Round 28: The Empire’s Attack (III)

Upon hearing these words, Uther showed no sign of panic or unease, as if what he had heard was not a paladin speaking of vile creatures from the lower realms, but rather something as ordinary as the fine weather of the day.
“Old friend, you seem well-informed… though it doesn’t seem entirely accurate,” Uther said with a smile, pouring more tea for Anton with meticulous care, as if he were infusing the cup with some kind of life force.
“Oh?” Anton raised an eyebrow. “Have I heard wrong? If so, old friend, please pass a message to High Priestess Eirwen, granting me permission to enter Hellgate Keep… As a paladin serving the God of the Forest, I believe it is my duty and responsibility to inspect that evil abandoned place.”
“Hellgate Keep was destroyed long ago, wasn’t it?” Uther’s expression grew solemn. “And it has always been guarded by the Night Elves of the Priest Tribe. It would be difficult for me to ask them—”
“But kind people paid an unimaginable price to destroy Hellgate Keep! The wounds it caused have not fully healed to this day!” The paladin cut his friend off bluntly. “We cannot let such things happen again, old friend… Will you just stand by and watch another tragedy unfold? Let’s stop beating around the bush. I’ve already spoken with Zalidan, who is deeply opposed to such actions. Now I want to know your stance—do you still uphold the path of natural balance? Are you still the druid I knew, who once helped and guided me? Has the fog along the path not clouded your wise eyes?”
Uther closed his eyes slightly, as if lost in old memories, while Anton continued speaking on his own: “Any attempt to harness dark powers will fail, and trying to control them is nothing but delusion. Wise King of the Night Elves, I come not only as an old friend but also as a paladin to stop this from happening. Use your wisdom and consider it carefully!”
“It isn’t the fog that blinds my eyes… my friend,” Uther said. “…it’s blood.”
He looked at Anton. “You know the situation in recent years… Faced with Agus’s relentless attacks, we are stretched thin… The forests where we’ve lived for generations are burning, and our kin, who are like family to us, are sacrificing themselves… I don’t want to discuss who’s right or wrong in this war that began when I was young. Since we’ve chosen to kill each other, it’s meaningless to talk about who is righteous and who is evil between elves and humans. My views have never changed. Just as I became friends with you back then, it’s because we both have faces, flesh, limbs, bodies, and emotions… But!”

Uther raised his voice. “It is precisely because of this that we cannot tolerate the current situation! Agus uses those unnatural weapons to kill us. When our villages are burned and our warriors die, helpless to resist, did we not ask for help? Did anyone help us? No—you all stood by, hesitating because of Agus’s power, curious about their new weapons, perhaps even wanting to see how they performed in battle before deciding how much to order from Agus… Even those two holy warriors—I guarantee their task was nothing more than to watch!”
Seeming to realize his tone was too harsh, he lowered his voice. “Then what is there for you to criticize about all the measures we’ve taken to protect ourselves? For hundreds of years, Agus has failed to break through the Sleeping Forest. What have they done? They sought greater power. So now that our survival is under serious threat, what should we do? Shouldn’t we do the same—seek greater power?”
Anton remained silent for a while. Minutes passed before he spoke. “I understand your feelings, my friend. If you asked me to contribute my meager strength to you, this old body would fight to the death on the battlefield without hesitation. But you must understand that justice sometimes needs enough power to be imposed—that’s why we wield weapons and fight… But if you think power equals justice, then you’re completely wrong. Believe me, some of the Night Elves’ intentions and actions are already on the verge of slipping into darkness… Without a soul, no matter how strong the body may be, what’s the difference from a zombie skeleton?”
Uther fell into deep thought.
The two of them stood in silence for a while, with only faint steam and the scent of tea lingering in the small room—unchanged, devoid of joy or sorrow.
Forty-Seven folded his wings and dove downward, bringing with him the heat from friction against the air, like a meteor falling from the sky. His flaming sword struck the giant’s head, breaking through what seemed to be impenetrable armor and splitting its half-circular skull in two. The giant swayed slightly and swung its chain hammer in retaliation, but its movements were already uncoordinated. Forty-Seven pulled back his sword, and his flaming chain whip smashed into the giant’s chest like a battering ram, knocking it to the ground. He then launched a flurry of wild cuts and strikes—unmethodical but as intense as a storm. Seeing the battered giant still twitching and trying to stand, he leaped upward—tens of feet high—using that terrifying momentum to drive his sword deep into the giant’s body, all the way until it was blocked by the blade’s small edge. He twisted and pulled the sword out, leaving behind not only metal shrapnel but also streaks of blood. It seemed this creature still required a controller.

Although the Tree Man only had one arm left, he still had a slight advantage over the remaining two Iron Giants. So, 47 began to trouble the Agus soldiers. Several long swords were thrust at him from afar, and the Agus soldiers formed a semicircular formation, using their extended swords like spears to encircle 47, presumably to restrict his movements and enable the mages to cast offensive spells. Yet, the powerful magic never arrived. 47 simply walked forward as if strolling—without even using brute force to break those swords and spears; as he moved, the weapons embedded in him began to shorten, completely defying the control of the Agus warriors, as if the system’s control had been seized.

The sword blades swept through, cutting through armor and spilling blood. In terms of close combat, 47 was almost invincible. The Agus swordsmen transformed their dual swords into sword-shields and adopted a guerrilla tactics approach, but it only made things worse. Whenever 47 touched their powered armor, those weapons they once took pride in would go out of control. Their futile attacks shattered the swordsmen’s confidence, and they began to retreat—or rather, flee. This only emboldened 47 further. One Agus swordsmen was knocked down; a large crack appeared in his silver armor, the metal flaring open as blood gushed out, staining the ground beneath him. His eyes were glazed over, but he still struggled to crawl forward, trying to escape the shadow of death. Yet a heavy weight pressed down on his back, crushing his last bit of strength. 47 swung his sword, pinning him to the ground. Splashing blood and a strong smell of burning filled the air, prompting him to put away his chain whip and focus on wielding his twin swords. With just one leap, he could catch up to the enemy who had run far away, then strike him down with a sword flame. If he couldn’t completely break through the enemy’s armor, he would strike again. With each kill, the flame on the sword grew brighter, swirling around it like a flag, and even the serrated blade began to flow like a liquid—

After beheading the last armored soldier, the Tree Man destroyed two more Iron Giants. His battered, massive body finally collapsed, scattering into pieces of dry wood.

The Ice Wind Sword cooled down, undergoing a noticeable change in shape—the black sword back remained mostly the same, but the blade seemed to shimmer with silver light due to having cut through so much powered armor. Its surface was covered with ridges and serrations, and even the guards had sharp spikes and edges, which could easily cut the wielder’s hand—but this posed no problem at all for 47.

The blade shortened section by section—the guards folded and locked together, the hilt retracted into the bladeless section, and finally merged with the cracked right-hand guard, hiding within his forearm. It seemed the Ice Wind Sword had also undergone transformation thanks to the energy of the powered armor.

47 turned his head toward the seemingly indestructible powered mage tower.

The Night Elves were also extremely curious about this stranger who had descended from the sky. Judging by his appearance, he could certainly not be a messenger sent by the Moon Goddess to help them. That dark figure moving through the flames of battle resembled an accomplice of the demons of Hell. But anyway, with the help of Forty-Seven, the Night Elves quickly regained the initiative and secured victory. In fact, he single-handedly took care of most of the enemies—by the time the elves emerged from the cover of the dense forest, Forty-Seven had already torn through the outer wall of the mage tower and was ready to enter.

“The priests have done it!” That was Fado’s first reaction upon receiving reports of Forty-Seven’s involvement in the battle.

Fado frowned. She had finally managed to repel Agus’s attacks, which gave her some relief. Yet Forty-Seven’s appearance brought her some unease. She had only heard rumors about the Priest Tribe’s plans to harness demonic power, but she never expected it to happen so quickly.

Why hadn’t she received any news from Elder Uther? Something wasn’t right!

Fado immediately ordered her subordinates to contact their tribal leaders, while she herself headed toward the Construct Mage Tower, which had now been completely surrounded by the Night Elves.

The smooth metal layers overlapped to form a framework, but the tower was far from complete. The surviving mages had taken refuge inside after the battle turned in their favor, but now there was nothing but neatly arranged metal blocks and pillars.

There was a faint trace of unnatural magical energy in the air—it seemed those mages either possessed teleportation magic or had scrolls.

Forty-Seven bent down and picked up a small cubic pyramidal metal block, holding it in his hand. The block slowly cracked, as if given life in his hands, constantly changing shape and forming various strange structures…

This was what Fado saw through the cracks in the wall—this man could control Construct components that only mages like Agus could manipulate!

She hesitated for a moment but eventually stepped through the hole and entered.

“Messenger of the great Night Priest Eldrith, thank you for coming and helping. Please convey my regards to…” Fado bowed slightly, but when she realized Forty-Seven had no intention of paying her any attention, not even lifting his head to continue fiddling with his toy, she was speechless.

An uncontrollable demon creature!

Fado stepped back. She wasn’t really sure what Eldrith’s plan was, and she wasn’t very confident in it to begin with—now it seemed even less so. This guy might kill her just as easily as he killed those enemies. A summoned creature that shows no reaction to its caller’s name means either the caller is dead or the caller can’t control it at all, and neither scenario is promising.

“You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t bite you…” Forty-Seven spoke up. Finally fed up with fiddling with it, he tossed the metal block aside and raised his head, revealing two seemingly burning red eyes. “Besides, I don’t know any Night Priest, let alone her messenger.”

He had always thought it was a hellish demon summoned by the Eldrith tribe. At that thought, Fado breathed a sigh of relief—but at the same time felt a bit ashamed of his mistaken judgment.
“I’m sorry! Anyway, thank you very much for your help…”
“Don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t planning to help anyone; it just so happened that the guy I wanted to kill was attacking you.” Forty-Seven stood up, seemingly determined to leave.
Just as Fado was about to say something, a druid rushed over to report.
“The patrol team is fighting against Agus’s soldiers in the southwest. Captain Jorice is asking for reinforcements!”
Jorice—a familiar name. Forty-Seven stopped in his tracks, recalling the female night elf who had subdued the Divine Knight at the guild’s stronghold.
“But the druids have almost exhausted their magic… How many enemies exactly?” Fado asked.
“It’s impossible to tell… Captain Jorice’s messenger only managed to give directions before…” The young druid wore a sorrowful expression.
If even the messenger could barely make it here alive, it showed just how powerful the forces the patrol team had to face were.
“…Gather our forces and head southwest!”
“Ah, it seems the elves have stumbled upon something significant.” Listening to the report from the returning mage, emotions flickered behind Dagulas’s golden glasses—was it inexplicable fanaticism? Or perhaps something like sexual desire? Women are complex creatures, especially one as complex as her.
“What’s your opinion on this?” Dagulas’s tone was that of a cat.
“…”
She seemed to hate talking, spending almost all her time in meditation. What spell could allow this robed mage to meditate for such long periods? From the first time she appeared, Dagulas had never managed to grasp her thoughts, not even once. This made her feel uncomfortable, but what could she do? Though she was the commander of the northwest front, this deputy was also appointed personally by the emperor.
“If you permit it, I request to lead the Imperial Guard to that area…” Suddenly, she spoke. If Dagulas remembered correctly, this was the first time she had heard her voice since arriving at the northwest front headquarters.
“Then, I’ll leave it to you!” Dagulas propped her chin and narrowed her eyes, lying back on the velvet chair like a cat that had just stolen fresh fish.