”
“No!” The soul flame under the hooded wizard’s cloak erupted violently as he lifted his bone rod, preparing a spell to take them both down. Before he could finish, a sword pierced through his chest, passing through the dancing gray-white flames between his ribs.
The emaciated body of the wizard slumped to the ground, the soul flame under his hood flickering, as though unable to believe this young man wasn’t the least bit interested in the secrets of necromancy.
…
(PS: Happy New Year to everyone—)
