Chapter 29

Chapter 29

The majority of the Eclipse Order, under the command of Deus Macallian, backed Alon. Yet, their support stemmed purely from Alon’s status as Deus’s acknowledged patron. In truth, their personal regard for him was nearly nonexistent. To the Eclipse knights, Alon held no particular distinction beyond this connection to their leader.

Any strong sentiments among them were limited to the envy felt by a few of the younger knights over the deference Deus showed him. Beyond that, he scarcely registered in their thoughts. In essence, the knights did not view Alon with any special favor.

Yet, at this very moment—

“Vice Tower Master, could I ask you for something?”

“Y-yes… What would that be…?”

The knights could only watch in stunned silence, their jaws slack.

“Would you be able to brew a Leviteon potion?”

“A Remiteon… potion?”

“That’s right. Is it possible?”

“Ah, yes! Without a doubt…!”

Not just the Eclipse knights, but even the Silver Knights who had been harshly reprimanded by Penia moments before, were taken aback. They were all aware that the vice tower master before them possessed a temperament as unpredictable as her prodigious magical talent.

In fact, the knowledge extended beyond them. Any knight who had ever been deployed to the northern reaches would have heard tales of ‘Hysteric Penia.’

When traveling north, the wizards from the Blue Tower, frequently summoned alongside the knights, would invariably grumble about Penia’s intolerable nature, so it was impossible to be unaware.

Therefore, the knights, familiar with Penia’s infamous character, were all the more shocked.

“Let me confirm, do you possess the knowledge or the means to create an Elixir of Exceptionality?”

“Uh, well… I don’t have one ready, but I believe I could produce it…”

“Would you be willing to make that for me as well?”

“Uh, that one requires significant time, and my schedule is quite full…”

“I have a genuine need for it.”

“I-I will do it! I give you my word…!”

The knights were witnessing something they could not credit.

Penia, the vice tower master of the Blue Tower, a wizard of the 6th rank, was complying with the Count of Palatio’s requests without question.

No, it was more than compliance; she was twisting herself into knots to ensure she did not displease him. The knights found the scene utterly inconceivable.

And naturally—

“W-what in the world…?”

The same disbelief gripped the wizards who had been assigned to accompany Penia, having endured her constant criticism and what felt like blood-soaked torment.

“What… is this?”

“Are my eyes deceiving me?”

“Has the vice tower master taken leave of her senses?”

The wizards, who watched as if they were observing a cataclysm, could only inhale sharply in shock.

“She refused to make that last time, complaining for weeks about the difficulty… and now she agrees?”

“Am I seeing this correctly? Is this some jest, an illusion spell?”

“Don’t be a fool! To cast an illusion here, they’d need to Silence the vice tower master as well. Who would have the power for that?”

They were so astounded they even made subtle attempts to detect and nullify any ambient magic, suspecting a trick by another mage.

And then—

“You have my thanks.”

“Not at all, it is my duty.”

“What will be the cost?”

“Co-cost, you say?”

“It is only right to pay for services rendered. Name your price, and I will ensure it is delivered to the magic tower.”

“Oh, in that case—”

“However, if the sum is high, there may be a delay. The treasury has not been flourishing of late.”

“Just… just one gold coin will suffice.”

“…A single gold coin? Is that not too little?”

“No, it’s perfectly acceptable…! Yes, completely acceptable…!”

“…Very well, I will not refuse such generosity.”

As they observed Penia smiling and accepting a single gold coin for two potions whose ingredients alone typically cost hundreds, both knights and wizards wore expressions of pure stupefaction. Soon, all eyes turned to Alon.

The knights’ faces were filled with astonishment, while a look of deep reverence dawned on the wizards’ faces.

‘It appears a misconception is at work, but at least obtaining the potions was simple,’ Alon thought, as he made his way back to Evan.

“…Wait a moment, Count, since when have you been using informal speech with the vice tower master?”

“Hm? As a noble, I simply spoke that way.”

That can’t be…

“…Pardon me? But, to my knowledge, the vice tower master holds quasi-noble status, and the customary etiquette is to use formal address…”

“…Is that so?”

“It is.”

Realizing he had been somewhat discourteous to Penia, Alon released a soft sigh.

***

‘With this, I have assembled all the pieces I need to make my move.’

Shortly after, Alon received both the ‘Leviteon’s Potion’ and the ‘Elixir of Exceptionality’ from Penia. A few hours later, he listened to Deus’s pronouncement.

“A retreat?”

“Yes.”

As Deus elaborated on the current circumstances, Alon gave a slight nod of understanding.

‘It’s true, they seem to be in no condition to fight.’

Alon recalled the numerous wounded soldiers and the looks of pure terror on the faces of the men when he had first arrived at the forward base.

‘The knights appeared relatively unharmed, but their expressions were grim. The only ones who seemed unperturbed were the wizards, and they are here to study the ritual, not for combat.’

‘As for those wizards… they have already fled.’

Alon scanned the area. Unlike before, when wizards had been bustling about, none remained after Penia had delivered the potions.

Understanding that the wizards had already made their escape upon sensing the danger at the forward base, Alon heard Deus’s question.

“What are your intentions?”

Alon answered without pause.

“I will remain here.”

The very reason Alon had brought so many artifacts to Caliban, even going so far as to borrow the Ring of the Argonaut One from the royal family, was to confront the Outer God.

If he did not deal with the Outer God, the future he foresaw would be nothing but catastrophe.

As Alon was mentally reviewing his strategies—

“Waaaahhh!!”

A horrific scream suddenly erupted from the distance. He immediately rose and sprinted from the tent.

Outside, he saw a wizard shrieking madly, alongside other wizards fleeing in a panic toward the forward base.

And then—

!!!

Behind them, the undead were advancing.

“It’s the undead!”

“Aaaaah!”

The soldiers cried out, as if reliving a recent nightmare, and clustered at the entrance with their swords held ready. The knights, too, began to ready their arms, their faces etched with confusion and dread.

Despite the sudden turmoil, Alon quickly comprehended the situation.

‘A surprise attack…!’

Realizing the Outer God had moved even more swiftly than the fleeing wizards had predicted, Alon’s thoughts were cut short as—

“Everyone, draw your swords!”

At Fiola’s sharp cry from the barracks, the battle was joined.

Undead that charge forward mindlessly, devoid of tactics or strategy, are far weaker in combat prowess than a disciplined army. Even the necromancers of this continent, raising the dead through dark arts, could never overcome well-drilled soldiers.

However—

“Somebody, help me!”

“Aaagh!”

This horde of undead was fundamentally different from those controlled by common necromancers.

“Die! Just die! I beg you!”

Soldiers drove their spears into the undead.

Some struck at the heart, others the head, and some aimed for the legs. The soldiers’ spears pierced the undead in various places. Had these been corpses animated by a necromancer, such damage should have rendered them inoperative.

But—

“……”

Even with spears impaling their bodies, the undead pressed forward. The sight of them advancing with spear shafts still embedded was more than enough to plant sheer terror in the soldiers’ hearts.

Squelch!

“Grrk—!”

A soldier died instantly, his throat punctured by an undead’s blade. The situation worsened as the undead immediately turned its attack to the soldier beside him.

The seed of fear planted in the soldiers’ instincts was ready to blossom. Their formation disintegrated, and in moments, the battlefield devolved into bedlam. This, in turn, led to more fatalities, which only resulted in more undead rising from the slain, creating the most vicious of cycles.

Yet, despite the dire circumstances, the soldiers clenched their teeth, their eyes wide and bloodshot as they fought on. Why? Because a sliver of hope remained.

The knights, wielding weapons sheathed in aura, were swiftly cutting down the overwhelming numbers of undead, reducing them by the thousands. The wizards, who had entered the fray later, were eliminating the undead even faster than the knights.

Among them, the magic unleashed by Penia was especially breathtaking.

“Icicle.”

Crack—! Crash-crash-crash!

Her spellwork was extraordinary. Hundreds of undead surging toward the soldiers were instantly encased in ice and then shattered into fragments, a truly magnificent display.

However, even more than Penia, the figures that filled the soldiers with hope were the two Master Knights present: Fiola and Deus. Between them, Deus’s presence was overwhelmingly dominant.

Sssht!

Dozens of undead encircled him. Some were soldiers with grievous head wounds, others were knights with cavernous holes in their chests. But—

In a flash, the hundreds of undead surrounding Deus suddenly froze, as if time had stopped for them alone.

And then—

Swish—

With a single, effortless horizontal sweep of Deus’s sword, every one of the motionless undead was cleanly bisected.

One strike. Hundreds of bodies.

An overwhelming exhibition of superhuman power that ignited hope in the eyes of the soldiers and knights. But at that very moment—

Boom!

With a thunderous detonation, the Outer God landed in the heart of the battlefield.

For an instant, the movements of the undead ceased, and the gaze of every soldier shifted to the new arrival. The sheer, crushing presence of the Outer God saturated the air, and even Deus and Fiola could not conceal the tension that flashed in their eyes.

As the cloud of ashen dust settled, revealing the form of a man, everyone held their breath.

Though he wore the garments of the barbarians, his body had transcended any definition of humanity. His immense frame and azure skin signaled that this being had long since departed from the human realm.

And then—

[Barbarian, do not defile the sins of those who know not honor.]

With Ulthultus’s echoing voice, the undead began to stir once more. The bodies Penia had shattered into pieces started to mend, fusing like slime and regenerating their physical forms. The corpses severed by Deus’s blade also began to knit back together.

In that instant—

Sssht!

Fiola, who had been still until that moment, materialized directly in front of the Outer God. His sharp instincts had told him the battle’s tide had turned the moment the undead resurrected; victory was no longer attainable.

As one of Caliban’s swiftest Master Knights, possessing the power of ‘divine speed’, he struck before Ulthultus could even react.

Thunk!

Fiola’s sudden thrust pierced Ulthultus’s heart.

But—

Only the very tip of his blade had penetrated.

[Uhh.]

Ulthultus’s gaze shifted to Fiola, brimming with contempt.

[Barbarians know no honor. Those who forsake honor abandon their very being. Furthermore—]

Crack!

[They also relinquish the nobility of the soul.]

Thud.

Fiola’s body, which had just been gripping the sword, crumpled to the ground. His head was no longer attached to his shoulders.

However—

[There is no honorable death for those who disregard all value.]

With these words, Fiola’s headless form began to twitch and convulse, rising once again to its feet. Witnessing this ghastly spectacle, everyone present understood the grim reality: this battle was lost.

Fear washed over the soldiers’ faces, and despair began to claim the knights and wizards alike.

Even Penia and Deus, who had far exceeded ordinary human limits, were not immune to this despair. In truth, they had sensed it even sooner than the others.

With their heightened perception, they knew the being before them possessed power far beyond their initial estimations.

As cries of agony and despair rose from the undead, they were consumed by hopelessness—all except for one man.

“O mighty god of duels, Ulthultus.”

While everyone else was sinking into despair, a single man began to walk toward the giant, passing between the ranks of the living and the undead.

Step step.

Neither hurried nor slow.

“In accordance with the great oath of Kalgunius.”

The face of the man walking toward the giant was serene, even amidst this hellscape of despair. As if he had endured such experiences countless times before.

And that man—

“I, Alon Palatio, in the name of the great oath—”

The Count of Palatio—

“—demand a duel of Babylonia.”

With a fluid turn of his wrist, Alon raised his arm, and a bracelet gleaming with a profound gray light shone as he stood facing the giant.