Chapter 756

Chapter 756
Crack!

The headless torso of the dark mage slumped to the dirt. He had perished without even registering the blow, his glazed eyes fixed in a state of eternal shock.

“……?”

The remaining sorcerers froze in place. The scene before them defied logic. From the heart of that infernal blaze—an explosion of such magnitude that even a master warrior should have been reduced to a broken, blood-vomiting mess—a man had stepped out completely unharmed.

It wasn’t merely a surprise; it was an impossibility they hadn’t even factored into their plans. The sheer absurdity of it paralyzed their minds, leaving their limbs heavy and unresponsive.

Slick!

Julien’s blade carved through the air once more. Another dark mage was sent tumbling, dead before he could even twitch an eyelid.

Snap!

In that instant, three more silhouettes tore through the fading pillar of fire.

“Ghislain!” Ereneth shrieked, her hand reaching out in a frantic gesture.

A water spirit materialized at her call, swirling around Ghislain in a protective cocoon. Its translucent, refreshing essence washed over him, immediately beginning the process of knitting his flesh back together.

Without missing a beat, Kyle vaulted forward. “Out of the way!”

Julien, sensing the momentum, pivoted his body instinctively to clear a path.

Clang!

Kyle’s sword descended with savage precision, cleaving a dark mage in a jagged diagonal from his collarbone to his hip.

Boom!

The sorcerer, split nearly in half down to his very skeleton, collapsed into a heap. Only one enemy remained. Julien and Kyle immediately converged on Bulag.

Neither warrior wavered. Their lives had been forged in enough conflict that hesitation was no longer in their vocabulary. Lionel, however, was a different story. He still suffered from the lingering habit of over-analyzing a crisis while it was happening.

“Wh-what? How? Why are we still breathing?” Stunned and pale, Lionel could do little more than raise his shield and huddle near Ghislain.

As Julien and Kyle closed the distance, Bulag finally snapped out of his trance. He raised a magical barrier, though only after watching his comrades be systematically slaughtered.

Crash!

Under the combined weight of the two knights’ assault, Bulag’s shield buckled and shattered into nothingness.

“Khrrrk!”

Bulag let out a pained grunt as he stumbled backward. Even as a practitioner of the 5th Circle, facing two elite combatants simultaneously was a losing proposition—especially with his mana reserves running dangerously low. With his defenses gone, he stared blankly at the two blades arching toward his neck.

In that moment, Ghislain’s voice rang out quietly. “Halt.”

Slash!

Instead of a killing blow, Julien’s sword bit deep into Bulag’s shoulder, while Kyle’s edge took him through the leg.

“GYAAAAAAAAH!”

Bulag wailed, hitting the ground with one arm and one leg rendered useless.

Thanks to Ereneth’s intervention, the worst of Ghislain’s injuries had closed. He stood up slowly, brushing the dust from his clothes. Though his complexion remained ashen and fatigue weighed on his brow, that characteristic, mischievous smirk returned to his face.

“Ugh… that was a close one.” Ghislain rolled his shoulders, working the stiffness out of his joints. “I burned through every drop of mana I had keeping you lot in one piece.”

Seeing him move, Lionel finally found his voice, though it came out in a high-pitched tremble. “One mistake and we’d be charcoal! Why do you insist on being so damn suicidal?!”

“But we aren’t,” Ghislain replied with a casual shrug. “I ran the numbers. I don’t take risks unless the math checks out.”

“Math? You’re telling me you foresaw an ambush of this scale and were certain you could tank it?”

“I was. I always operate with a strategy.”

Lionel went silent. He had no counterargument; they were alive, and that was an irrefutable fact.

In reality, Ghislain had absorbed the brunt of the magical fallout by channeling his entire mana pool into a shield for his teammates. Because of his sacrifice, the other three were untouched, while he alone had to endure a physical strain that pushed his limits to the breaking point.

He had expected a trap, knowing the enemy’s current strength wouldn’t be enough to halt a superhuman. While the sheer scale of the explosion had exceeded his guesses, he maintained his “all-knowing” persona. It was the only way to ensure his subordinates would follow him with absolute conviction.

“Now then, let’s have a little chat.” With a tired sigh, Ghislain approached Bulag.

The crippled mage tried to drag himself away through the dirt. Without saying a word, Ghislain brought his heel down on Bulag’s remaining leg.

Crunch!

“AAAAARGHHHH!”

Bulag’s screams filled the air as his last limb snapped. He thrashed in the dirt, trapped and broken.

Ghislain knelt beside him. “Was it your handiwork—releasing the beasts in this region to prey on the locals?”

“Y-Yes! Yes, it was! But I was coerced! I was forced into it!” Bulag blubbered, tears streaking his face. “A priest from the Salvation Order gave the orders! I had no choice!”

“And who is this priest?”

“I don’t know his name! He’s been funneling us gold and supplies for a long time… I only realized he was with the Salvation Order recently. Before that, it was just a hunch.”

Ghislain nodded. This matched the testimony of Basilude, the dark mage from Nodehill. He moved to the next point.

“Why were you ordered to obstruct us?”

“I don’t know that either! He just said there was a strong probability the Julien Mercenary Corps would pass through here… and that we should lie in wait.”

“…So they weren’t certain. It was a guess.” Ghislain’s expression darkened. It was a relief they didn’t have a spy in his camp, but the fact that they could anticipate his route was concerning.

*So, they really suspect we’re heading for the dwarves.*

He looked toward the horizon. This was indeed the most direct path to their goal. How had a priest of the Salvation Order deduced his trajectory? And why the sudden urgency to stop them?

Ghislain contemplated the sequence of events. *Our capture of Ismoken and his delivery to the Empire is public knowledge. Then the Julien Mercenary Corps went to the Elven Forest, where I clashed with their high-ranking leadership. Munareff knows who I am.*

It wasn’t a leap for them to assume the Julien Mercenary Corps was working for the Pope to secure the Sacred Stone. Logically, the dwarven sanctuary was the next stop.

*If they’re after the dwarves too… they need to buy time.*

Rahаmod and Munareff had seen what he was capable of. A superhuman alone was a problem, but 100 Death Knights under his command made him a nightmare for an organization that relied on dark arts.

Ghislain took a deep breath, the puzzle pieces clicking together. He looked back at the sobbing man. “Did they tell you to hold us up for a month?”

“Yes! Just a delay! Even if we couldn’t kill you, we were told to drag it out as long as possible!”

Ghislain nodded. His intuition was correct. *They are preparing a full-scale assault on the dwarves.*

By seeding the world with monsters and dark mages, the Salvation Order was forcing the various kingdoms to look inward, dealing with domestic chaos rather than sending aid. Meanwhile, they could concentrate their forces on the dwarves.

*The path ahead is going to be a gauntlet.*

The Order likely didn’t expect a handful of dark mages to actually kill them. By ordering a delay, they were signaling that more obstacles were likely waiting further down the road.

Ghislain clicked his tongue and looked at Bulag one last time. “Anything else?”

“N-No! Nothing! We rarely saw them in person. Just drop-offs and occasional contacts!”

“Hmm…”

“Please, have mercy! I’ll give up the dark arts! I’ll disappear! I was forced, I tell you!” Bulag wailed, playing the victim despite having spent his time slaughtering civilians.

Ghislain watched him with cold curiosity. “Why did you join them? You must know that if the Salvation Order succeeds, they’ll purge people like you eventually.”

“We… we have no place else. The kingdoms just want us executed.”

“So you chose them?”

“Every dark mage probably has. Better to be on the side that uses us than be hunted by everyone.”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

“Even if a war starts, humanity won’t fall easily. It never does. And in the middle of that war… we might actually get a seat at the table with the human alliance. We thrive in the wreckage.”

It was classic dark mage logic: profit from the chaos, and ignore the mountain of corpses required to create it. Ghislain let out a hollow laugh.

*They really are all the same.*

Basilude had expressed the same sentiment. It was clear this was the collective ideology of their kind. He didn’t blame them for being self-interested—everyone was, to an extent—but he wasn’t about to let it slide.

“I hear you. But I’m not the type to leave an enemy at my back.” Ghislain smiled thinly and raised his staff.

Bulag’s eyes went wide. “W-Wait! I told you everything! You’ve used dark magic too! We’re the same!”

“If you were prepared to take lives, you should have been prepared to lose yours. And don’t ever compare yourself to me.” Ghislain’s voice turned freezing. “Letting trash like you breathe is a waste of oxygen.”

“You… you son of a—!”

Crack!

With a dull thud, Bulag’s skull was crushed. Ghislain flicked the gore from his staff and stood up.

“You heard the man. We’re officially on their hit list. The rest of this trip won’t be a walk in the park.”

Ereneth’s eyes sparkled. “That’s exactly why I came along! That was incredible! So much tension!”

The rest of the group stared at her in dead silence. She was the least elf-like elf they had ever encountered. Ghislain, thinking of the wars to come, gave a small chuckle.

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from. Let’s move.”

Lionel looked horrified. “Wait, move? Now? We just fought for our lives, and you were literally spitting up blood ten minutes ago. Aren’t you going to rest?”

“Are you worried about me, Lionel? I didn’t know you cared.”

“You lunatic! I’m saying *I’m* exhausted!”

“We’ll recover while we walk.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Watch me. Right now, we’re on a forced march. We only stop if we’re about to drop dead. You’re a knight—you understand the importance of an objective, don’t you?”

Lionel looked to Julien and Kyle for support, but they both simply nodded in agreement. Defeated, Lionel slumped his shoulders and grumbled.

“These people are insane… We aren’t a legion, yet it’s all ‘objectives’ and ‘marches.’ Why do we act like a standing army? Where did a mercenary even learn to talk like that?”

To Lionel, Ghislain was a walking contradiction. Most of the time he was a reckless rogue, but occasionally he commanded with the cold efficiency of a veteran general. He had no way of knowing that Ghislain had once been known as the God of War.

If Ghislain wasn’t stopping, it meant he still had the resolve to push forward.

“Let’s gather the civilians too. We can’t leave them here with monsters prowling.”

Despite the rush, Ghislain wouldn’t abandon the survivors. He would escort them to the nearest city. Using his magic and Ereneth’s spirits, they could bolster the civilians’ endurance to keep up with the pace.

And so, the party set off once more.

—

High in the fog-shrouded peaks of a remote mountain range.

Hidden between gnarled, ancient trees sat a cavern that had been forgotten by time. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and rot, the floor carpeted in bone fragments.

Deep within the recesses, figures in charcoal robes stood around a ritual site. The walls were painted with sanguine runes, and a massive circle pulsed with the rhythm of fresh blood.

A raspy, chilling voice emerged from the darkness. “…Status of the preparations?”

A dark mage bowed his head, trembling. “N-Not yet complete, Master.”

A heavy silence descended.

“…You are failing me.”

“The dwarven defenses are formidable! We require more time to bypass the enchantments!”

Fwooooosh!

A wave of oppressive dark energy flooded the chamber, physically weighing down the mages.

“Arghhh!”
“Please, mercy!”

Even as 5th Circle casters, they were helpless against the pressure. It crawled into their minds and squeezed their hearts.

Tap.

The pressure vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The dark energy receded, coiling toward the cave entrance as if detecting an intruder.

“…Who is there?” the voice demanded.

Step. Step. Step.

The sound of confident boots echoed against the stone. A figure emerged from the shadows.

The owner of the voice let out a sharp intake of breath, surprise coloring their tone. “…Prophet Rahаmod. What brings you here? Your post is in the Elven Forest.”

Rahаmod looked at them with a grim set to his jaw. “I failed.”

“You… failed?”

“Yes. The Julien Mercenary Corps intervened.”

The cave fell into a long, profound silence.