Chapter 769

Chapter 769

“Management of intelligence.” Lua Gharne spoke the words softly, as if memorizing a mantra. This was the specific task she had assigned to Jaxon. Her reasoning was based on the observation that the Rulers of the Abyss seemed to have abandoned their battlements, placing their full confidence in the legions of beasts they commanded.

It had been a gamble—a hopeful strategy that was beneficial but not strictly required. As it happened, her intuition was spot on. The defensive maneuvers of the enemy were sluggish and lacked coordination, even as the group drew within striking distance of the massive ramparts. This suggested that whatever opposition they were about to face was well within the margins of their expectations.

“Hostiles approaching,” Shinar murmured from her position behind Enkrid. The restless wailing of the ghosts trapped within the Thornwall grew to a deafening roar.

Emerging from the gloom flanking the fortress, shadows detached themselves from the stone as if emerging from a long slumber. Among the horde were lycanthropes with four limbs and massive ursine beasts. One particular werebear stood out due to its sheer scale, clutching a quartet of obsidian maces—one for each of its four powerful arms. The sight of those four weapons swinging in unison was a grim spectacle. More notably, the pressure radiating from these creatures was far more potent than the rabble they had encountered on the outskirts. This was the true nature of the Demon Realm.

“Maintain the line and pierce through,” Lua Gharne commanded.

In war, the most basic tactic often becomes the most lethal. Given the sheer martial prowess gathered in their party, there was no logical reason to waste time scaling heights or hunting for secret corridors. Jaxon had utilized such methods only because they suited his particular expertise in stealth and assassination. The rest of them? They were beyond the need for subtlety.

Furthermore, Lua Gharne had a personal score to settle with the taunt they had heard earlier: “So what can you do?” She intended to provide a response that would be impossible to forget.

As they reached the base of the wall, it wasn’t just flesh and fur they faced. Bone-white siege engines positioned along the perimeter began to grind into life. Constructed from skeletal remains, these machines fired bolts carved from thick marrow. They were essentially ballistae possessed by malevolent spirits—living weapons of war.

Creeeeeak.

The purple tendons serving as bowstrings pulled tight, automatically chambering and discharging their payload.

Thwack!

A massive bolt tore through the air, aimed directly at the heart of their formation. It was a mechanical reflex triggered by their proximity to the Thorn Fortress. Enkrid watched the trajectory of the bolt with a steady eye. Even here in the Abyss, the infrastructure of war was present—defensive armaments repurposed into sentient monsters. He found the level of preparation almost respectable.

His fingers brushed the hilt of Duskforge, yet he remained still. A different figure surged forward, leaping into the air with a blade held high.

Clang!

With a sharp strike, the bolt was deflected. The bone-stitched projectile tumbled and slammed into the dirt just ahead of a mangy werewolf. This creature was balding in patches, but its forearms were swollen with unnatural muscle. Against a normal human, those arms could snap bone like dry kindling.

Fortunately, there were no “normal humans” in this company.

The werewolf lunged for the fallen bolt, wielding it like a crude club and swinging it with a heavy whoosh. The ability to scavenge weapons suggested a spark of tactical awareness, though the creature’s face—dripping with putrid discharge and resembling a twisted, canine phallus—suggested more instinct than intellect.

Pell, the one who had parried the shot, gripped his hilt with both hands and maintained his focus. “The airspace is my responsibility.”

For Pell, this was an ideal theater to refine the defensive sword arts that aimed for absolute protection. While the ballista fire was heavy, it lacked the blinding speed a knight was trained to handle. It was a manageable burden.

“Proceed as you see fit,” Audin replied from the center of the pack.

Grraaaaaaahhhh.

The beasts closed in. They didn’t sprint; they moved with a slow, rhythmic gait that spoke of immense weight. Yet, because of their size, each step devoured the distance between them. To an ordinary soldier, the sight of being flanked by such monsters would be paralyzing. Here, however, there was only icy calm. Pell watched the sky; the others watched the ground. Every breath was controlled.

Shing.

Teresa unsheathed her weapon. It appeared as a standard blade in her grip, but it was actually a massive greatsword of the same class as Ragna’s Sunrise. The ease with which she handled it with a single hand was a testament to her heritage as a half-giant.

Ahhhh…

A hymn began to spill from her lips. It was a gentle, melodic prayer that caused a shimmering white radiance to coat her skin. Divine energy was the most overt power in this realm of existence. To replicate such an effect using Will would require a lifetime of meditation. Enkrid understood that every warrior’s power had its own unique flavor. Divine grace was traditionally non-violent—focused on mending and shielding.

To bridge the gap in lethality, Audin and his Holy Knight Order had pushed their physical bodies to the absolute limit. Audin, in particular, had done so with a ferocity that bordered on the insane. He used overwhelming physical force to compensate for the defensive nature of his magic. For a half-giant with faith, it was a terrifyingly efficient combination.

Teresa’s expression shifted into a predatory grin. The “Holy Teresa” who had begun the song had vanished, replaced by the “Half-Giant Teresa” who lived for the carnage of the front lines. The white light surrounding her no longer promised healing; it was now a catalyst for her impossible strength.

Boom!

Her blade descended upon the skull of a charging werebear. The head didn’t split open; instead, black ichor sprayed as the blade met resistance. This was an Armored Bear, encased in a natural, metallic exoskeleton.

That strike served as the signal.

Thump!

Pell swatted another bolt aside. Rophod shifted to secure the flank. In Ragna’s hands, Sunrise became a streak of fire and steel, incinerating anything it touched.

Schiiiiiik—

Searing steam rose from the neck of a werewolf where Sunrise had passed through. In one fluid motion, Ragna’s blade traced a wide circle, decapitating six beasts in a single heartbeat. It was the legacy of Oara’s swordsmanship, brought to life.

In this moment, no one held back their Will. They fought with every ounce of their being. A master knight was said to be a match for a thousand men; against monsters, slaying hundreds was simply part of the job. As a collective, they were a meat grinder, turning the encroaching horde into a landscape of severed limbs and cooling blood.

Amidst the chaos, Audin reached the moat of bile. The stench of the spirits’ vomit was a biohazard in itself, but Audin was unmoved. He ignored the beasts on his flanks, trusting his companions to hold them back.

Gwaaaah…

The spirits inhabiting the wall shrieked. Audin squared his shoulders and took a deep stance—left side forward, right fist coiled. He pivoted his entire frame, funneling the rotational energy of his body into his right hand, which now blazed with a brilliant white light. He added a spiral to the divine energy itself.

“O Lord,” he whispered.

The atmosphere began to howl as a localized cyclone formed around him. His hair whipped in the gale. With a sudden burst of motion, Audin threw the punch. The wind and the holy light merged into a singular, devastating drill of energy.

Whoom—

The spinning radiance slammed into the ghost-infested barricade.

Boom!

The sound was thunderous. The pressure at the point of impact caused the thorns to disintegrate and fly outward. The screams of the spirits were silenced by the shockwave. With a solitary strike, dozens of entities were blasted into nothingness.

“O Lord, the choice to forgive or condemn rests with You. I am merely the messenger sending them to Your court.”

Audin pulled back his hand and offered a short prayer. Whether the spirits understood his words was irrelevant. The result was undeniable: a jagged hole, large enough for a man to pass through, had been punched into the fortress wall.

The wall attempted to fight back, but Audin’s glowing armor simply absorbed the retaliatory curses. The ground beneath the breach shuddered.

“The structural integrity is lacking,” Audin remarked casually, stepping aside.

The wailing ghosts fell silent for a moment. Had they been capable of rational thought, they surely would have been horrified by the sheer absurdity of these invaders. The champion of the God of War, immune to their hexes, prepared his fist once more.

“That’s one way to announce your arrival,” Enkrid noted dryly. It reminded him of their days at the Border Guard, raiding the Gilpin Guild through hidden doors. They had called it “knocking” then, and the habit had apparently stuck, even if the “door” was now a demonic stronghold.

Kwa-ANG!

The second strike landed with even greater force. With two honest punches, Audin had effectively breached the fortress.

The gap began to pulse and writhe, attempting to seal itself as if the stone were flesh. Shinar looked on with a mask of pure revulsion.

“They are imitating the Fairy City.”

Her ancestral home—the city that shared her name—was a living organism of trees. Seeing the Abyss mimic the biological architecture of her people was an insult. It suggested that forbidden knowledge had been plundered and corrupted here.

The regeneration was swift, but Audin’s violence was swifter. Even as the wall tried to heal, a gap remained that allowed them to see the interior.

“The entrance is prepared,” Teresa said, having just finished battering an Armored Bear to death with its own discarded club.

“I believe ‘manufactured’ is the word you’re looking for,” Pell added from above. He remained airborne, spinning through the sky to maintain his momentum while batting away ballista bolts with surgical precision. It was an elegant display of aerial combat.

Enkrid didn’t join the debate. The path was clear, and that was all that mattered. From his periphery, he saw Jaxon high above, systematically disabling the bone ballistae. As the barrage slowed, Pell’s defensive role became unnecessary.

Enkrid lunged forward.

Claws swiped at his chest. A mace swung for his head. A clawed foot tried to sweep his legs. The monsters were coordinated, attacking in high, mid, and low arcs simultaneously.

With Duskforge in his right hand and Penna in his left, Enkrid blurred. He didn’t use heavy thrusts; instead, he used a series of light, rhythmic parries and counters. It was enough to shear through limbs and send the beasts tumbling. His reflexes, honed to a razor’s edge, allowed him to strike before the monsters could even complete their swings.

One strike followed another until the flashes of steel merged into a continuous roar of lightning.

Zzzzzak—KWA-RRRRR!

The air thundered as he carved a path of black blood. This level of combat was becoming second nature to him—the fruit of his obsession with the perfect cut. He reflected briefly on the nature of the sword; all five styles were merely extensions of the person holding the grip. It was a fleeting thought, a glimpse into a deeper path of mastery, which he set aside for the moment.

Reaching the wall, he returned Penna to its sheath. His body felt perfectly calibrated, his Will flowing without obstruction. He felt a rare sense of peak performance, as if he could achieve anything—though he was too disciplined to let that feeling lead to recklessness.

“Greetings, spirits.”

Enkrid offered a mock salute and leveled Duskforge. The blade hummed with a celestial blue light, vibrating in sympathy with his intent. Audin was using raw power; Enkrid decided to contribute his own brand of destruction.

He flooded the blade with his Will. He looked at the fortress, then at the sky.

So what can I do?

Groooan…

“You’re out of your mind,” Lua Gharne whispered from behind him.

Enkrid didn’t smile. He was deathly serious.

This was his answer to the enemy’s question.