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.
