Battle of Baiman City 2

"Ready! Fire! Next group, ready! Fire!"

Ghouls blanketed the hills and plains as they charged toward Baiman City.

Arrows whistled down from the walls. The undead ghouls in the front ranks did not collapse like rag dolls until they were riddled with arrows, while the ghouls behind them trampled over the fallen chunks of flesh and continued forward.

"Damn it, these heretics had to strike at a time like this."

Count Kevin leaned over the city wall, watching the undead ghouls clutching at the wall as they climbed upward. Under normal circumstances, he would have led the White Lion Legion here and wiped out these evils long ago.

But this just happened to be during his rotation period. The troops he had stationed at the Armor Defense Line would not arrive for another two days, while the troops waiting there to rotate back had not yet set out.

This rare gap had actually been exploited. And what his son had said several hours ago made even Count Havent, a veteran of countless battles, begin to harbor doubts.

This is too much of a coincidence. The rotation schedule may not be much of a secret, but the timing was far too precise.

Could someone really be working with the heretics? Or was this a move from the Northern Frontier? Who could it be?

Count Havent surveyed the nobles standing atop the wall. At this moment, each of them was directing their knights and personal guards to attack the undead ghouls below.

"What are you looking at, Kevin?"

Count Mori came over from the other side of the wall. Billowing black smoke had turned the face of this normally pampered nobleman completely soot-stained.

"Nothing, Hadawei. I was thinking about something my son said a few hours ago."

Seeing that there was nothing unusual for the moment, Kevin dropped onto a wooden crate beside him. Count Mori removed the wineskin from his waist and handed it to Kevin.

"What did your son say?"

"By the way, where is that little fellow? He was quite interesting. If not for what he said in the meeting room earlier—"

"—we would not have had so many people come to help. Things are much better now. We only need to wait for the Dawn Guard to arrive."

Kevin took a sip from the wineskin, frowned, and smacked his lips.

"Heh, Hadawei. Since when did you start drinking something only women drink?"

The sticky texture of the mead left Count Havent somewhat dissatisfied. He plugged the stopper back in and tossed it back.

"Havent told me he felt that this war was full of strange things. In his words, he could not tell where the problem lay, but the lack of any problem was the biggest problem of all."

Count Mori accepted the mead without the slightest disgust, pulled out the stopper, and tipped his head back for a drink.

"Oh? That is an interesting way to put it!"

"Your son seems much wiser than you. He takes after Louise in that regard."

"What else did he say?"

Kevin looked up at the sun. There were still two hours before nightfall, and the cries of battle atop the walls remained deafening.

"He said the Church of Death had been much more active in the Southern Province before this."

"But this time, it suddenly erupted in our Northern Frontier without any warning."

"And in just a few days, they gathered over ten thousand people. That was far too fast."

"Oh, and they even converted an entire dragon into an undead creature. Has a dragon ever fallen in our Northern Frontier? Do you know, Hadawei?"

Count Mori felt some discomfort in his neck. He removed his helmet and shook his head from side to side.

"I am not sure. Perhaps it was left behind from one of the wars before. You know how many wars there have been between our Northern Frontier and the Orc Empire."

"It might have been left over from one of those great wars. Those damned cultists all deserve to be nailed to the Sacred Pillar."

His light brown hair was wet and plastered uncomfortably against his face. Count Mori irritably shook his head. This damned accident had disrupted his plans.

"Not only that. Aside from the speed, there is also the timing."

"The personnel rotation of the White Lion Legion, as well as your trip to the Imperial Capital to report on your duties—those dates may not have been secrets, but it all happened precisely at this point in time."

Following Count Havent's words, Hadawei sat on the crate and cast his triangular eyes toward the other nobles who had come seeking refuge.

"Yes, it seems some people are unwilling to remain quiet."

"Then let us see whether they truly have what it takes."

"You should go rest. I will keep watch. The Dawn Guard will arrive the day after tomorrow, so time is tight for them as well."

"I am old. I cannot fight much anymore. The night shift will be up to you."

On the other side of the wall, a tall, thin knight in black armor watched the two men talking on the wooden crate in the distance. He only turned away after seeing Count Havent leave the wall.

"Lord Dalot, hurry! The ghouls have climbed up over here!"

Hearing someone call him, the black-armored knight strode to the battlement, lifted an oil barrel beside him, and hurled it down. Several barrels smashed the undead ghouls climbing halfway up the wall and sent them tumbling down.

The soldiers nearby hurriedly set arrows alight and fired them downward. In an instant, the area below became a sea of fire.

Seeing that they had repelled the attack, the soldiers on the wall cheered.

Leaning over the battlement, Dalot watched the flames burning below. He casually took an iron ball from the pouch at his waist and threw it down.

Third-floor study of the Magic Tower.

Having finished the entire book, Havent scratched the back of his head. The book had only offered a vague and ambiguous answer.

"What does it mean to awaken the original body? It did not even say how to awaken it."

However, judging from the contents of several other books, killing the cultist controlling the Demon Dragon was indeed one possible method. If that was the case...

With that thought, Havent formed a rough plan. He picked up the books on the table, intending to discuss the plan with his teacher.

Leaving the room, he looked up at the sun. There was only an hour left before sunset. He had to hurry.

A hillside ten kilometers outside Baiman City.

Great King of Gloom, ruler of the undead, weaver of life and death,

Lord of Pale Hell, harvester of flesh,

Narak!

Your faithful servants are spreading Your divine miracle.

May the path of the dead guide us.

...

Ten black-robed Death Cultists knelt at the edge of a massive blood-red magic circle.

At the center of the circle lay a badly damaged giant dragon. As the light of the magic circle grew brighter and brighter, the green glow upon the dragon's body intensified as well.

Only half the sun remained hanging above the mountains on the horizon.

"Lord Alan, the ritual is complete. The power of death should be enough for us to breach the fortress before us."

The black-robed man standing at the head of the formation removed his hood. His gray-white, withered hair scattered in the evening breeze. There was not the slightest bit of flesh on his cheeks, and his eye sockets were deeply sunken, making him look like a dried corpse.

Alan looked at the dragon in the magic circle, and a dry, wood-scraping laugh came from his throat.

"Heh heh heh..."

"Embrace death. Everyone will find salvation in death."

"Attack! Deliver the living ahead from their suffering."

"The path of death guides us."

The Demon Dragon sprawled across the magic circle struggled to its feet and slowly flew into the sky.