Volume 17: Darkness Approaches the Land
Chapter 1: Seizing the City (1)
Viscount Saliman felt a severe headache. The dispute between Karl Liebknecht and Bronin had reached a boiling point over the strategy to deal with the half-orc army waiting south of the floating bridge. In fact, there was only one magician left—Mechenov, who had just been promoted from mage to full magician. Of the original group of nine magicians, only one remained. No wonder Bronin firmly opposed sending troops from Fortress Bruce to Leon’s lands.
“Viscount Saliman, you must be aware of the losses my knights suffered in the Greenland Forest Path. Yet we were not afraid. Our knightly code demands bravery and willingness to sacrifice when facing the enemy. But that doesn’t mean we’re mindless fools. It’s clear the Caucasians are fully prepared. Even before we set foot in Cyprus, they were already plotting how to strike at us and weaken us. It seems the course of the war is entirely going according to their plans. They killed many of our brave knights with despicable methods in the Greenland Forest Path, and it’s obvious they also possess powerful magical forces, using magic to launch terrifying attacks—this is the main issue. As for us, there’s only one magician left in our group, forcing these innocent knights and soldiers to face magicians who can summon endless magic, while we have no decent magicians to provide protection. This is a crime, this is slaughter—it’s a waste of the lives of the Homers! I absolutely refuse to agree to this!”
Bronin’s face was red, and he was on the verge of losing his knightly composure. Though he kept reminding himself to stay calm, he couldn’t remain unperturbed in such a critical matter.
“Mr. Boring, please calm down. Why be so agitated? The other side does have the power of mages, but we all know that mages are not what determine the outcome of a war—otherwise, armies would be meaningless. The Caucasians have only a poorly trained army of three thousand men, while we still have over ten thousand regular soldiers. If we go to war, a single battle will send them fleeing in disarray. Even if they get help from mages, our soldiers have received specialized anti-magic training, and ordinary magic cannot cause much harm to them. If we wait passively for the reply from Cyprus, it will only demoralize our troops. We all know the Grand Duke no longer has any magical power. In such a desperate situation, where can you ask the Grand Duke to recruit mages from? What will we do if Homer doesn’t provide us with more mages? Should we retreat and even abandon Fortress Bruce to those half-orcs?”
Karl Liebknecht was much calmer by comparison, but the tone of his words made it clear that this war must go on, and that decision could not be changed.
“Mr. Liebknecht, no matter how eloquently you speak, I won’t agree. The soldiers of the Storm Infantry are sons of Homer, not your private property. You may disregard their lives, but as a Homerian, I must be responsible for theirs. Just like Viscount Saliman, you wretched Nibchan—I don’t understand why the Grand Duke would let you rule over the lives of our noble Homerians!”
He spat out a few icy words through gritted teeth. Boring’s reasoning was too solid and justified. Liebknecht’s muscles began to twitch slightly. No one dared insult him like this, even though this guy was some so-called nobleman—yet he knew the other party was even worse than a dog!
“Enough, Bronic. Keep in mind your status and words. Karl is the commander of the Storm Infantry Regiment, appointed personally by the Grand Duke. Of course, he has the right to give me advice. This is a war, not a leisurely outing. There will inevitably be sacrifices in a war. There’s no need for you to complain here. Knights are born to fight for their beliefs. Do you expect them to back down in the face of difficulties?” Saliman’s seemingly stern words carried a different meaning to Karl’s ears. This guy seemed to be on his side on the surface, but not really; he was setting the stage for what came next.
“Of course, we also need to carefully assess the situation between us and the enemy. Mr. Bronic has some valid points. We’ve lost our magicians, while the enemy has them. This change was beyond our expectations. Leon is in the territory of those half-orcs. What if we rashly invade and they use harassment tactics against us? Moreover, their magicians can freely exploit their advantage on their own ground to attack us. Karl, do you think we have a chance of winning?”
As expected, Saliman’s tone shifted. Karl Liebknecht felt a mix of bitter anger. Fighting alongside these fools was truly a torment, and this superior always spoke in such an unbiased and reasoned manner. Taking a deep breath, Karl Liebknecht was about to speak when he heard panicked shouts coming from outside.
“What’s going on?” Both Saliman and Bronic jumped to their feet at the screams coming from within the fortress. They had already been battered by various setbacks and were now as nervous as frightened birds, unable to bear any more trouble. Their uncertain looks reflected their fear.
Karl Liebknecht stood up and rushed out of the room, gripping his battle axe tightly. Though he didn’t know what had happened, he was sure it was another major problem. He knew his soldiers well—the screams were filled with fear and terror. If it were an enemy attack, they would never have made such cries.
Regular footsteps echoed on the city walls as soldiers marched out in an orderly formation. Inside the fortress, the sound of swords and spears being drawn filled the air. Following closely behind Karl, Bronic, as a knight, felt some fear inside, but he couldn’t show it—this represented a knight’s dignity and honor.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t the alarm signals being sent?” Seeing his terrified subordinates running swiftly from the opposite direction, Karl felt a pang in his heart, but he remained calm and serious. “My lord, it’s bad—there are numerous skeleton knights and zombie warriors inside the fortress. They attacked our outposts. Our soldiers have never encountered such things before, so there’s some chaos,” the officer replied quickly after saluting, slightly calming himself upon seeing his superior’s calm expression. “Skeleton knights? Zombie warriors?” Karl’s heart sank. It wasn’t the expected enemy attack; instead, it was these undead creatures. Could Fortress Bruce be a cursed land of the Dark God? No, that’s impossible. Fortress Bruce had been built for hundreds of years, and there had never been any reports of undead. Why would they appear precisely now?
Salaman and Bronin, who had caught up, both heard the officer’s report. Salaman’s face turned pale. How could there be undead lurking inside this fortress? No, no, this was too terrifying. They had to leave this place immediately. Salaman once again resented himself for coming to this filthy and dark borderland to command such a war—it was pure trouble-seeking. Just thinking about those skeletons supported by bone frames and the icy zombies charging at them made Salaman feel like he might vomit.
Bronin’s expression also changed, but for a Light Knight, eliminating these undead creatures was his innate duty. What he needed to determine was how many of them there were and how they had gotten in.
As Salaman, Bronin, and Karl stood on the fortress walls, watching the streets below filled with countless skeleton soldiers, they were all stunned. What was going on? Where did so many skeletons come from? Their innate fear of the undead greatly reduced the combat effectiveness of the Storm Infantry soldiers. Especially when blades couldn’t stop their advance, the soldiers’ wills were on the verge of breaking.
At this moment, Bronin finally saw the might of the Light Knights in front of them. The neatly lined Light Knights drew their knightly spears, which glowed brightly under the torchlight. The sole mage, Mechenov, was casting sacred light spells on them to enhance their power as Light Knights. A faint holy light enveloped their bodies. Though weak, it instilled deep-seated fear in those dark creatures.
The knights finally showed their formidable side. Their synchronized lances emitted brilliant beams of light, turning the skeletal warriors lunging at the soldiers into countless fragments in an instant. Without even a chance to react, the skeletons shattered into pieces. The intense force of the lances, combined with the holy light radiating from the knights, made the skeletons utterly vulnerable.
Even the relatively strong zombies appeared fragile in front of the knights. Perhaps the physical damage from weapons was more tolerable for zombies, but the holy light was their nemesis. Especially when the paladins unleashed their holy light, the zombies could only clumsily try to avoid it. Every time the light spread, the zombies would roar in pain, as if scorched by flames—those rays aimed to purge the darkness deep within their bodies.