Round 39: The Bet

“Get ready—be ready to support the Guardian at any moment!” Zalidan gripped his long sword tightly—
“Lord Warrior… that won’t work.”
Zalidan turned around in shock.
In the darkness outside the iron door was Yldris’s ethereal face.
“High Priestess? You’re not…” Milia and the others were stunned, momentarily forgetting the fierce battle going on.
“This doesn’t seem like the right place to talk. Why don’t we come out and discuss it?” A fireball struck the iron door, melting a large dent into it.
“Lady High Priestess, I truly admire you,” Zalidan said sarcastically once the elves retreated to the hall closest to the great hall. He glanced at the elf priests who had blocked the exits and at Thelis, whose expression remained cold. “Lord Warrior…” Yldris still wore that gentle, helpless smile. “Your path leads nowhere. We respect everything you’ve done for the Dark Elves, but you must recognize the current situation… We’re behind. If we fall behind, we’ll be beaten. Do you really want to watch our blood flow uselessly before the enemy’s armor?”
“It’s you who can’t see the situation!” Zalidan stepped forward in an instant. Before anyone could react, his long sword was already pressed against Yldris’s neck. Fuming, he said, “Don’t you understand? The evil buried here must never be released! What do you see outside? It’s all your fault! If you refuse to see reason, I suggest you go back in and take another look! Do you really want to turn our people into servants of those ugly demons?”
“In my eyes, a forest withered by darkness is no different from one withered by war!” Yldris grew agitated too. “As for ugliness—open your eyes and look around!”
As if suddenly appearing from the darkness, a terrifying face appeared beside Milia, scaring her so much that she almost drew her sword to strike.
Anton also paled in fear. That face turned toward Zalidan—its surface pitted like the ground of the great hall. One eye was blind, and part of the other eyelid was missing. Its pale eyeball stuck out, unable to close. The owner’s left arm was severed at the shoulder, and her right hand was nothing but a bare palm. Only from her slender, graceful figure could one faintly tell she was an elf. Her exposed black skin was covered in twisted, interlocking wounds oozing blood, resembling some kind of symbols…
The priests silently stepped aside, clearing a path for these mutilated elf warriors who kept emerging or crawling out.
They silently surrounded Zalidan, their faces and bodies covered in blood.
“You… Felgas, weren’t you already…” Zalidan was shocked, even his sword trembling in his hand.

“They’re not dead; they just can no longer fight,” Eirwen said calmly. “War Leader Zalidan, you really should pay more attention to things other than training warriors… There are thirty-three Night Elves here, all of whom were severely injured in battles against Agus and barely survived. They all volunteered to participate in this demonization ritual, using their new bodies and strength to avenge Agus… I won’t fight you, War Leader. Elves do not kill each other… If you want to stop me, persuade these warriors first!”
“You—” Zalidan pursed his lips. “We’ll find another way…”
“There is no other way,” Eirwen said gently, pushing his long sword aside. “But let’s give each other a chance.”
She glanced toward the great hall, where a faint red and blue light could be seen, accompanied by continuous dull roars. “I originally planned to gather the power of the priests to drive away the guardians, then open a rift in the abyss to summon demons and kill them, using the abyssal energy and their flesh to demonize these elf warriors… This method is extremely dangerous because if the ritual goes wrong, the rift could become too large, attracting overly powerful and uncontrollable demons. If we can’t defeat them and seal the rift in time, this place will once again become a forward base for the abyss to attack the material world, leading to another tragedy…”
“The appearance of this semi-pyramid construct gave me a new idea,” Eirwen paused briefly. “I’ve noticed its connection to the abyss is unusually strong—even the construct itself isn’t aware of it. So I think it can be used as a medium for the ritual, replacing the role of the Abyssal Gate… The current situation confirms my judgment. The abyssal energy it attracts in this unstable space can even be absorbed and utilized by the warriors, and it seems this construct also intends to join forces with us against Agus…”
“But then these warriors will slide into the evil abyss!” Milia couldn’t help but say. “The Elf Guardians possess power equal to that of evil constructs! Why don’t you—”
“What do you know, little girl!” Eirwen cut her off rudely. “If we can’t even defend our homeland while alive, what does it matter where we go after death! The Elf Guardians are strong, but in the Agus Empire, there are at least a dozen archmages who can defeat them! What we need now is an army! An army that can fight against Agus!”
She turned to Zalidan. “War Leader, you must admit that we alone cannot do this. Now… let’s make a bet!”
Zalidan stared at her coldly, his long sword hanging limp.

“The Elven Guardians are fighting against the Constructors now… We’ll wait here; no one should interfere. If the Elven Guardians win, I admit the ritual has failed. No matter what happens in the future, I won’t think about attacking Hellgate Fortress again… But if the Constructors win, then you have no right to stop me, because this proves that whether it’s courage or faith, only strength can decide everything!”
Ildris’s clear gaze fixed on Zalidan’s face.
“Will the Elven Guardians lose to the Constructors?” The warlord burst into laughter. “Such thoughts are an insult to our warriors! Very well, I agree to your terms!”
Anton frowned but had no choice but to wait with the elves.
The battle in the great hall seemed to intensify, even causing the stone chamber where the elves were to tremble slightly.
Suddenly, a loud cry in the Elven language rang out—a sharp sound wave that even penetrated the layers of earth; it was the voice of the Elven Guardian.
Before anyone could react, the hall suddenly lit up—as if struck by lightning— and the light spread along the corridors. Wherever the light reached, the oppressive atmosphere of hellish darkness vanished.
Zalidan’s face lit up with joy, while Ildris’s expression darkened. Anton cried out, “That’s bad!”
The sounds of battle ceased, replaced by deathly silence.
Like the calm before a tsunami, a suffocating sense of oppression overwhelmed them, as if the entire hall had collapsed, burying them alive.
Anton swiftly drew his long sword and headed toward the great hall first.
The pale blue light had disappeared, along with the abyssal red glow—but Anton could still see everything inside the hall. It wasn’t because he had night vision; rather, though the hall was dim and grayish, it wasn’t completely dark. What was shocking were the numerous dents and crisscrossing cracks on the walls and floor, as if ravaged by a storm of swords.
Zalidan rushed in right after him and scanned the hall—although it was spacious, there was nothing to hide. To his surprise, neither the Elven Guardians nor the Constructors were in sight. The Elven Guardians, being made of pure energy, was one thing, but the Constructor should have left some remnants, right?
Anton didn’t even pay attention to Milia, who ran up to him, and stared intently at the dark ground, gripping his sword tightly.
The ruined ground began to move strangely. First, wisps of red vapor rose, then large patches of black seemed to lift off the soil and stone beneath them, rising higher and higher…
The indescribable darkness eventually formed a small mountain-like structure.
Seemingly reaching its limit, the black began to crack and disintegrate. Waves of heat mixed with the stench of blood surged out, making people feel nauseous.
Milia stared blankly as massive clumps of black surged toward her. Suddenly, she screamed, drew her sword uncontrollably, and began slashing wildly—those black masses were no longer formless; they were giant, abnormally large black beetles—just like the ones she had seen outside.

The beetles piled up on top of each other, pushing and entangling, their antennae, limbs, and mouthparts moving frantically as they collapsed like an avalanche.
Forty-seven emerged from the tide of beetles, like a monster. His black wings flared open with a loud rustling sound, flinging the beetles clinging to him far away. Turning his head, he stepped heavily out of the swarm of beetles, crushing those that couldn’t dodge into fragments. As he moved, the beetles scattered in all directions, quickly covering the hall again with a living carpet.
Everyone present watched him nervously—there was an indescribable yet undeniable pressure. The elves were panicked and at a loss. Anton and Milia gripped their swords tightly, and holy energy burst forth involuntarily, as if drawn by some force. Not only did it drive away the approaching beetles, but it also illuminated the hall slightly.
Forty-seven thrust his giant sword into the ground, hitting a beetle right in the middle. The beetle struggled desperately, its claws scraping against the ground with a crunching sound. Forty-seven bent down to examine it, slowly turning the tip of his sword… until the beetle was reduced to ashes.
The materialized aura of the abyss spread outward. Milia calmed down a bit, and an invisible halo of holy energy radiated from her. The beetles convulsed and withered before even approaching her, turning back into strands of black mist.
The ones most affected were the elf warriors who had volunteered for the ritual—their faces twisted in pain as cursed-like wounds on their bodies burst open, oozing nearly black blood. The beetles crawled over them without hesitation, even landing on their bodies before disappearing suddenly, as if burrowing into their ruined bodies.
“That’s terrible,” Anton said, spinning his sword to warm up for battle. He was the first to recover from the shock, perhaps second only to Milia.
The high priestess stared at Forty-seven expressionlessly. She too seemed unable to accept what was happening, merely suppressing her discomfort.
Almost ready.
“Construct… don’t let evil control you.” If he used evil detection now, Forty-seven would surely turn purple in Anton’s eyes.
“Evil?” Forty-seven raised his head. Within the darkness surrounding him, two gray-red flames exploded suddenly, burning fiercely. “Evil!”
Forty-seven repeated the word and swung his sword violently.
With his movement, a massive wave erupted—tens of millions of beetles took off simultaneously, colliding with those present and smashing into the stone walls. Flying everywhere like rain, the sheer volume was unbearable even for the holy knights at full strength, let alone the elves.
A scream rose among the elves.
A one-eyed, one-armed female elf writhed in pain on the ground, covered in beetles. She raised her head, and everyone was horrified to see a beetle crawling on her face, biting at her already blind eye until it reopened a bloody wound and crawled inside. Soon, it disappeared inside, leaving a gory hole in her face filled with writhing black beetles… Suddenly, she looked at Milia.
The beetle’s wings flapped once inside the wound, as if blinking.

The other disabled elves were also covered in beetles. They pounced on the elves’ bodies, vying to taste the blood flowing from their wounds. Layer after layer of beetles piled up, yet it seemed their thickness didn’t increase much—they were burrowing into the elves’ bodies!

“Stop! You can’t do this!” Anton had no time for preaching and had to take action first.

He swung his long sword and leaped upward, unleashing all his holy power. The entire hall was instantly illuminated as if it were day, adding to its solemnity. Even Milia had to turn her head and squint, amazed that Anton’s seriousness made him far stronger than her, who was blessed by the gods.

The simple long sword, glowing with holy light, was raised to the highest point in Anton’s hands. As he began to descend, he poured every ounce of his strength into the strike, using his own weight as well. The speed was so great that not even a sound of wind could be heard.

But the forty-seven pairs of light swords descending from above paid no attention at all. Perhaps they didn’t even take Anton’s attack seriously—he didn’t even use his sword to block, but simply raised his left hand to grab the descending holy lightning.

With a thunderous crash, Anton landed, while the forty-seven lowered their left arms. The holy sword failed to cut through their hands but struck them like a hammer, forcing them to kneel, creating a cracked pit in the ground—proof of the old knight’s formidable power.

Yet the dark aura did not dissipate. It rolled like layers of clouds, containing unimaginable heat. Emerging from the depths underground, it burst out through the forty-seven’s bodies, growing stronger and stronger. Like a constantly spinning column of smoke, it carried darkness and swallowed the dim hall. Even the holy light on Anton flickered under its influence. It was like trying to fight against the breath of a volcano—utterly futile.

Anton didn’t give up. Perhaps this spirit of charging headlong into danger was also one of the virtues of a holy knight—he spun his feet, turning his body rapidly to the right, using centrifugal force to swing his sword again. It struck the forty-seven, who still hadn’t defended himself or perhaps simply disdained to do so, sending him flying like a projectile from a slingshot, engulfing him in darkness where the holy light couldn’t reach. Distant sounds of destruction and a few bouncing rocks indicated that he had likely flown straight out, either crashing into the ground or the stone walls.

After two successful strikes, Anton didn’t pursue further. Attacking recklessly without assessing the situation could put him in danger. Besides, the attack that had required all his holy power had left him nearly exhausted. Moreover, he didn’t believe the forty-seven could remain unharmed. If that were the case, his own attempt to attack would end in disaster.

He simply focused on the direction the forty-seven had flown off to, gathering his divine power once more for another battle. He had no time to pay attention to the elves around him—those who were staring in awe, or the other elves who were also staring, though less awestruck.

Or perhaps those gifted knights who were usually as awestruck as the rest.

“Did… did we win?” Milia murmured.

Win?

This girl was truly spoiled by the gods.