Chapter 866

Chapter 866

“Provide them with more meat. If they aren’t satisfied in the sky, they will start looking at the riders on their spines as nothing more than a fresh snack.”

Following the monster-handler’s command, several infantrymen impaled thick slabs of bloody meat onto long tridents, thrusting them before the gryphons. Within their raptor-like beaks, serrated teeth resembling saw blades were visible.

Tear, snap, grind.

As the tough ligaments and tissues of the raw flesh were ripped apart, a terrifying sound filled the air. A gryphon was a true predator—a beast with obsidian eyes and dark blood, radiating a foul, metallic stench. The soldier responsible for the feeding remained incredibly tense.

*One slip and I’m a dead man.*

The soldier handled his spear with extreme care. Fresh horse meat served as the primary instrument for breaking a gryphon’s spirit.

“If they get hungry, the game is up,” the handler remarked.

It was fundamental to keep them gorged on meat. Only a full stomach prevented them from hunting human beings. However, if one assumed that a well-fed beast meant a reliable mount for long-distance travel, they would be mistaken.

The beast-handler was a veteran who had broken various types of monsters. In his professional opinion, gryphons were a logistical nightmare. They lacked true endurance. While they could brawl on the ground for an entire day, taking to the sky drained their vitality rapidly through the sheer effort of flight. Once their energy bottomed out while carrying extra weight—especially if that weight was the succulent, high-quality meat known as a person—they wouldn’t hesitate. They would dump their rider like a discarded lunchbox and devour them on the spot.

Losing strength meant the beast would eat its pilot; that was the reality. Furthermore, they didn’t follow commands out of loyalty. Compared to a disciplined stallion, the complications were endless. They were more difficult than a wild horse that had never seen a bridle. Their untamed nature was another liability; they would break formation to hunt any enemy unit acting as bait the moment it entered their line of sight.

Nevertheless, these Gryphon Riders were the backbone of the current campaign. A single massive advantage outweighed every flaw, rendering efficiency irrelevant.

*How do you defend against a foe that owns the sky?*

The presence of the gryphons was the only reason the guardian deity of the South was pinned down by such a modest force. The knightly order’s main strength couldn’t be diverted elsewhere. They were forced to maintain their focus here, for if they retreated, the remaining infantry would be slaughtered.

The handler didn’t know the full scope of the grand design, but he could sense he was a vital part of a larger machine. Even if this specific front collapsed, the handler felt secure in his own value.

*I am irreplaceable.*

The art of monster-handling was a rare discipline even within the South. The handler’s mentor had synthesized elements of alchemy, magic, and forbidden sorcery to create this vocation. It was the product of a singular, brilliant mind.

“Can’t you force these brutes to be more cooperative?”

One of the Gryphon Riders asked the question with a deep scowl. Had it been a common footman, the handler would have snapped back, but he held his tongue. The man speaking was the only true knight among the flight crew. He might not have been the most elite warrior in the empire, but a unique gift allowed him to master the gryphon. Above all, his status as a knight meant he could end the handler’s life with a single motion of his hand.

The hierarchy of power was undeniable. The handler lowered his head.

“If they were easy to manage, Sir Simlak, they wouldn’t be classified as monsters.”

“I’m aware. But you should consider the rider’s perspective as well.”

The handler suppressed his rising anger, though a trace of bitterness colored his voice. It was frustrating to hear such complaints from someone who hadn’t witnessed the struggle required to break this pride of gryphons.

“If I weren’t considering the riders, you would have been digested days ago.”

The knight’s gaze snapped toward the handler. His eyes were like cold glass, devoid of any warmth.

“Mind your tongue. I nearly took your arm for that.”

“…I will be more careful.”

The handler bowed even lower. He knew that if he died, the sorcery and charms holding the dozens of gryphons in check would fail, leading to a bloody rampage. The knight knew this too—he’d likely been warned repeatedly—but he was the type of man who didn’t care for such technicalities. He was a Southern knight, a man intoxicated by the thrill of the blade.

*Arrogant bastard…*

The handler cursed him in the silence of his mind. Simlak sensed the hostility but ignored it. Ultimately, that man was the lynchpin of the mission. Because of that, no heads would roll today. Would a knight serving the High Pontiff ever disobey his master’s decree?

There were three primary knightly orders in the South, and Simlak was a member of the Amethyst Order. The amethyst was a sacred symbol of the High Pontiff, representing the loyal limbs that carried out his will. In truth, Simlak bore no personal grudge against the handler; he was simply starving for a real fight.

*I want to test my steel against that Cypress wretch.*

However, without explicit orders, he was forbidden from making a move. That restriction was the source of his irritation.

*Does the Commander lack faith in me?*

The command had come directly from the leader of the Amethyst Order. Simlak wasn’t alone in his frustration; three other knights shared his restlessness.

“Did you catch a glimpse of him?”

“Only briefly.”

“If it’s just a matter of ending a life, it seems simple enough.”

These three each possessed a unique talent. Combined with Simlak, the four of them represented the entirety of the knight-level power in this specific camp. The target they discussed was Cypress, the renowned captain of the Red Cloak Order of Knights.

Simlak had only observed Cypress from a distance a few times.

*That’s the man?*

Could that really be the warrior hailed as a guardian god? To Simlak, Cypress appeared underwhelming—beatable. If Simlak felt that way, his companions surely did as well. This wasn’t the blind overconfidence of a novice. There were more knights in the South than anywhere else on the continent, a simple matter of demographics. Because of this, they were well-acquainted with their own limits. A true warrior accurately weighs the strength of his foe.

It was a common Southern maxim, and these were men who lived by it. They didn’t underestimate Cypress out of vanity. That was why they were so perplexed. How could a single knight halt an entire advance? They had even heard that their entire strategy had been overhauled specifically to account for Cypress.

Yet, the man looked like easy prey. If their blood didn’t boil at the prospect of the kill, they wouldn’t be Southern knights. If not for the strict commands of their superiors, they would have abandoned the gryphons and charged the lines long ago.

*I am truly parched for battle.*

A knight is defined by their hunger for conflict, and Simlak’s hunger was more ravenous than most. Still, he possessed a shred of discipline.

“Control yourself, Simlak. It isn’t our turn to strike yet,” said a fellow Amethyst knight, a man who used his composure as a weapon.

“I know,” Simlak replied with a nod. He would fulfill his designated role. That was his current obligation.

—

Two days later, at dawn, the screeching cry of a gryphon pierced the heavens. It was a sound that could only be described as horrific. For the defenders of Naurillia’s Southern Front, it was a herald of dread. The number of aerial attackers had swelled again, exceeding thirty.

“They just keep coming, don’t they?” Sir Lien remarked upon seeing the horizon. With a scowl, he adjusted the three javelins strapped to his back, calculating the trajectory of the approaching beasts.

The riders in the sky were likely doing the same to him. A javelin thrown by a knight was a lethal threat even at that height.

“Everyone, get to your posts. Remember our objective.”

Despite his rank as vice-captain, Lien spoke with a blunt, direct tone. The members of the Red Cloak Order of Knights stomped their feet in a synchronized display of readiness.

“Ha!”

A knightly order functioned as a singular organism, their coordination forged through years of shared training since childhood. Their tactical execution was peerless, and their mastery of drills—the metric of their discipline—was beyond reproach.

“Commence the maneuver,” Lien ordered.

Five squires spurred their mounts into a gallop. Today, they served as the initial lure. As the gryphons prepared to dive and the defenders moved to react, a solitary horse waited behind the lines, its hooves digging into the dirt.

Odd-Eye was still incapable of vertical takeoff. The beast required a high-speed gallop to generate enough lift for its massive body to take flight. To facilitate this, the Naurillia army had been relocating tents to clear a makeshift runway. The path led directly toward the incoming gryphons—a long, straight stretch of earth that the soldiers had meticulously cleared of stones throughout the night.

The horse accelerated, tearing through the air as its racing instincts took over. Enkrid pressed himself flat against Odd-Eye’s back; the sheer force of the wind would have peeled the skin from his bones otherwise. The horse’s dark coat began to secrete a blue-tinted sweat. As this moisture interacted with Will, it transformed into a luminous blue mist.

Over this, a deep-green cloak unfurled, wrapping around the rider from head to toe. As they reached maximum speed, they appeared as a single blurred line cutting across the landscape—a streak of dark blue and forest green. To the watching infantry, it was a surreal sight as that strange, vibrant line suddenly angled upward and launched into the sky.

—

“Over here! Focus on us!”

The Red Cloak knights weren’t the only ones playing the role of the hunted. Twenty auxiliary soldiers, commanded by Burnion, also rode out as decoys. Burnion’s throat was strained, his veins bulging as his roar competed with the thunderous flapping of the gryphons.

It was unlikely the riders in the clouds could hear him, but he shouted regardless. His entire mercenary company had been decimated by a tide of monsters like these. To him, every beast in existence was a target for his fury. Gritting his teeth, he yelled again.

“Look this way! Come and get your fill!”

He wasn’t the only one driven by a personal grudge. Many in the South had been broken by monsters and demonic entities. Some had lost limbs or sight, while others had lost their entire bloodlines.

“Come on then, come down,” one soldier whispered, slicing his own palm to let the blood flow. He knew most predators were enslaved to the scent of iron and gore.

The Southern Front wasn’t just a war against Rihinstetten. These men faced two distinct threats: the great empire and the endless waves of monsters pouring from the Demon-lands. Since the South had long integrated monsters into their warfare, those who suffered from the beasts naturally turned their hatred toward the Southern nation itself.

Other soldiers volunteered for the bait units for different reasons.

“The Lord is our witness!” one cried out. Shouting while riding at full tilt was a good way to bite one’s tongue in half, but the man didn’t care. His name was Lapild, and it was clear to everyone that if he survived the war, he would dedicate his life to the War God.

“Ooooh!”

Their distractions were effective. The gryphon pack couldn’t ignore the movement of galloping horses and fresh human prey. High above, the Gryphon Riders steadied their mounts and released heavy bundles of stones and enchanted scrolls from specialized saddles. These payloads ignited in mid-air, plummeting like meteors.

A single javelin streaked through the air, striking the core of one fireball.

*Boom!*

Very few could dispel a magic attack while in flight. These were likely javelins hurled by those on the verge of reaching knight-level status within the Red Cloak Order. The Gryphon Riders maintained their altitude and continued the bombardment.

The rain had finally ceased. Had the weather remained foul, the battle might have already concluded, as gryphons detested flying in the rain. Not that it offered the defenders much relief; even without the birds, they would have been besieged by the relentless hordes of the undead and other monsters.

*To be picked apart from the sky without recourse…*

Simlak braced himself for any incoming projectiles. Oddly, the ground was quiet. By this point, he expected a hail of arrows or spears, but none came. All of the enemy’s focus was directed at neutralizing the falling scrolls.

*Have we finally overwhelmed them?*

Simlak’s sense of disappointment deepened. They should have put up a better fight. If the legend of Cypress held any weight, this was a pathetic showing.

*Is this the limit of their strength?*

After all, they were earthbound creatures, were they not? The gryphons’ wings beat against the atmosphere, creating a sound like a crashing waterfall.

*Kwaaaa, kwaaaa.*

Beneath that roar, a new sound emerged. Or perhaps it wasn’t a sound at all, but a premonition. Simlak acted purely on instinct, jerking the leather reins of his gryphon. It was a split-second reaction. The beast swerved violently, and Simlak leaned his weight to the side, gripping the reins with his left hand. Because his lower body was locked into the saddle, he was able to contort his torso to the extreme.

*Whump!*

The air displaced with a sharp pop, the pressure rattling his helmet. As he righted himself, Simlak scanned his surroundings. His reflexes were far beyond those of a mortal man. His eyes tracked a path through the air, finally landing on a figure.

It wasn’t a gryphon. It was a man mounted upon a winged horse.

While a pegasus was a rare sight, something else caught Simlak’s eye.

*He’s riding without a saddle?*

They were thousands of feet in the air. Even a knight would be broken or killed by a fall from this height, yet this man rode an aerial beast with no restraints whatsoever. It was a level of audacity that bordered on insanity. Even Simlak was bolted into his seat.

Pushing aside the shock of the pegasus and the lack of gear, Simlak focused on the tactical reality.

*An airborne enemy. At least knight-rank.*

The realization sent a surge of adrenaline through him.

“So, you actually have a way to reach us.”

Finally, a worthy adversary had arrived. The rider didn’t look like Cypress, but killing a man of this caliber would be an excellent start. The purpose of the gryphons was to bleed the Red Cloak Knights dry before the final engagement. If he could strike down the one man who had managed to reach the sky, the enemy’s spirit would be shattered.

“Identify yourself! Give me your name!”

There was no reply.

The rider, Enkrid, simply patted Odd-Eye’s head, maintaining a silent connection with the horse.

“Hey, that was a close one. I almost took a tumble.”

The horse let out a soft neigh.

“Don’t act like it’s not your problem. We’re in this together. Stay sharp.”

Another neigh followed.

“Alright. Let’s show them what we’ve been practicing.”

If it were just a matter of basic aerial combat, there would have been no need for the grueling days of specialized training. Enkrid had devised a specific, unconventional tactic he intended to deploy—a plan that had elicited a wide range of skeptical and shocked reactions from his fellow knights when he first proposed it.