Chapter 417: Holy Land Lua (4)
From the breach in the wall emerged a massive, three-headed skeletal giant. It wielded six swords, one in each of its massive hands, and bellowed with a voice that shook the battlefield.
From within the dome, a torrent of frigid air burst forth, freezing monsters and soldiers alike, their shattered remains scattering as the landscape turned white with frost.
[Hmm? Another wave of beggars from the Dawn Army? How many times is this now?]
[Sixth time, brother!]
[Feels like more. What do you think, Third? Do we have bread to spare for charity?]
[When have we ever eaten bread? Let them devour each other like last time.]
The skeletal giant cackled, questioning and answering itself in a display of obvious madness. It was clear to all that this creature was far from sane—but sanity had long since fled this battlefield.
What mattered was the giant’s terrifying power: it had already cut down three Holy Knights in one swift strike.
A Scorched One slashed at its shin, but the blade couldn’t pierce the thick, triple-layered bone. The giant’s legs, like its heads, appeared to be a fusion of three beings into one monstrous form. With a contemptuous swing, the giant swatted the Scorched One, shattering it into pieces.
Behind it, more undead surged forth, each as grotesque and deadly as the giant.
[Kill! Kill! Kill!]
[Seventy-seven fingers, seventy-eight fingers…]
[You pitiful fools! You can’t comprehend the Emperor’s mercy! He mourns your suffering day and night, shedding tears for your pain. Let me free you in his name before you know torment!]
The undead horde included monstrosities with weapons embedded into their joints, skeletons covered in writhing finger bones like worms, and liches adorned with child-sized skulls. Each seemed born of a nightmare.
One such lich waved its staff, unleashing a cacophony of wailing cries that clawed at the soldiers’ souls.
[Listen to their screams! This is how they suffered in death—because of you! It’s all your fault… all your fault…!]
CRACK!
The skeletal giant swung its arm, smashing the lich to the ground. It sneered at the fallen figure with visible disdain.
[Get this lunatic out of here! It’s too distracting to fight with this noise!]
[You’re cruel! I’m only trying to teach them the pain of flesh…]
But before the lich could rise again, other undead dragged it back into the breach.
The Sword of May seized the moment.
With swift precision, it readjusted its blade and directed an assault at the breach, targeting the skeletal giant and the fanatical undead pouring out. But the giant, sensing danger, retreated back into the dome with surprising agility, disappearing from sight.
[Attack! Show those vermin their graves!]
The Burning Maiden, recovering from the earlier blast, ordered the charge with fury. But the Sword of May intervened.
[Stop. Inside the dome are not only fanatics but the remnants of the Moonshade Army from Ushak. Forcing our forces through that narrow breach would be suicide.]
[The Dawn Army never retreats from its enemies!]
[True. But consider how we wield our power.]
The Burning Maiden fell silent.
Their miraculous strength stemmed from the unwavering faith of their countless followers. If they displayed incompetence or suffered heavy losses, that faith—and their power—would dwindle.
If the Dawn Army wasted its numbers in a reckless charge, their collective might would be diminished.
Though driven by passion, the Burning Maiden wasn’t foolish. She acknowledged the wisdom of the Sword of May and adjusted her plan.
[We’ll create multiple breaches and turn the dome into an oven. Let the Immortal Emperor roast alongside his zealots.]
[Expect retaliation. Prepare for battle.]
While the fanatics and the remnants of the Moonshade Army fortified their defenses within the breach, the Burning Maiden directed her forces to fall back and began conjuring pillars of fire around the dome.
Priests received her command:
[Prepare flames to engulf Holy Land Lua in sacred fire. Let the radiant heat proclaim the glory of the Codex of Light!]
On the opposite side of the dome, monsters from the Outer Boundary still clung stubbornly to the walls. But the rising heat would soon dislodge them.
As pillars of flame rose steadily into the air, the soldiers began to sing hymns, their voices resonating with conviction. Priests, bishops, and Holy Knights summoned their strongest powers to create an inferno capable of scorching even the profane dome.
[It’s coming.]
The Sword of May spoke quietly as the fiery rain began to fall.
The dome shuddered under the assault, and a formidable presence stirred within. It was clear the Immortal Emperor was mustering his strength.
The Burning Maiden felt exhilaration at the thought of finally punishing this treacherous heretic. But something gnawed at her—something was amiss.
The shadow cast by Holy Land Lua was undoubtedly the Immortal Emperor’s. But it wasn’t focused on her, the Sword of May, or the Dawn Army.
Instead, it bristled with fury, like a wounded beast baring its fangs at a threat from the west.
What is this?
She turned her attention westward and saw another force approaching—fast.
It was the Isaacrean Dawn Army, led by none other than the Holy Grail Knight himself.
Panic swelled within her. She had to take Holy Land Lua before Isaac’s arrival.
[Unleash all firepower on Holy Land Lua!]
But as the sacred flames roared, the Burning Maiden felt something unravel.
At first, she dismissed it—a few loose threads of power. But soon, it became impossible to ignore. Dozens, then hundreds of knots of faith, belief, and power unraveled simultaneously.
Her eyes widened in realization.
[The Red Chalice!]
She listened for prayers or invocations to clarify the situation. Instead, all she heard was the dull, ominous thud of a heartbeat.
***
Thump. Thump. Squish… Crackle…
A priest collapsed, choking on his own blood as a dagger embedded itself in his neck. He clawed desperately at the air, attempting to recite a prayer, but the blood flooding his lungs rendered him silent.
Feltren wiped the sweat from his brow as he methodically finished off the remaining priests.
Already poisoned, they could offer little resistance. The relentless chanting and hymns at the brazier had left their throats parched, and the Red Chalice Club had easily spiked their water supplies.
One priest muttered something unintelligible before collapsing completely, his prayer cut off from the heavens.
Feltren gently stroked the leather heart he carried in his coat.
The heart’s dull, rhythmic beating radiated a suffocating aura that severed the connection between heaven and earth, silencing all divine voices. It was this artifact that had allowed him to carry out the massacre undetected—so far.
But Feltren knew the angels would eventually notice the absence of prayers.
“The Burning Maiden seems to have caught on,” said one of the Wallachian human hunters aiding Feltren, peering outside the tent.
Feltren chuckled.
“She’s quicker than I gave her credit for.”
That was the trouble with Archangels.
They perched so high above the mortal plane, oblivious to the ants crawling at their feet until those ants started gnawing at their lifeline. He relished imagining how they’d feel once they realized the ants had been undermining them all along.
“Torch the camps and withdraw. There’s no one left guarding the rear, so we won’t have trouble slipping away.”
Across the Dawn Army encampment, similar scenes unfolded. Bounty hunters and bribed knights, secretly recruited by Feltren, were slaughtering priests in a coordinated act of betrayal. The sheer audacity of such treachery—mere steps from Holy Land Lua and under the angels’ noses—left the priests utterly unprepared.
Feltren glanced back to ensure all was complete.
There, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes, was Horhel, the Church’s acting Pontiff.
Horhel had been Feltren’s first target, as his immense power made him the greatest threat. While Feltren wouldn’t have dared face someone like Dera Heman, an aging priest like Horhel was no match for a seasoned assassin.
“Don’t look at me like that, old man,” Feltren murmured, addressing Horhel’s dying gaze.
“Maybe if you’d promoted me instead of shoving me to the rear, the Red Chalice Club might’ve worked for your victory instead.”
Horhel coughed violently, blood spilling from his lips as his eyes burned with fury.
As soon as the bounty hunters finished their task, Feltren kicked over the brazier. Flames spilled across the tent, rapidly engulfing it. Horhel’s figure vanished behind the roaring fire, but his gaze lingered in Feltren’s mind.
“What now?” one of the bounty hunters asked.
“Proceed as planned. While the angels focus on the Immortal Emperor, we’ll pull back with as many troops as possible.”
Killing the priests had been necessary to sow chaos. With the primary chain of command severed, the army’s structure was in complete disarray.
Soldiers, left without clear orders, would instinctively fall back on the memories of their previous commanders—perfect for Feltren to exploit.
“Dawn Army, fall back! Regroup and prepare for reorganization!”
Feltren and his knights raced through the camp, shouting the order. Confusion spread as soldiers, waiting tensely for the angels’ command, were startled by the sudden directive.
“What? That can’t be right—”
“The camp’s been infiltrated! Heretic assassins and traitors are among us! The priests have been slain, and we can’t press the attack in this state. Retreat and regroup!”
The art of deception: mix truth with lies.
The soldiers had already noticed fires breaking out and priests mysteriously absent. With the assault on Holy Land Lua momentarily stalled due to the Immortal Emperor’s counterattack, the idea of regrouping seemed plausible.
Feltren seized the opportunity.
“I am Feltren Sevan, Commander of the Imperial Knights! Dawn Army, retreat immediately!”
The second rule of deception: invoke authority. The third: leverage numbers.
As Feltren declared his rank, his knights moved en masse, their coordinated retreat compelling hesitant soldiers to follow suit. Soon, smaller groups joined in, their confusion drowned by the momentum of the larger force.
Humans are herd animals.
What began as a small withdrawal snowballed into a near-half of the army pulling back, leaving the remaining troops scattered and disoriented.
The angels, distracted by the dual threat of the Immortal Emperor and the approaching Isaacrean Dawn Army, failed to issue timely counterorders.
“Let them tear each other apart. I’ll finish the job when the time comes.”
Feltren smirked as he crested the ridge leading away from the battlefield.
Feltren’s triumphant grin froze.
Beyond the ridge, an army was waiting—a force from the Olkan Code, lying in ambush and biding its time for a decisive strike.
An Orc centurion, crouched by a cannon as he loaded powder, locked eyes with Feltren.
For a moment, both sides stared, comprehension dawning.
The centurion’s thunderous voice broke the silence.
“They’ve spotted us! Attack!”
“Wait—”
Feltren raised his hands desperately, trying to signal.
He was one of them, a member of the Black Empire’s alliance, aligned with the Red Chalice.
But the cannon fired before he could finish.
The shot tore through the air, ripping Feltren’s right arm from his body.