Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 60

The piled-up corpses nearly reached the height of the makeshift walls. The battlefield had turned into a mass grave, and Walm caught the strange sounds of something crawling among the haphazardly strewn bodies. Walm, armed with his halberd, was ready to confront the threat, but these creatures, with clear intent, rushed towards the thinly manned sections of the defense.

“There, they’re heading that way!!”

Fleck, a user of a large shield, shouted out loud. The monsters, threading through the gaps among the experienced soldiers, charged forward. The Highserk soldiers, heeding the adventurers’ warning, swung their short swords but only managed to sever a few legs.

Unconcerned with the soldiers, the centipede, with numerous legs, had already breached the wall. A single creature would have been a blessing, but instead, a horde of giant centipedes surged forward, carrying orcs, lizardmen, and goblins on their backs.

“Three have broken through!!”

The insectoid monsters, each nearly 6 meters long, crossed the walls, heading towards a corner filled with refugees. Unfortunately, the monsters riding on their backs scattered throughout the castle.

Walm killed a kobold in front of him and wanted to help, but an orc, wielding a war hammer, blocked his way.

Dodging by shifting his upper body, Walm narrowly avoided the heavy blow. He thrust the spear tip into the gap between the orc’s ribs, skewering its heart. The orc, instantly dead, was kicked off the walls by Walm.

Not just Walm, but the Highserk soldiers and adventurers were all too late to prevent the damage that was about to spread to the defenseless refugees.

The centipede, carrying off a dead body and opening its mandibles for consumption, was suddenly stopped. Its head was literally smashed to pieces by a shadow that leaped from among the refugees. Hard outer skin and viscous fluids splattered everywhere.

“Huh?”

No one blamed Walm for his dumbfounded exclamation. A centipede that could reach A-rank depending on its growth, especially a B-rank specimen, was crushed in a single blow, and that too, bare-handed. Anyone would be stunned by such a sight.

The one who achieved this was a stern-looking, older, and plump woman.

“Ahh, look at the pitiful Highserk soldiers who razed neighboring countries! You active adventurers are no better.”

Her words could be taken as provocation, but Walm felt no discomfort. Lizardmen and goblins attacked the middle-aged woman from the relaxed centipede’s back, but their swords were deflected bare-handed, and she opened a fist-sized hole in the lizardman’s chest. The goblin, attempting to take advantage of the opening, was met with a knee to the face, obliterating everything above its jaw.

The woman, unstoppable by both humans and monsters, reached the walls. Despite her appearance, she moved with surprising agility up to the wall path. Armored skeletons tried to stop her, but she crushed their spines with her fists and kicked their crawling upper bodies high into the air.

“Mom?!”

“Deborah… What are you doing?”

Two men, apparently her family, tried to restrain her in their confusion.

“I’m going to slaughter these annoying monsters!!”

She lifted a spare bar used for barricading, held it above her head, and swung it around, sweeping away the climbing monsters.

“Well, isn’t this handy!!”

A lizardman, who barely survived by clinging to the ground, attacked from the side but vanished with a backhand blow to the head. It was clear she possessed multiple skills for physical enhancement and hardening.

“Yogim, Moiz!! You two come along. Don’t slack off!!”

The two men, reluctantly named by the old woman Deborah, climbed onto the wall.

At first glance, they appeared to be a slender family, but their movements were refined and efficient, even in Walm’s eyes. Yogim, the father, effortlessly navigated crumbling footholds and plunged his short sword into the throat of a leaping werewolf, twisting and pulling it out.

A hellbat, shifting unpredictably, tried a surprise attack from a blind spot but was met with a sword, its insides flung into the air as it fell.

The son Moiz swung his longsword with his thin limbs, activating ‘Super Strength’, and severing a scorpion’s poison tail. He sliced through pincer-like limbs and drove his sword deep into its head.

“What kind of family is this…”

Al voiced everyone’s thoughts.

“Whether you are citizens of Mayard or not, grit your teeth, stand your ground, strengthen your resolve, and fight!! Show them your strength!!”

To lift the morale that had been declining, Walm shouted encouragement. Physical strength is finite, but morale can make a significant difference.

Walm knew well what makes people grow and their magic evolve. In the face of death, people show their true worth.

“Hahaha, monsters, monsters, monsters!! I’ve never seen such a sight even in my active days!!”

Encouraged by the blood-spattered Deborah, the soldiers plunged into the frenzied crucible of battle.

◆

As the twins’ moons shimmered in the sky, countering the sun’s assault, dawn was about to break. Men and women, young and old, enemies, different races, and nations alike, all grouped in battalions, equally engaged in the struggle for survival. How ironic it was that what united their hearts was not a prayer for peace, nor words of brotherhood, but the impending wave of death before them.

Taking refuge in a nearly destroyed building, Walm ended his less than 2 hour sleep on a “clean” floor covered only in dust and dirt. The familiar sounds of battle indicated that the fight against the monsters continued. He was thankful that the temporary walls had not been breached after surviving another long day.

Despite the ongoing battle, Walm managed to relieve himself without dirtying his lower half, a time-attacked routine. A breakfast awaited Walm; amidst the refugees, those who couldn’t endure the battle were still functioning as cooks. To Walm’s delight, a steaming bowl of soup was brought before him.

An old woman, indistinguishable from an undead, and a girl barely ten years old poured an overflowing amount of soup into Walm’s bowl. With fewer mouths to feed, the strain on resources was lessened, improving the food situation.

Walm sipped the soup, chewed on a chunk of unidentifiable meat, swallowed it, and tore off a piece of black bread with his back teeth, washing it down with the soup.

To recover the expended magical power, good sleep and high-calorie intake were essential. The cobblestone bed scattered with gravel and debris felt almost heavenly. What remained was the meal.

The blend of dried blood, body odor, and the stench of guts added a certain ambiance to the meal. Moreover, the chorus of screams and curses seemed to welcome Walm to a morning of elegance.

Unfolding a rough cloth, he found hard-baked biscuits, a preserved food. Only by soaking them in water, Walm’s teeth were able to overpower the biscuits. He had seriously considered using magical enhancement to strengthen his body when eating these dry, joking that they were more of a hazard than combat itself.

“I can’t handle these without water.”

Remembering his former superior officer, who had once effortlessly chewed such deadly hard biscuits, Walm smiled faintly.

Crunching the biscuits like drilling through rock, he swallowed them with water. After several such motions, Walm’s breakfast came to an end.

Lighting a cigarette, taking a deep drag, he exhaled a purple smoke upwards. There was no time to finish it all. He offered the remaining cigarette to a fellow soldier eating nearby.

“Want the rest?”

“Much appreciated, Knight. You’re just like one of us.”

The soldier, missing his front teeth, likely due to the biscuits, happily accepted it, inhaled deeply, and exhaled tiredly.

“Good luck in battle.”

Flicking the cigarette, the soldier watched as Walm left.

Returning to the ramparts, Walm approached Deborah who was dispensing death, and asked, “How’s the situation?”

The adventurers were so exhausted they were practically dead asleep. There were four platoon leaders, Nepolk, Wake, Friug, and Yor who had been entrusted to help commanding the walls by the battalion commander Justus. This left Deborah’s family as the most reliable veteran to ask for opinion.

“Come on, I never signed up to be a soldier,” Deborah replied, crushing goblins’ heads in a whack-a-mole style and changing her tone, “The pressure has lessened. Half of the monsters probably followed the Flame Emperor Dragon. But there must be a leading figure in charge of thousands.”

“No confirmation yet.”

The Flame Emperor Dragon, considered a living disaster, was classified as SS-rank. It’s unimaginable that a leader of a rampaging horde of thousands would be only A-rank.

“There should be a master and his entourage. Let’s hope they stay quiet.”

“You seem quite knowledgeable.”

“Me and Yogim are retired adventurers. We faced a small-scale Great Rampage in the Falmunk Republic during our adventurer days. The master we fought with the national army was a Lord-rank.”

Walm searched his memory. Falmunk, a country annihilated over 20 years ago by a Great Rampage, eventually had its remaining territories annexed by the Highserk Empire.

“Soldiers and adventurers died en masse. Hah, maybe we should pray to the gods?”

Yogim, looking unlucky, forced a twisted smile.

Just as hope seemed to appear on the horizon, this was what they faced. Walm didn’t believe in fate, and if gods existed, he knew they were good-for-nothing.

“Praying won’t do us much good!”

If Deborah were to leave the battlefield now, Walm would genuinely pray from the bottom of his heart to stop her.