LRAB Page 94
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She could only occasionally capture a few stable moments, where magic gathered at her fingertips, like an unstable flame that could get out of control at any moment.
“Hopefully we can buy more time.” Kevoran paused for a moment, then added, “You know, I’ve always thought you and Midnight should leave. You shouldn’t be buried here.”
Isis steadied her magic, looked at him, and a hint of surprise flashed in her eyes: "You're concerned about me?"
“I’m just stating the facts,” Kavoran said, avoiding her gaze. “A top-tier mage is worth far more than a small town.”
Isis suddenly chuckled softly: "How interesting. In the face of war, even someone as hard-hearted as you would soften? But aren't you asking the wrong person?"
"Midnight isn't here..."
Bane's army launched a general offensive, with thousands of soldiers shouting in unison as they charged toward the third line of defense with overwhelming momentum. There was no fear in their eyes, only cold obedience, as if their souls had been drained, leaving only empty shells.
"Ready!" Kevoran shouted, raising his longsword overhead. Archers on the arrow towers drew their bows taut, catapult operators nervously adjusted their angles, and the defenders gripped their weapons, breathing heavily like a pack of wild beasts driven to the brink of despair.
Isis whispered the last syllable of the spell, and magic exploded in her hand, transforming into an invisible net that enveloped the trap zone ahead. The next moment, the first wave of enemy soldiers stepped into the traps, the ground collapsed with a deafening roar, and quicksand swallowed hundreds of soldiers. Spikes shot out from the ground, piercing the bodies of those struggling, and blood stained the sand.
But this was just the beginning. Bane's army immediately adjusted its tactics. Heavy shield infantry charged forward, using their shields to withstand the traps, while the main force followed closely behind, advancing over the corpses of their comrades. Isis gritted her teeth and waved her hand again. A bolt of lightning descended from the sky, splitting into dozens of electric snakes that struck the enemy ranks. Charred corpses fell in droves, but strangely, some of the lightning bolts went out of control, rebounding back to the defensive line and striking several defenders, eliciting screams of agony.
"Control your spells!" Kavoran roared, swinging his sword to cut down an enemy soldier who had rushed to the edge of the ditch.
"I'm doing my best!" Isis gritted her teeth and cursed, cold sweat beading on her forehead. She could feel the fluctuations of the magic network growing more and more intense, like a wild horse breaking free of its reins, completely out of control.
She suppressed the dizziness and tried to harass the area with minor spells, but the effect was minimal.
The enemy vanguard broke through the trap zone and rushed to the trenches. They used planks and corpses to create a makeshift path, and the follow-up troops swarmed in. Archers and catapults tried desperately to suppress them, but the enemy was simply too numerous, overwhelming the defensive line like a tidal wave.
"They're coming!" a lieutenant shouted in panic, his voice filled with despair.
"Reserves, charge!" Kavoran calmly gave the order, rushing to the bridgehead and brandishing his sword to meet the enemy. His swordsmanship was precise and ruthless, each strike taking a life, but the enemy seemed endless; for every one he killed, ten more pounced. Another temple knight broke through the encirclement, charging straight at Kavoran, his warhammer, enveloped in black light, crashing down, causing the air to vibrate and hum.
"Watch out!" Isis unleashed a force field that sent the temple knight flying.
But before she could catch her breath, several more knights charged at her. They had already noticed Isis, this anomalous spellcaster who could cast spells normally, and decided to kill this threatening enemy first.
Feeling the magic within her body almost completely calm down, Isis could only draw the greatsword from her back, leap down from the arrow tower, and smash the nearest knight, along with his weapon and warhorse, into a bloody pulp. After landing to cushion the impact, she turned around and fought with several knights.
Kavoran gritted his teeth and took a blow from the warhammer, a crack appearing in his armor and blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
"Retreat!" he roared, leading the remaining soldiers back to the inside of the trench.
But the enemy had already broken through the passage and charged forward, forcing the defenders to abandon their fortifications and retreat step by step. Isis twirled her greatsword, forcing back a squad of infantry and covering the militia's retreat.
"It's no use..." she muttered to herself. Her demonic eyes caught sight of the dark shadow behind the enemy lines, which had swelled into a massive vortex, devouring the souls on the battlefield. The aura of death grew stronger, like an invisible net, suffocating her.
The saint of Bane emerged from the vortex, a tall figure draped in a black robe, his ugly face crowned with a bone crown. His appearance plunged the defenders into utter panic; some dropped their weapons and fled, while others stood frozen in fear.
"Halt!" Kevoran roared, but his voice was drowned out by the enemy's shouts. The saint raised his scepter, and a wave of black energy blasted out, striking an arrow tower. The tower collapsed instantly, burying the defenders along with the rubble.
“It’s over…” Isis staggered and leaned against the ruins of the arrow tower, her eyes filled with despair.
Under the saint's personal attack, the third line of defense quickly collapsed, and the enemy army poured in like a flood, causing the last barrier of Shadow Valley to crumble.
The town of Shadow Valley cowered in the night, like a wild beast driven to the brink of despair, gasping for its last breath.
The surviving defenders dragged their weary bodies back into the town, the streets littered with blood and broken weapons, the air thick with the stench of death. Isis leaned against a low wall, panting heavily, the spellbook in her hand falling to the ground, covered in dirt.
"How many people are left?" she asked in a low voice, her voice hoarse as if it had been sanded.
Kavoran stood not far away, counting the remaining warriors. His armor was tattered beyond recognition, and the blade of his longsword was chipped, as if it had just crawled out of a meat grinder. He turned his head and glanced at them, then whispered, "Less than three hundred... less than two hundred can still stand."
“Two hundred…” Isis gave a bitter smile, glancing up at the dilapidated lord’s manor in the center of town. It was their last stronghold. She took a deep breath, trying to straighten up, but her legs gave way, and she leaned back.
"Don't be stubborn." Kavoran walked over and handed her a rag. "Wipe your face. You look like a gray dwarf."
"Bullshit, all gray dwarves are bald."
Isis took the cloth and wiped her face with it. Her white hair was stuck together with bits of blood and flesh that she didn't know who it belonged to, forming a grayish-black scab.
"Have you ever seen gray dwarves? Those evil rats that burrow underground."
"Evil, huh... I have quite a few gray dwarves in my house."
"Your family?" Kevoran didn't know how to respond. Since Isis had always been very secretive about her background, he had never inquired about her past along the way. Now that everyone was about to die, it shouldn't hurt to discuss it, right? "Your family sounds quite wealthy. How did you end up as an adventurer... I see, a runaway noble lady?"
"Pah, I'm not some delicate young lady..."
“I can tell,” Kevoran rolled her eyes. Indeed, no young lady would chase after a group of knights with a greatsword that only barbarians could wield, let alone a mage.
"To be honest, my family is quite wealthy, more than you can imagine. It's a pity."
"Unfortunately, no matter how much money we have now, we can't buy mercenaries to fight for us."
Kavoran looked up into the distance. Bane's army was already close to the edge of the town, the torchlight like a giant net, dyeing the entire night sky blood red.
Isis could hear the enemy's footsteps, low and orderly, like a group of zombies approaching.
"Aren't they tired?" a young soldier asked, trembling, his spear shaking like a leaf in the wind.
“Not tired.” Isis sneered. “They’re not human anymore. Bane’s priests drained their souls, leaving only a bunch of obedient puppets.” She paused, then whispered, “And that saint… he’s the real problem.”
Kavoran frowned: "How strong is that guy?"
“He’s ridiculously strong.” Isis gritted her teeth. “He absorbed all the souls on the battlefield. Even if Ilminster came out now, he might not be a match for him. We… are doomed.”
Chapter 297
"We have to fight, even if it's hopeless," Kavoran growled. "We have nowhere to retreat."
He turned to the remaining soldiers and shouted, "Everyone, into the lord's mansion! Block the door with tables and chairs, and grab any weapons you can!"
The soldiers dragged their weary steps and obeyed, their eyes filled with despair. Isis watched this scene, her heart heavy with a lump in her throat. She knew Kevoran was right. There was no way to retreat, but she also knew it was nothing more than a desperate struggle.
Inside the lord's manor, Moglin stood in the center of the hall, a rusty short sword in his hand, his face ashen. He looked up at Isis and whispered, "The old sage said we would hold out... but where is he now?"
“Don’t count on Elminster,” Isis sneered. “He… his side is more important.”
The celestial staircase, invisible to mortals, shone like a beacon in Isis's demonic eyes, concealing some insignificant information from the crowd. The radiant staircase leading directly to heaven from the Temple of Losanda in the Shadow Valley was Bane's true objective.
That was the path back to God's Kingdom. The true target that Saint Bane, who absorbed countless souls, intended to deal with was Heim, who guarded the Stairway to Heaven. Meanwhile, the missing Elminster and Midnight had been staying in the temple in Losanda, poring over scriptures, trying to find a way to stop Bane.
Elminster was right all along; the Losanda Temple was the real battlefield.
Moglin didn't speak, only lowered his head and smiled bitterly. Kavoran and his men blocked the gate, using wooden tables and broken cabinets to create a makeshift barrier. Archers crowded into the second-floor windows, drawing their bows, but they were running low on arrows.
"They're here!" a warrior cried out. Outside the window, Bane's army surged into the town like a tide. Black-armored infantrymen marched in orderly steps, temple knights brandished weapons shrouded in black light, and priests stood at the rear, chanting deep incantations.
"Fire!" Kevoran roared. Archers unleashed a volley of arrows, but with little effect. The enemy blocked the arrows with their shields and continued their advance, ignoring even the corpses and trampling over them. Isis gritted her teeth, squeezing out the last bit of magic power to throw a fireball, which blasted several infantrymen to pieces, but the next second, even more enemies poured in.
The door was slammed shut with a loud bang, like a roaring beast. Kavoran rushed over, braced his shoulder against the door, and growled, "Hold on!" But the wooden planks quickly cracked, and enemy battle axes cleaved in, blood spurting from the gaps.
"We can't hold out!" Moglin cried out in panic, dropping his short sword to the ground. He turned to run, but was knocked unconscious by a temple knight who rushed in and struck him with a hammer.
"Moglin!" Kevoran roared, swinging his sword at the knight, but the knight paid no heed, his warhammer slamming down, forcing him to retreat several steps. Isis lashed out a wind blade, slicing off half of the knight's head, and then swung her sword to block more enemies surging in, but it was all in vain.
The hall fell instantly. The defenders were hacked to pieces; some lay in pools of blood, others were dragged out and torn to shreds. Isis retreated to a corner, panting heavily, her magic completely depleted. She watched as Kevoran continued his fierce battle, his armor smashed to pieces, his longsword broken in two.
"Run!" Kavoran roared back, but before he could finish speaking, a Templar Knight's spear pierced his shoulder. He groaned and collapsed to his knees, blood gushing out.
"Kevlar!" Isis screamed, her mind blank. She wanted to rush over, but her legs felt like lead, and she could only watch helplessly as he fell. The enemy surrounded them, and the saint slowly walked into the hall, his bone scepter radiating a strong aura of death.
“It’s over,” the saint whispered, his voice like a demon rising from the abyss. “Your souls will be offered to Bane.”
Isis gritted her teeth, despair overwhelming her like a tidal wave. She closed her eyes, awaiting the final blow, when suddenly she heard a deafening dragon's roar from the sky.
54. Rescue
The rugged towers outside Shadow Valley teetered precariously under the iron hooves of the Bane cavalry.
Cyric led his remaining men in a breakout from the tower, the thunderous sound of hooves behind them mingling with the shouts of the Santyrs, like a pack of hungry wolves chasing their prey. He was panting heavily, the bowstring still clutched in his hand, sweat and blood streaming down his face. He whirled around, glaring at the group following behind him. Forrest, wielding a scimitar, grinned maniacally, while a dozen or so archers dragged their weary steps, their eyes filled with terror.
"I told you I'd lead men back and kill them!" Cyric roared, his voice hoarse as if it'd been sanded. "All of you, hold on tight! Anyone who dares to run, I'll shoot them in the ass!" He paused, glanced at Forrest, and whispered, "Didn't you want to die a glorious death? Now's your chance, don't be a coward!"
The burly man, as big as a bear, grinned, revealing a set of uneven, yellow teeth, and swung his scimitar with a whooshing sound. "Hey, boss, I didn't say I was going to die here." Forrest licked his lips at the blade, a mad glint in his eyes. "I'm still waiting to slaughter those black-armored dogs, steal a horse, and exchange it for wine at the tavern!"
"With your skills, you'd have trouble even slaughtering a pig," Shirek sneered, but quickened his pace.
This wasn't heroism; it was simply driven by the raw instinct for survival—the shouts of battle from the north were drawing ever closer, like a knife hanging overhead, ready to fall at any moment. The Assaba Bridge had collapsed, temporarily blocking the western route, but the Santir people from the north had already circled around, and the town was likely doomed.
The group stumbled and staggered towards Shadow Valley, leaving a trail of escape routes in their wake. Overturned carts, scattered pots and pans, and several unburied corpses stared blankly, their empty eyes seeming to mock their struggle. Cyric stepped through a puddle of blood, his boots sticky and greasy. He cursed under his breath, "These guys can't even escape properly? Leaving all this stuff for Bane as supplies?"
"Boss, stop complaining. At least they're gone, and we can catch our breath." Forrest, panting heavily, grinned, his scimitar slung over his shoulder, swinging back and forth like a fire poker.
"Take a breath?" Cyric sneered, his voice full of sarcasm. "Once Bane's army tramples over, you won't even have a chance to breathe."
No sooner had the words been spoken than a sharp horn sounded from afar, as piercing as a knife being plunged into an ear.
He turned sharply and saw a troop of black-armored cavalry charging out of the woods to the north. Their hooves kicked up dust, and the Bane emblem on their armor gleamed coldly in the firelight, like a group of demons crawling out of the abyss. The bodies beneath each suit of armor exuded an unnatural stiffness—the gait of the riders was not that of living people, but more like that of puppets being driven on strings.
"Damn it, run!" Cyric growled, and took off charging. Forrest yelled and followed, and the two of them ran like rabbits chased by wolves along the rugged path. Behind them, archers stumbled and fell, some getting trampled, others simply throwing down their bows and turning to flee for their lives.
Cyric was too lazy to care about these useless people. The intense fighting that had lasted all day had made his mind rigid, leaving only a meaningless, mechanical thought: fight back and hold out until the end. The instincts he had developed as a child in Santyr Fortress had taken over his body: don't think too much; doubt on the battlefield is more deadly than death.
The edge of the town was almost in sight, the firelight of the third line of defense illuminating the night sky. Spelllight flickered, like an unstable flame, sometimes bright, sometimes dim. The figures of the militiamen appeared and disappeared before the deep ravine, their longswords flashing arcs of light, while the enemy's black tide seemed endless, engulfing everything. Cyric squinted, mechanically drawing his bow, instinctively dodging the blades and spears that came slashing at him.
The army collapsed like a landslide, and Bane's army surged like a tidal wave. Shirek stared blankly at the submerged lord's manor.
The mansion gates were breached, and black-armored soldiers surged in amidst the shadows. The fighting ceased amidst Bane's triumphant laughter.
The wanderer's eyes were bloodshot, his mind flashing through black and white memories like a slideshow: his childhood struggles for survival in Santyr Castle, his acquaintances with Kevoran and Eden after escaping his "teacher," his uneventful adventurer life, then Isis, and the midnight intrusion... The weapons of Bane's soldiers were about to touch him.
Chapter 298
His body... he gave up his last resistance, muttering curses under his breath: "Damn it, I haven't killed enough yet!"
In despair, meteors, accompanied by lightning, tore through the sky, and sparks and flames, shimmering with the light of gems, rained down, engulfing the dark mass of enemy troops.
Like a biting winter wind, some force forced its way into the wanderer's body, stimulating his consciousness and soul, jolting him awake from his death daze. Cyric shivered, frozen in place, muttering, "What the hell is that?"
Inside the lord's manor hall, Isis suddenly opened her eyes, hooking the fallen greatsword with one hand and sweeping it horizontally, while conjuring flames with the other, spinning her body to shred the enemies around her. Kevoran, who had been impaled on the ground by several spears, roared as he rose, pushing aside the Bane soldiers who were holding him down.
This was not a final burst of energy before death. As the dragon's roar resounded, the calming aura emanating from the Dragon God Chronipus injected new power into their withered bodies, and the flames of their fighting spirit were suddenly rekindled.
In contrast, the Zantir people, trembling and unable to move under the terrifying aura, seemed to have lead injected into their very bones.
"Who dares to disturb my feast!" Saint Bane roared, unleashing a vortex of shadow that ripped off the roof of the lord's mansion, completely tearing away the curtain of night.
A colossal figure, its scales rippling with the light of Suren and its beneath shimmering with the jewel-like flames of Bejuri, swooped down from the clouds with a piercing scream, tearing through the veil of death like a savior descending from the heavens in a bard's epic tale. From its mouth spewed flames crackling with electricity, illuminating the battlefield as if the sun had briefly banished the darkness.
“Mentor…” Isis murmured, her voice a mixture of shock and hope. She collapsed to the ground, staring at the dragon, her mind a jumbled mess. That familiar form, those unique scales, and the flames leaping among the enemies—these were features unique to Casalos.
Two unidentified spells were aimed directly at Bane. The saint ignored the "delicious meal" that was within reach, raised his scepter, and activated the vortex of gathered souls to shatter the spells. Then, tens of thousands of shadowy spears were generated and rushed towards the falling dragon.
"Tsk, this welcoming ceremony is quite lively." Casalos groaned, his front flaps of his wings stirring up an energy storm. He rolled half a circle to dodge the Shadow Spear, while sending the soldiers around the lord's mansion, who were intimidated by the dragon's might, flying. He leaned back and cut diagonally between Saint Bane and Isis, his dragon wings slicing across the ground like blades.
Wherever the iron wings went, Bane's puppet army was swept away like straw. Knights weighing hundreds of pounds, along with their horses, were caught in the storm and spun wildly through the air. The airflow propelled by the wing membrane scales was like non-sticky film rolling on a pizza shovel, "swirling" Isis, Kavoran, and the countless Zantirians and Vale people on the ground, their fates unknown, onto the wings. Then, with a barrel roll in the latter half of the rotation, they were all thrown out.
That wasn't just meaningless showing off; it was a battlefield maneuver based on precise calculations. Casalos's pseudo-Laplace's Demon, built on the foundation of the four elements, was still in its early stages and hadn't yet granted it the magical abilities of the Zessians. However, its assistance in combat and even all decision-making was perhaps beyond the reach of even divine power. The wing-shovels that stirred up the airflow cleared all the wounded from the deadly combat zone.
Before it could rise again, Casalos spewed out another fan-shaped burst of blazing fire from its mouth, instantly engulfing hundreds of Bane soldiers on the flank.
Limited by its age, it couldn't melt the earth and distort magic with a single breath like the old roar, but the exploding flames were like sparks thrown into gunpowder, flashing, leaping, and exploding hundreds of meters away. Mortal soldiers touched by the flames didn't even have time to scream before they were burned to nothingness like scraps of paper thrown into a furnace, and the casualties jumped from hundreds to thousands.
This series of actions was completed in an instant. Saint Bane couldn't even see the afterimage that broke through the shadow vortex. His scepter was still pointing in the air when it was engulfed by the secondary flames.
"Having inhabited a mortal body made you so dull," Casalos sneered, noticing that Isis, who had been thrown far away, had already reacted by casting levitation on herself and her surrounding allies, swaying like feathers as she fell towards the safe zone. "But you were once a mortal too. Have you forgotten your past? Or has your mortal mind become incapable of bearing sacred duties and powers, turning you into a fool?"
The saint roared, unleashing a black energy wave from his scepter that barely blocked the secondary flames, then unleashed a force field that blasted straight at Casalos, an energy powerful enough to tear a mountain apart. After countless sacrifices, Bane's magical power far surpassed that of ordinary legendary spellcasters.
Unfortunately, Bane, who was high in the divine position, was used to omnipotent divine power. He did not understand the legendary spells created by mortals to circumvent the rules, nor did he understand the various spellcasting techniques and super-magical feats created by mortals to maximize their own power under the locked restrictions.
Casting standard ninth-circle spells was the limit for Saint Bane, and even that was with the power Melkor lent him. This guy didn't know arcane spellcasting at all; with the gods' ability to draw spells from their domains ineffective, he was left with only melee combat… Saints were unique beings whose divine essence resided in mortal bodies. Even though they still possessed some divine power, they had become as fragile as mortals. Fighting a dragon hand-to-hand with a mortal body? Bane wasn't stupid, at least not that stupid.
Casalos lazily rolled to the side to dodge the impact of the "slow" force field, then opened his mouth and instantly unleashed a dragon breath that swept towards the Saint, forcing him to retreat several steps.
Bane dared not touch the dragon's breath at all, for he could clearly sense the extraordinary power contained within it—power belonging to other gods or beings of equal standing.
After forcing Bane back, Casalos circled once before landing on the ground. Its towering body blocked the Saint's path, like a wall of steel and magic, preventing it from advancing any further.
"tutor!"
In the distance, Isis, who had landed smoothly, staggered to her feet, her voice hoarse as if she were crying for help. She never imagined she would see Casalos here.
"Stop howling, I'm not deaf," Casalos glanced back at her, his tone teasing, "How come you're in such a sorry state, little girl, unable to even hold off tens of thousands of puppet soldiers?"
“I…” Isis opened her mouth, wanting to refute but lacking the strength. She glanced at Kavoran, who was lying beside her, clutching several large holes in his body and panting heavily. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she whispered, “We did our best.”
"Do your best?" Casalos snorted, its tail lashing out impatiently, cracking the ground. It turned to look at the Saint, a hint of mockery flashing in its dragon eyes: "Hey, Bane, you're the head of the Trinity of Death, the God of Intrigue and Strife, and you've made such a big fuss just to raze a small town?"
The saint sneered, brandishing his scepter to condense the surrounding death energy into a black cloud, which lunged at Casalos. Fear, despair, and rage surged within it, enough to erode the will of any living being.
"Ignorant reptile, you cannot stop the will of Bane!" The saint's voice was like the spirit of the dead beneath a thousand-year-old withered grave, carrying both decay and ancient majesty.
“A reptile?” Casalos scoffed. “You’re so pathetic you’re not even good enough to tickle me.”