“It’s very rude and some people don’t hesitate to kill on sight for this kind of affront.” Their new superior added mockingly. “I don’t know what weird magic you use to perform these probes, but I do know that you are far too low level to be capable of this yourself and none of you look like Spirit Mages.”
Jake and the others let out a bitter laugh as they were berated. Norton went on to tell them everything he needed to know about the etiquette of this world, with particular emphasis on what they should not do. By the time the lecture was over, it was time to leave.
At that moment, a silver device covered with inscriptions in the shape of a grenade began to beep from Norton’s pocket and when pressing on it Aisling’s voice dropped sinisterly,
“We’re off. We’re still following the plan.”
“Got it.” The Mutant confirmed with a fierce glint in his eye. Turning to his new troops he barked, “Did you hear that? Let’s go!”
*****
Lodunvals, Outer City, First Rampart.
The sun had been down for several hours, but the illustrious city still burned brightly. Alas, literally. The oil or Mana crystal lanterns had long since gone out, but the smoke from the fire consuming the infrastructure billowed to the sky.
At any moment, the air could be heard whistling or whirring above Lodunvals, heralding the oncoming of a new deluge of deadly projectiles. Flaming rock as big as a car, arrows and javelins by the tens of thousands, ballistas as long as a beam, as well as the dreaded magic projectiles.
BOOOM!
Explosions rang out incessantly, always accompanied by the collapse of another building. Nearly all the wooden and thatched dwellings in the Outer City slums had been destroyed, and most of the stone and brick villas and mansions in the Inner City were in flames or badly damaged if they had been hit by a trebuchet, magic cannon, or a long-range destructive spell.
The only infrastructure still intact were the ramparts separating the Outer City from the Inner City, as well as the private fortresses of influential aristocrats. The wall surrounding Lodunvals had long since been demolished and all the great gates had been rammed down.
Laudar and his elite troops having deserted without a fight, the great wall had passively endured a sustained bombardment before finally collapsing with a resounding crash in the early evening that had chilled the blood of the soldiers posted on the ramparts.
As soon as the first southern gate had fallen, hundreds of thousands of heavily armed Wengols and Wurchings flooded into the city like an unstoppable tide, uttering barbaric roars. Despite the defection of the Baron and several other noble clans, the majority of the guards did not back down and responded to the assault head-on in hopes of buying time for their families.
In just two hours, the death toll had become staggering, but the battle zone had been contained and the Khinchod army’s advance stemmed. Until the second Southeast Gate fell in turn, quickly followed by the West Gate.
A few minutes later, it was the South-West Gate that had fallen, then almost immediately afterwards the entire southern side of the wall had been ripped open by a forbidding spell of stupendous power that had nuked the entire neighboring district and every unit fighting in its streets, ally and enemy alike.
If the Archdeacon of Aurae and a young Rank-S residing inconspicuously in the fortress of one of the city’s most influential noble families had not shown up, Lodunvals would have long since abdicated.
Their overwhelming presence, their galvanizing words and their magnificent war prowess had restored courage to the troops sacrificing themselves by the thousands, until the North Gate fell as well. It was this gate through which the civilians were being evacuated.
Within two hours, even with the efforts of these two Rank-S and the support of the private armada of the few noble clans that chose to stay, only half of the citizens had been escorted out of Lodunvals before the Khinchod army closed its grip. The other half, several million innocent civilians, were left trapped inside.
The Archdeacon of Aurae had given orders to confine them to the Baron’s castle, safe from the war and bombing, but she knew full well that the outlook for them would be grim. She could only pray that reinforcements from the empire would arrive in time. As for the young S-rank adventurer, he had been fighting alone for some time against one of their generals in the Slums and she had not heard from him since then. She could only hope that he could hold out a little longer.
‘When will those reinforcements arrive?’ the old Archdeacon lamented, her face even more wrinkled than usual from the weight of worry.
She, 50 priests and 500 Aurae Paladins had already resolved to defend the palace where the civilians had taken refuge until they died and were silently awaiting the imminent arrival of the enemies. The roars, shouts and clashes had grown closer in the last few minutes and she knew that the final battle was near.
Suddenly, a huge, scale-covered equine the size of a dinosaur strolled heavily down the street where they were posted in formation. The beast looked like a disharmonious cross between a giant horse and a large lizard. On the front legs, the thorax was overhung by a very muscular lizard-like figure with gills and a membranous collar like a centaur.
This monstrous mount was a Wurching, a technologically primitive alien species, with low reproductive capacity, but which compensated by a physical strength, a resistance and a superior longevity. Like crocodiles or sharks, these creatures grew in size throughout their lives.
At a glance, the Archdeacon knew that this one was at least 200 years old. Without the world ending, how could such an ancient being have taken such risks? In order to survive to its advanced age, it had to be very cautious all its life. Just because it harbored a tiny hope of survival, it was willing to risk everything against people who had never done anything to it.
How foolish…
The old priestess gave a complex look to the creature galloping towards them before she shrank as she noticed the rider on its back.
Five meters tall, four muscular arms wielding three long spears and a bulwark, a mushroom-shaped skull, slimy red-brown skin, and a face covered with suckers and micro-tentacles. With the exception of its three eyes, the warrior’s body was completely hidden under a metallic armor coated with coral.
After the emergence of the first rider, twelve others appeared after it.
‘They’ re already here?!’ The Archdeacon lost hope completely as she recognized the identity of her foes.
This could only mean one thing. The young S-rank human fighting their general had fallen. Gritting her teeth, she and the other paladins accepted their fate and braced themselves for their final battle.
*****
“AAAAARGH!”
A heartbreaking cry of agony momentarily drowned out the clash of swords and spears. A veteran warrior covered in blood in his thirties who was fighting a huge Wengol not far away involuntarily flinched and this unforgivable mistake earned him a stab in the thigh by a monstrous assegai that came out of nowhere.
The Wengol who was frantically pounding him with the four coral clubs he carried in each hand, chuckled sadly at this opportunity and struck him with a blow even more brutal than the previous ones, going straight for his head. If the blow was successful, his skull would burst like an overripe watermelon and his brains would paint the alley.
At that moment, the agonizing warrior who had closed his eyes awaiting his death did not receive the expected final blow and a warm liquid trickled down his face. When he wiped his face and saw the source of the liquid, his eyes bulged out like saucers.
The Wengol against whom he was surviving as best he could had ‘lost weight’. It was the most fulgurating weight loss ever observed, but he would not recommend it to his worst enemy. In his extralucid panic, perhaps because of the javelin planted in his thigh, he noticed a kind of red vine constricting the alien’s throat.
It pulsed at regular intervals, as if it was sucking something in greedily, and a ruby shimmer spread its faint light over his bloody alley. A second later, the red vine retracted and the dehydrated corpse of the Wengol collapsed to the ground. As it hit the ground, the corpse crumbled and scattered, leaving behind a fine powder.
Following the reverse trajectory of this red vine, the shocked warrior noticed a gorgeous young woman dressed lightly at its end. The red vine was not a plant, but a whip!
“Hey, Carmine, how long has it been since you had a drink?” Jake teased her, forming some puzzling mudras with his fingers.
“Do you really think I like fish blood?!” The young woman became indignant as she kicked a Wurching. “That’s my thirsty whip.”
“Glad to hear it.” Elduin grunted with an unsettled look.
As Jake teased her, hundreds of Wengols began to collapse one after another, blood pouring from their eight facial orifices. If someone were to perform an autopsy on them, they would discover that they had all died of a ruptured aneurysm.
On Quanoth, because of digitalization, a ruptured aneurysm alone was usually not enough to cause death, especially on aliens as robust as the Wengols, but Jake had his methods. If one ruptured aneurysm wasn’t enough, what about several hundred at once? As long as he kept the bleeding from stabilizing, they could only bleed out their HPs without being able to do anything about it.
