174. Hazart Ashin, The Buried City (1)
*
Kirhas’s charge was nothing short of the maximum capability a field commander could demonstrate. It was a charge that occurred at the precise moment when the enemy formation’s density reached its lowest point, and all enemies were not paying attention to their rear—until the allied formation was annihilated, that is, before the battle turned into a massacre.
Kirhas had executed all these calculations in the realm of instinct and succeeded, indicating that her tactical judgment was nearing perfection. There was only one thing she hadn’t anticipated: the allied cavalry’s retreat was slower than she had expected.
This was entirely due to a lack of experience. Until now, Kirhas had led the elite cavalry of the Great Wilderness. However, the cavalry among the northerners was merely ‘warriors on horses.’
The difference between infantry and cavalry is not just in the height and speed of the horses. Cavalry’s capability encompasses the synergy between rider and horse, the sensation at the point of maximum impact, and the instinctive communication during turns and retreats. Simply adding a horse and rider does not mean their combat power is merely additive.
There is no doubt that the northerners are individually powerful warriors. However, they were not trained as cavalry. This is where Kirhas’s misjudgment began. She thought she was leading a cavalry unit. Had she considered them merely as fast-moving warriors, she could have deployed the troops in a completely different manner.
“Huh…”
Kirhas swiftly decapitated an approaching enemy and quickly stepped back, scanning her surroundings. Enemies, enemies, enemies. Nothing but enemies. She wasn’t particularly tall, and the northerners were at least a head taller than the average infantry of southern civilized nations. Thus, she felt as if she were surrounded by a hostile wall.
But even in that moment, her eyes sought a way out. Amidst the screams and shouts of allies and the loud clashing of weapons, her ears perked up.
Somehow, she felt that if she just stayed still, she might survive. Her instincts were screaming, ‘Hold on.’
“Enough of this nonsense, you heretics and apostates!!!”
-Whoosh!
Brother? Kirhas, half-dazed, turned her head toward the direction of the roar. It was Brother Fabiano’s voice. Soon, the sound of a cannonball flying and a massive impact sweeping the ground followed.
-Boom!
The sound and vibration of a solid projectile flipping the ground echoed. In the distance, the head of a demon, which had briefly appeared above the warriors, vanished in that instant. A spray of blood shot into the sky, followed by the sound of the demon’s heavy body collapsing to the ground.
“Brother…??”
How did he get here? The warriors surrounding Kirhas began to look around in confusion.
*
It was a chaotic battle where friend and foe were indistinguishable. Zephis was pondering the situation while observing the battlefield. When Kirhas charged into the enemy lines along the ridge, he could at least determine that the side with demons and mages was the enemy. However, in the midst of the chaos, identifying allies and enemies was impossible.
They seemed to have some kind of decoration on their shields, cloaks, and clothes to distinguish themselves, but Zephis and the Inquisition Officers had no way of recognizing the northerners’ insignia.
Therefore, they decided to focus on the demons rather than the frontline. Their strategy was very simple: 1. Demons are enemies. 2. Those who fight demons are allies. 3. Anyone who attacks us while we’re fighting demons is an enemy.
It was a highly reasonable tactic. As Zephis nodded and lowered his helmet’s visor, Fabiano drew the spear blade tied to his back and stepped forward.
“Enough of this nonsense, you heretics and apostates!!!”
-Whoosh!
The deltoid muscles, as large as a human head, visibly twitched beneath his armor. Soon, the javelin in his hand shot forward with a piercing sound. The noise was akin to a siege ballista firing, followed by an impact. The demon’s head shattered, and a spray of blood erupted.
“Let’s go, Brother!”
“Brother Sergio, carry Brother Sarbelio and cover me. Brother Sarbelio, take care of the enemy mage. The rest of you, handle the demons. And Brother Fabiano! Rescue Sister Kirhas and rejoin the main force!”
“Makto!”
A prayer document signifying affirmation erupted from behind him. Zephis placed his hand on the sword hilt and ran along the ridge.
-Thud, thud, thud, thud.
There were roughly three hundred warriors visible on the battlefield. Assuming at least half of them were enemies, the allied forces numbered only five. Five against a hundred and fifty? This was impossible unless the God of War descended.
Contrary to the widely held prejudiced belief, Diemonica are not immortal superhumans. They too bleed when pierced by blades and face death when fatally wounded.
However, what sets Diemonica apart from other Inquisition Officers, Heretics, or Enmagika is that divine power flows in their blood—
“Stop them!!”
“Where did these bastards come from!!”
-Boom!
The warriors of the Temple of the Gods, the battle weapons forged by human deities. This means they are on par with demons. Just as the Great Demon forges demons from souls, these are beings created by the divine protection bestowed upon a few chosen souls.
The formation collapses. Most of the spears and blades aimed at them scrape off the thick sloped surfaces of their armor. One attack, one counterattack. The warrior who scratched Diemonica’s armor soon lost his head and flailed before collapsing.
-Boom!
A fissure forms in the middle of the battlefield. The warriors of Hazart Palan, the demons, and their minions. All of them sensed the anomaly and momentarily lowered their weapons. What just happened? Who are these guys?
-Whoosh!
Zephis stepped forward towards the warrior who thrust a spear at him, grabbing the warrior’s head with one hand. Under his grip, the warrior gasped, exhaling hot breath. Crunch—the skull shattered under the fierce grip, and the warrior’s body went limp. The other warriors, horrified by the sight, stumbled backward.
-Thud.
Through the gap, a demon walked in. A mature Demidrako. Zephis glared coldly at the demon from beneath his visor. It was one of the famous entities depicted in the demonic scriptures.
“How did the Inquisition Officer crawl in here?”
The demon hissed in the common language of the continent. Zephis swung his morning star, shaking off the blood and flesh stuck to it.
“It doesn’t matter. If I kill them all, it’s over.”
It took less than a minute for the demon’s head to fall off. Around that time, the mages, demons, and leaderless warriors began to flee.
The warriors of Hazart Palan were left with distant expressions, unsure whether to rejoice in the sudden “gift” of victory or to be wary of these strange beings. They stared blankly at the fleeing enemies.
*
Meanwhile, Fernandez was riding north on the horse Orion had prepared for him. According to Loft, a few Diemonica had arrived at the battlefield to clean up the situation, and if that was true, his direct involvement would be overkill.
The harsh winter wind of the north blew fiercely. Fernandez tightened his coat as he crossed the snowy plains, where cold waves and blizzards raged. He could feel the horse tiring quickly from the cold.
Under the dark night sky, rough snowflakes swirled. Fernandez exhaled hot breath and patted the trembling horse’s neck. Using magic to preserve the horse’s stamina now would be nothing short of suicide.
How much further had they gone when the horse he was riding finally gave up, its knees buckling as it collapsed. The horse let out a pitiful groan, its head drooping to the snow. It wasn’t that it didn’t want to go on—it simply couldn’t.
“You’ve worked hard.”
Fernandez comforted the horse’s forehead. The horse soon closed its eyes. He tightened his cloak deeply and stepped into the snow. Thud—his foot sank heavily into the snow.
“Let’s push a little more, friend.”
Before he knew it, Loft was walking beside him. His spiky hair was wildly scattered by the wind. He continued muttering to himself next to Fernandez.
“Did you know? Giants really lived in the old north.”
“…”
The conversation was one-sided, as Fernandez lacked the energy to respond.
“And the northerners are truly descendants of those giants. Though their size has shrunk, and their strength has weakened over time. But at their core, they still carry the blood of giants. Though, giants were just a type of human, just much larger. Haha.”
Loft flickered a spark in front of Fernandez’s eyes, marking the path he needed to take. Fernandez followed the light, step by step.
“Ah, right. Me and my brothers… long ago, we were one of those giants. So, in a way, all northern humans are like our children.”
The light led up a hill. The snow-covered hill looked like a crouching giant or some ancient monster in deep slumber. Fernandez climbed the hill without a word.
“And back then. Before we led these poor humans into eternal, endless conflict. They lived quite decent lives. In fact, compared to the small humans of the south, they built a far more splendid civilization! So, we placed our hope in the northern giants to stop Ragnarok. In our children…”
The hill seemed endless. Or perhaps it was Fernandez’s waning stamina and the numbness creeping into his limbs that made it feel that way. His steps grew heavier. Now, he was moving purely on instinct.
“As the eras passed. As the world’s mysteries dried up. As the northern children grew lazier and more complacent. Their bodies began to shrink. This wasn’t a curse but more of a degeneration, and there was nothing we could do about it.”
The hill’s summit came into view.
“At first, the people here thought their smaller descendants were corrupted. To those who hunted demons and monsters, corruption was a symbol of terrible weakness. The small humans exiled from their tribes—some went underground, others sailed south.”
Loft’s words echoed dully in Fernandez’s ears. What was he even saying? With half-closed eyes, Fernandez stepped onto the hill’s summit.
The wind stopped. The snowflakes subsided, and the light guiding his steps vanished. Fernandez stood blankly at the summit, gazing at the scene below.
Beside him, Loft draped an arm over his shoulder and laughed.
“The giants never forgave their smaller children. They drove them from their tribes, scorned them, and left them no place to stand in the north. So, where did those tiny humans go? They dug into the earth, sailed south…”
Below the hill stretched a long canyon. Abandoned mines and mining equipment littered the slopes. At first glance, they were just old, worn-out tunnels. But Fernandez already recognized the pattern of the entrances and the roads surrounding the mines.
Long ago. In his previous life. When he ventured into the deep underground dungeons to break Tyban’s seal at the Steelmarrow Seal Grounds, he had seen this style.
“Those who were abandoned, exiled—they were given a name by the giants.”
Deep beneath the Steelmarrow Seal Grounds, a complex underground labyrinth built with powerful machinery and advanced engineering. A terrifying abyss filled with traps. At its end, the long journey to free the sealed Tyban. The half-ruined structures he had seen countless times during that journey now jutted out from beneath the snow.
“Dwarves. Yes, that’s right. Friend. The race that held the last remnants of the ancient northerners’ brilliant technology. Those little ones who can no longer be found anywhere. We called them dwarves.”
Hazart Ashin. The third city. Fernandez could imagine the dwarf underground city at the end of these deep tunnels, designed like a mine. Just by the exposed scale, it could easily rival the Steelmarrow Seal Grounds he had seen.
“That brat Erik found nothing here and left it abandoned, but our story is different, friend.”
Let’s see what we can find. Loft chuckled, patting Fernandez’s shoulder.
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