The Avengers (2)
Achilles Philemon.
A name I hadn’t heard in a while, yet one I could never forget.
It was about half a year ago, at the end of the tutorial, when I first set foot in Falchion.
In the weeks-long war against the cultists, the battle with Achilles was undoubtedly one of the most memorable.
“I was Achilles’ mentor. We hunted giants together when I was part of the Imperial Knights.”
Achilles, who held the purse strings of the Telia Merchant Guild and was a warrior who hadn’t forgotten his swordsmanship from his days as an Imperial Knight.
The voice resonating from within the helmet belonged to someone who had assumed the exact same stance as that guild master, pointing a sword at Dalen.
Dalen scratched his chin and spoke.
“I’m sorry about your student.”
“Yes, it’s unfortunate. But I’m glad I can finally seek revenge, even if it’s late. It’s been over ten years since I lost contact with Achilles. If that mage you just defeated hadn’t told me, I might never have known of my student’s death.”
“Wouldn’t it have been better that way? You wouldn’t have come all this way just to die a dog’s death.”
Bjorn interjected, and the knight’s helmet turned towards the dwarf.
Even with his face completely obscured by the helmet, his displeasure was palpable.
“A non-human like you shouldn’t interfere in human conversations, you sack of oats.”
“Ha! A so-called free knight, yet you still reek of the Empire’s disgusting prejudice.”
Bjorn growled, thumping the handle of his axe on the ground. Dalen stepped forward calmly.
He reached out his hand, causing the knight to flinch and step back.
”…What are you doing?”
When nothing happened immediately, the knight tilted his helmet and asked in a hesitant voice.
“Ignel Rot.”
Dalen chanted softly, focusing not on the knight but on the corpse lying beside him.
Whoosh!
Flames erupted.
The holy tattoo on his hand glowed, and the sacred fire began to flicker from the axe connected to the cursed sword of Leredorna.
“Aaaah!”
The mage, whose heart had clearly stopped, screamed as the flames consumed him.
The knight, visibly startled, retreated a few steps, seemingly afraid of the flames licking in all directions.
“How could this be? How did you know?”
“You think this is my first boss fight?”
”…What?”
Dalen chuckled, wiggling his fingers.
The axe embedded in the mage’s head trembled before shooting out and landing in Dalen’s hand.
“Tsk.”
The knight clicked his tongue, pulling a small glass totem from his belt pouch.
Crack!
The glass figure shattered in his plated grip, and at the same time, Dalen drew his holy sword.
Bjorn, quick on the uptake, pulled a bundle of homemade grenades from his coat just as the moonlight dimmed, and ominous magic enveloped the area.
Oooooo…
A chorus of eerie screams echoed from all around.
The stars in the sky lost their light, replaced by flickering, sinister flames.
The flames grew, transforming into portals.
From the rifts of varying sizes emerged knights clad in ashen armor.
Thud. Thump.
Dozens of knights fell from the sky, accompanied by what seemed like ten times as many soldiers.
A decaying army of flesh and clattering bones surrounded the group, their eyes glinting with a cold, blue fire.
“Heh heh heh. These mercenaries are quick on the uptake.”
On the ashes of the corpse consumed by sacred fire, a man identical to the recently deceased mage emerged from the last portal made of sinister flames.
Unlike the corpse, which had no discernible power, the thick magic emanating from him was akin to that of a low-level demon.
Dalen recognized him.
He was supposed to be a harbinger of the Blood Demon War, a necromancer who would bring a bloody storm to the northern Empire.
But under certain conditions, he became a boss monster, teaming up with a knight in silver armor to hunt down the protagonist.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m the lover of the witch you killed, Ehila.”
Those certain conditions involved eliminating both the Apostles of Regression and the Witch of Ashes before the midpoint of the cycle.
[You have discovered the corpse of the warlock who stalked the witch.]
Above the necromancer’s head, who declared his own quest for vengeance like the knight, a past Dalen wished to forget resurfaced in the form of a notification window.
”…Damn it.”
Dalen shook his head, gripping his holy sword with both hands.
It began with an explosion.
Boom! Boom boom boom!
Not with superhuman strength or magic, but with the pure detonation of gunpowder.
Bjorn’s bundle of grenades, enhanced with his unique method, burrowed into the ranks of the undead soldiers, spewing flames.
Graaah!
Aaaah!
The undead, feeling no pain, charged without hesitation.
Even as their comrades fell to the rain of shrapnel and searing flames, they paid no heed, thrusting their weapons at Dalen.
A gleaming blade aimed for his throat. He stepped forward, yanking the arm bone holding the sword. A spear jabbed at his exposed side. He twisted slightly, deflecting it with his armor, then used the severed arm as a club to strike down.
Crack!
The arm bone, with its tattered flesh, shattered and scattered. The skull beneath the helmet met the same fate.
Instead of pressing deeper, Dalen stepped back half a step, swinging his holy sword in a wide arc. The undead, forming a semicircular encirclement, all fell into the path of his blade.
Clang clang clang—
Screaming metal plates shattered, and rotten organs and bone fragments spilled from the broken armor.
Dalen, having sliced through five undead soldiers in one stroke, stepped forward again, reversing his swing.
The bones of the undead, reinforced by sinister magic, were tough, and their armor, though rusted, was harder than ordinary metal.
Yet Dalen no longer needed to exert himself as he once did. A light swing was all it took.
Graaah!
Kyaaah!
The undead fell in groups of five, eight at a time, caught on the edge of his blade.
Crack!
Clang!
Their weapons and armor shattered like glass or tore like paper.
Boom!
“Hahaha! You filthy slaves of the blood demon! I’ll grant you peace with Imperial explosives!”
Glancing back, Dalen saw Bjorn rampaging near the campfire.
With every flick of his hand, grenades of various sizes scattered and exploded.
As the undead approached through the blasts, he fed them buckshot, finishing them off with his double-headed axe.
Dalen turned away. There was no need to worry about the dwarf.
The combination of explosives, buckshot, and axe easily toppled not just the undead soldiers but even the knights.
That meant he could afford to be more aggressive. There were no more enemies charging at him.
Like moths to a flame, those that had recklessly charged were now simply being cut down.
Ssssss…
Dalen looked up. The sky was swirling with ominous energy.
Darkness shrouded the area like a curtain, and in place of the obscured stars, sinister flames flickered.
Graaah.
A groan rose from beneath his feet. Glancing down, he saw a skeletal soldier staggering to its feet.
The shattered bones of its body reassembled, and its broken jaw and skull clicked back into place.
Dalen pressed down on the reassembling skull.
The twitching lasted only a moment. With a crunch, the undead stilled, and a translucent energy rose from it, drawn into the sinister flames above.
“Heh heh. You’re quick on the uptake, as always.”
The necromancer, his face cracked, laughed.
The crystal at the end of his staff glowed ominously, resonating with the flames of the shroud.
This was the power of that half-blood vampire, the ability of his small domain.
A shroud of darkness that obscured the stars and endlessly resurrected fallen undead.
The cries of souls unable to find peace were gathered into the flames above, transformed into destructive spells.
The longer the fight dragged on, the more undead fell, the stronger the high-ranking vampire became.
This necromancer, a half-blood bastard, had imperfectly harnessed that power through his domain.
“This was a fight you could never win from the start.”
The necromancer smirked, his cracked lips beading with black blood that hardened like scabs.
Dalen simply gripped his sword with both hands. That alone caused the air around him to grow heavy.
Woooo…
A storm-like energy surged from his shoulders, coursing down his arms.
Whoosh.
The whirlwind quickly intertwined with the flames igniting at the base of the sword, forging a massive blade of fire that enveloped the entire weapon.
The necromancer’s face twisted in disbelief.
“H-how is this possible? I thought you had just barely awakened your domain…!”
Dalen chuckled softly. The rumors of the dragonslayer had yet to spread beyond a few intelligence agencies and hadn’t reached the knights’ order.
While his feats of slaying demons and witches were impressive, it was believed that his personal abilities had only just begun to awaken.
Little did they know that Dalen, suppressing the two greatest powers of dragon blood and the holy sword, was far stronger than the exaggerated tales suggested.
The holy sword hummed, a dull flame flickering in its dark eyes before vanishing.
Though he couldn’t fully unleash the power of the dragon blood or the holy sword, Dalen still managed to wield his skills with greater prowess than ever before.
With a whoosh, the tip of the sword merged the crushing power of Rapantella with the holy flame’s spark.
Crackle. Crackle.
The spell-slayer and hand axe, buoyed by the mysterious art of the flying sword, crackled with electricity.
The days of struggling under the weight of an overwhelming domain were long gone.
Even without directly controlling the dragon’s power, his body, infused with the blood of a true dragon, served as a robust conduit for channeling multiple forces simultaneously.
“Ha, you’re still just a mere mortal! You can’t possibly stand against me, heir to the vampire’s blood!”
Despite the turmoil evident on his face, the necromancer couldn’t hide his twisted pride in his half-inherited vampire lineage.
He raised his staff, and the flames flickering within the barrier resonated, plummeting towards Dalen like a meteor shower.
Dozens of fiery comets rained down from the sky.
Each one packed more destructive power than the grenades the dwarves used to scatter.
[―――!]
At that moment, a blue shadow leapt from the campfire, flapping its wings towards the sky and unleashing a triumphant roar.
Before Dalen could even react, hundreds of small crystals, crafted from dragon words, rose to meet the descending flames.
“What, how can a mere dragon hatchling…!”
The necromancer’s mouth hung open, unable to close.
The collision of fiery and icy crystals filled the air with strange, sparkling magical fragments.
[Look at me!]
The hatchling, as if boasting of its achievement, flapped its tiny wings and landed beside Dalen.
Dalen chuckled. It seemed Felber’s parting words weren’t entirely baseless.
He raised his sword. The sky’s flames had been extinguished, but the barrier remained intact.
To conserve the dwarves’ explosives, he needed to dismantle the necromancer’s domain.
With a focused intent, the whirlwind mixed with holy fire erupted from the sword’s tip.
Boom!
The storm tore through the barrier in an instant, and Dalen swung his sword down.
The red arc traced across the night sky, obliterating the necromancer’s body before the vampire’s regenerative powers could even be tested.
“Looks like we picked the wrong fight.”
The armored knight, who had been observing the battle from a distance, smirked bitterly at the ashes of his fallen comrade.
Bang—crack!
A gunshot and an axe cleaved through the air simultaneously.