Several squad leaders with near- Middle Tier strength combined the symbiotic plants together and barely managed to withstand Motley's first wave of attack.
Facing this Grand Knight Commander, who was once renowned for his defense and strength, they did not intend to engage him in a head-on confrontation, but rather to take turns wearing him down.
But this method was clearly not going to work. So many Wild Hunt soldiers were launching a frenzied attack, and there was neither the time nor the space in the army to let them waste Motley's stamina reserves.
Just then they heard a clear and unambiguous command:
"Hold those soldiers back, I'll deal with him."
The one who shouted these words was Marba. He had already completed the preliminary preparations. His left hand Alienation into a shotgun, and his right hand was a hammer Alienation from the real Marba's symbiotic plant, " Life-Claiming Camphor ".
Against an individual with such strong defense as Motley, the longsword and wooden arrows would most likely be useless. Putting himself in Marba's shoes, Duma felt that only blunt weapons could help him fight.
"Bang!"
With a loud bang, Motley's heavy punch collided with Marba's elbow. Marba had already rooted himself deep into the ground, and the violent impact was transmitted downwards through his body, causing the entire ground to tremble noticeably.
The next moment, Marba brought down his right hammer, aiming straight for Motley's head, and the two began to fight back and forth.
Heavy punches and sledgehammers clashed repeatedly, the sounds of blunt weapons striking each other echoing across the battlefield.
Faced with the opponent's relentless attack, Marba's lips curled into a sneer:
"The commander of an army is personally leading the charge? If I kill you, your men will scatter like birds and beasts in an instant."
It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to Motley like that, and his fighting spirit was stirred up somewhat; his deep voice quickly responded:
"Are you allowed to launch surprise attacks on others' rear, but others aren't allowed to attack you first?"
Marba's tone remained sarcastic:
"Heh, there are eight Middle Tier legion commanders here, each of whom can act as commanders. What do you have over there?"
Motley slammed his hand down and shouted:
"You'll see for yourself!"
Marba dodged the attack and was about to refute it both verbally and physically when he suddenly heard a strange cry:
"You, why aren't you dead?"
Marba kicked Motley in the knee, then stepped back, glancing in the direction from which the strange cry had come.
Upon seeing the scene, Marba's hair stood on end instantly.
What did he see?
One person, an enemy with at least eight penetrating wounds on his body.
With eight penetrating wounds, each so deep that you could see right through him, this man was riddled with holes.
These are from those grape-shaped projectiles.
But why is he still alive?
Even Marba was surprised, but what was even more terrifying was yet to come. The man leaped and pounced on a squad leader.
He dropped his weapon and used his hands and feet to hold the squad leader tightly, while another man behind him thrust his longsword straight through them in an instant, as decisively as if he were stringing candied hawthorns together!
Then another gaunt enemy strode forward and slashed across their waists, cutting the two men into four pieces.
What's going on?
These are your companions!
Just like that... just like that...
Just as he was surprised, he saw the enemy, who had already landed on the ground, raise his head and look in his direction.
His lips curled slightly upward, his face radiating a sense of relief, his eyes filled with gratitude and longing for the future. His lips moved, though no sound came out, but Marba could see clearly that he was saying:
"I can finally die."
Marba could hardly believe his eyes; as a commander, his worldview cracked at that moment.
The more experienced a person is, the more they tend to believe in the power of experience, and Marba is a prime example of this.
He couldn't understand why these people would go to such lengths for a lord. Even he, before using a slime to self-destruct, would leave offspring for him. Even he, before sending the Holy Crusaders to their deaths, would set an example himself.
The ultimate purpose of these actions is to increase the cohesion of their own faction, but now these enemies are killing their comrades, and their slain comrades seem to be grateful.
This is absolutely outrageous.
Before Marba could think, Motley's iron fist came crashing down again.
At that moment, he really wanted to Ignite the other person with his demonic flames, so that this brainless guy wouldn't get in the way of his growing experience.
However, his professional ethics as a game booster prevented him from doing so.
Using one's own power is something that can be done in an unseen corner ( Psionic Energy marking), and it's absolutely forbidden to reveal it in front of everyone. This is his (self-imposed) professional code of conduct.
Marba continued to fight Motley, but his attacks shifted from deadly and fierce to much more perfunctory. His mind was no longer on the attack; he only wanted to observe everything happening around him.
The squad leader, who was first pierced and then cut in half, was clearly dead beyond any doubt, but the enemy's corpse, which had also been cut in half at the waist, seemed to have undergone some changes.
Clumps of tiny, milky-white roots stretched out from the snow, their color almost blending into the environment.
If Duma hadn't possessed extraordinary demonic vision, he probably wouldn't have noticed these subtle details.
The roots enveloped the enemy's two severed bodies, then slowly dragged them into the ground.
What?
Marba was taken aback.
He hadn't considered the possibility of resurrection at all, because anyone with eyes could see that this enemy was completely different from the rebels in Fir City in terms of both temperament and combat strength.
In Marba's experience, enemies with similar abilities always share similarities, a phenomenon that applies to both demons and humans.
The enemy's temperament and aura were different from those of the rebels; in his experience, the two sides could be considered different races.
Furthermore, the person said "I can finally die" before he died, doesn't that prove he won't be resurrected?
Or was it because she glanced at him that he decided to deceive himself with the last moments of his life?
Marba's thoughts were in turmoil.
He knew this couldn't go on. Although his men were clearly capable of defeating the enemies, time was not on their side.
He must regain command and lead the team forward, so Motley must be dealt with.
A sharp aura returned to the legion commander's body, and he once again shifted from a perfunctory state back to a fighting stance.