Chapter 17: Act 8 – The Blood-Stained Forest
“Joson!”
“How could you—”
The young militiamen glared furiously at their companion. The young man controlled by the necromancer was pale as a sheet, trembling, his face a mix of shame and terror as he hung his head deeply.
But he didn’t want to die, did he.
Freya felt her heart was about to stop. Instinctively, she drew her sword. But the necromancer immediately dissuaded her from that notion. The green light in its eye sockets suddenly flared, and the young man’s arm burst like a balloon, blood spraying everywhere as he screamed and curled up on the ground.
“Ah, Boss, please save me—”
Joson, covered in blood, rolled on the ground, howling incessantly.
This horrifying scene made several people immediately turn around and vomit. The young woman with the ponytail’s face went stark white, and she swayed, almost collapsing.
“Humankind, you’d better not make reckless moves,” the necromancer warned her in a shrill voice, its sinister gaze sweeping over everyone present.
However, it quickly noticed that those present were only militiamen, not worth mentioning, merely pests.
The green light in the necromancer’s eye sockets dimmed, somewhat disappointed. It had been ordered to hunt down the human scout who had escaped earlier, not to get tangled up with these pests.
Freya’s mind was a blank, yet she still endured the waves of dizziness assaulting her and thought hard about how to get out of this predicament. She still remembered that she was the leader of this group and couldn’t show any signs of weakness.
As for the girl by Romaine’s side, she had already fainted at the first instance, luckily caught by Merchant Miss.
Sophie felt Romaine’s hand tightly gripping his sleeve; this was an act of reliance and trust. He had also supported the ponytailed militia captain earlier to prevent her from falling, though her resilience surprised him.
But no matter what, he knew the other party needed some comfort at such a time, or they might collapse psychologically first.
A girl living in a time of peace finds it hard to accept such a cold and brutal scene. Fortunately, Erluin was a country that had endured countless wars, and most of the young people here had such awareness.
“Freya,” Sophie said weakly and softly.
The young woman started slightly, immediately snapping out of it. She took a deep breath and gradually calmed down with Sophie’s help. Sophie noticed her fingers on the sword hilt had relaxed, and couldn’t help but nod in approval.
Such a performance could be considered excellent, and few ordinary people could remain calm in the face of life and death. Although he didn’t know why he himself seemed so unperturbed – perhaps after experiencing the trials of life and death after the crossover, his mindset became as calm as still water.
But anyway, this was a good thing after all.
He continued to ask in a barely audible voice: “Do you remember what I said before about preparing for the worst?”
Freya hesitated and nodded slightly.
“Do you still have the strength to fight?”
“Uh-huh—”
A nearly imperceptible response.
Sophie was relieved to hear that. He caressed the Queen Wind Ring on his thumb – the feedback told him the charge was only half complete.
Three hours, much slower than the ten-minute charge in the game. But half energy was enough, although it couldn’t create a complete wind bolt, it was sufficient to create a strong wind.
He had already prepared for the worst, and there was no worse possibility.
Meanwhile, the necromancer finally confirmed there were no other ambushes here. Without looking at the wailing wretch by its feet, it raised its skeletal arm: “Soldiers, kill them all—”
As its shrill, dry voice echoed, four skeleton soldiers wielding sharp swords and clad in dark chainmail appeared from the mist. Emitting a cacophony of sounds, they stepped closer step by step toward Freya and her group.
Perhaps the young members of Freya’s team might have had the thought to counterattack these cold creatures earlier, but not now. Initially confident, the sight of their cold-blooded enemy had chilled them to their bones, and the remaining courage was shattered by the approaching death, leaving them powerless to resist.
They could only pale as they retreated step by step until there was no way out, fumbling with the swords at their waists almost out of instinct – but no one could guarantee how much fighting power they truly had left, judging by their clumsy actions.
In the forest, only the rising and falling sounds of breathing could be heard.
Looking at the pale-faced young people, the necromancer couldn’t help but emit a sneer from its rattling jaw.
The green light in its eye sockets flickered, as if savoring the pleasure brought by this fear.
Indeed, human fear was their greatest enemy – soft, brief, easily manipulated by useless emotions. In contrast, the undead overcame all these defects naturally. Each one could be an excellent soldier, especially the lower undead – needing no thought, only blind obedience.
Compared to humans, even seasoned militiamen who appeared helpless on the battlefield, these soft creatures shouldn’t exist in this world.
An overwhelming sense of hatred welled up from the bottom of its heart: yes, Madara must triumph –
But just at this moment, the necromancer heard an extra voice: “—I leave it to you.” This was a young man’s voice, calm, steady, full of confidence.
The necromancer felt its spirit fire flicker, a bad omen. It immediately turned its head with caution.
Shining rings entered its hollow field of vision.
That ring was worn on the index finger of the wounded militiaman. It hadn’t paid serious attention to that person before – what was there to notice in a half-dead human?
Pretending to be severely injured could deceive others, but certainly not the undead. These cold-blooded monsters emerging from the grave could see the life force of living beings directly. The weak and dim life force on Sophie’s body absolutely couldn’t be faked.
That was a seriously injured person.
It looked precisely so.
But the true threat came from the ring on his hand, it was a magic ring. The green fire in its eyes dimmed dot by dot, and it almost caught the fatal aura gathering in the air.
It recognized the smell. One of its masters had exposed it to some counterfeits when teaching it black magic. The aura escaping from it indicated that there was at least a magic ring of a 20-level tier.
An official wizard’s item, how could it appear in the hands of an ordinary person?
The necromancer couldn’t help but reveal a look of both horror and greed.
“Undead soldiers, go take that thing for me—” It raised its bone wand, shrieking.
“Oss—”
But Sophie raised his right hand and exerted all his strength to pronounce this syllable – or more like squeezing out the remaining air from his lungs. The moment the young man fell back, he was drenched in sweat.
The space inflated, then contracted sharply –
When the contraction exploded back to its original state, the wildly scattered airflow released a piercing whistle, enough to penetrate the eardrums of humans.
The wind shot toward the necromancer and its skeleton soldiers like straight arrows, and even as they raised their dry arms trying to protect themselves, the turbulent flow pierced through their hollow ribs, forming air vortices that swerved them off balance step by step.
No injury, but the restraining effect was already sufficiently evident.
“Freya!” Sophie called out.
The young woman immediately drew her long sword, a sharp metallic tremor followed, her long ponytail fluttering in the wind –
What made Sophie pleasantly surprised was that the relatively inexperienced militia captain did not act rashly but instead instantly turned her head and shouted at the others: “Markmey, Aissen! What are you waiting for, Buche’s militiamen! Third Squad, follow me!”
Stirring up courage is sometimes like a signal; at the brink of life and death, often a word, a hint can make a person unleash infinite strength.
But there is a condition, and that is calmness.
One person’s calmness can influence more people, just like now. Under Freya’s reminder, the young militiamen started with a slight start but eventually came to their senses – this was the best opportunity and the only chance to survive.
The sudden burst of wind forced the skeleton soldiers and the necromancer to retreat, leaving them no time to focus on other things.
This realization rekindled the young men’s courage. A clangorous sound of swords being drawn rang out, and the tactical awareness drilled during their daily training seemed to return to their bodies.
“Markmey, cover me.”
“Damn monsters, it’s your turn now…”
“Take down that Black Witch first—!”
“That’s a necromancer.”
“Little Finnis, you stay behind me.”
They began to counterattack.
But Sophie worryingly observed the chaotic scene, fearing that these guys might ruin the situation in an impulsive move, so he couldn’t help but remind them steadily from behind, “Remember to be composed, everyone! Only by staying calm can we fight—!”
In the Amber Sword, he had seen many rookies just like these young people.
Enthusiasm is a good thing, but it shouldn’t cloud the mind.
He had no choice but to recite the militia’s combat manual, something everyone present had memorized. Yet, few people could recall these dry but precious experiences during the fight.
Brendel was undoubtedly an anomaly.
Sophie had all the memories of that young man’s last battle. For a recruit, his performance was already as good as it could possibly get. Even from the perspective of a veteran soldier, he had to admit that Brendel was a young man with extraordinary talent in swordsmanship – the only regret being that he encountered the wrong battle at the wrong time.
And on the other side, with Sophie’s reminder, the young men did indeed calm down. But this wasn’t enough; Sophie knew these guys still needed some advantage to consolidate their confidence; otherwise, the morale that had surged momentarily would easily collapse.
The wind weakened a bit.
The skeleton soldiers jingled in their chainmail, preparing to counterattack as they tried to regain their balance. However, Sophie’s voice had already instructed Buche’s militiamen to change tactics: “Listen well, the low-level soldiers of Madara lack intelligence, move slowly, and their turning is their biggest weakness. Move along the direction of their swords to the left as much as possible, there is a blind spot where you can safely attack…”
“Markmey, you have to attack from the left and the right with Aissen. Do you know how to cover? Yes, attract that skeleton’s attention, just like that.”
Sophie lay half on a rock, closely monitoring the battlefield, pointing out what the next steps should be. His voice seemed to possess a unique charm that made people trust instinctively – what we call the power of confidence, calm and steady, that people subconsciously rely on when at a loss.
And Buche’s militiamen soon tasted success. First was Eck, who, at the cost of a sword wound in the thigh, managed to break a skeleton soldier’s shinbone. His partner, Little Finnis, then moved forward and pierced the skeleton’s skull with a sword.
At the moment of the sword piercing through the skull, that cold creature collapsed with a clatter, its soul fire in the eye socket flickering slightly before dimming out swiftly. A glint of gold flew out from the fractured bones and dissolved into Sophie’s chest nearby.
Sophie was slightly surprised; unlike the last time, this time he clearly felt something abnormal – experience points, he suddenly realized. However, before he could confirm it, he heard the young militiaman who had defeated the enemy excitedly shouting.
“My God, I did it!” Eck almost couldn’t believe it, pressing his still bleeding wound, he shouted: “Brendel, how do you know all these?”
Sophie smiled faintly. These experiences were all he had summarized with his partners in the game, even the most seemingly insignificant of them were filled with profound lessons because all of them were forged in countless battles and deaths. They were precious knowledge.
Like the knowledge Brendel also had learned during militia training seemed quite shallow to Sophie. If those learnings improved his fighting ability by 10% when facing skeleton soldiers, then his should improve it by half or even more.
After all, Sophie had participated in battles against Madara from the year 375 to the Second Era, and he was thoroughly familiar with all kinds of creatures from the low-level skeleton soldiers to the high-level liches, bone dragons, and even vampire lords.
If anyone were to discuss knowledge about this dark nation, perhaps there were few in Erluin who could surpass him now. After all, the relationship between Madara and the realms of Light hadn’t escalated to such tension until before the first Black Rose War. There was no frequent friction or conflict back then.
Of course, these experiences were also what Sophie was most proud of in this world. Relying on his familiarity with this world, he had the confidence to continue moving forward, step by step back to the once-reached heights.
But for now, the task at hand had to be completed first. He didn’t know whether the previous windstorm had caught anyone’s attention. For safety’s sake, a quick and decisive battle was essential.
Thinking of this, his eyes fell on the necromancer.
This was a tough opponent.
