Chapter 549
“No!”
Beric stepped in front of Jarrett. The cloth tightly bound around his abdomen had come loose halfway, slipping down. Blood gushed out in a torrent, but Beric seemed unfazed.
Instead, Jarrett’s gaze fixed solely on the wound.
“The bleeding is severe, Beric.”
“Damn it, what the hell can an old man do now?”
“It’s not about what he can do, but that he’s going to do it. Even Lord Ian and all the mages failed to anticipate the rift. This isn’t a natural phenomenon—it’s the result of some trick by Atan. Just as they did, we can stop it too.”
“I don’t care! Sometimes you just die, you know that? Ever heard of dying?”
Jarrett chuckled lowly. So much time had passed. To see Beric raging like this, as if he might die any moment—it stirred something deep inside him.
“Why, didn’t you say it was good when the captain’s position opened up?”
“What?”
“So the lower ranks could move up.”
“That was—!”
Beric still remembered vividly. The reckless, wild youth who raged through the selection trials, vowing to kill Jarrett and take the captaincy for himself.
Jarrett slowly crouched down, placing his hand on the ground as if ready to spring forward.
“Why would I die just to please someone?”
“Old man! Damn it! Don’t go! Please!”
“Shut up and focus on damage control. And—”
Zzzzz!
Magic power swelled around Jarrett. The palace guards watched solemnly, and Bonita placed her hand over her heart in reverence.
“Beric. Well done. Grasping your own sword is the first step to becoming a magic swordsman. I look forward to seeing more from you.”
“Damn it! Someone stop him! My molars!”
“Beric, step aside. This is the captain’s resolve.”
Beric glanced toward Barsabe, silently pleading for help, but she shook her head.
With no choice, as Beric moved to hold Jarrett back alone—
KRAAASH!
A flash!
Jarrett roared and slammed his fist into the ground.
Lightning crackled from all directions, the world flickering between darkness and light. Thunder poured down like rain, and the swarms of monsters burned helplessly, dissolving into ash.
Once a path opened, Jarrett dashed through the rift in a single bound, racing up the northern hill.
Swoosh!
“Old man!”
“Beric, stop and raise your sword.”
“Bonita! You damn—”
“Remember Captain Jarrett’s orders.”
‘By the Emperor’s command. Those who stand in Bariel’s way will be dealt with decisively. Remember this: we are the heart of Bariel.’
Bonita spoke calmly to the troops. Behind her, powerful lightning continued to strike.
Kugung!
Boom!
“Raise your swords. We will fulfill our duty.”
“Understood.”
“Understood.”
With a sharp clang, they saluted Bonita, but everyone’s hearts were already racing northward.
KRAAASH!
Screech!
Jarrett pushed through the monster horde, pressing onward. He had suspected something was wrong, but seeing the inside was beyond words.
The magical barrier once maintained by the mages had collapsed, leaving no trace. The world seemed flooded with black water—the filthy, nauseating water of monsters.
Vwoooom—
Pew! Pew!
Jarrett struck lightning here and there, searching for the rift. He could see the flow of monsters but tracing it back to its source was impossible. Pure chaos—order was utterly shattered.
KRAAANG!
Screeeech!
Then, through the monsters, he sensed a faint presence. A very familiar energy. Thanks to Beric.
‘The Black Swords.’
Feeling a strong gravity, he approached slowly. Dozens of Atan’s black swords were stuck in the ground like tombstones.
Regardless of how the rift opened, it seemed they were used to lure monsters out. Jarrett immediately began smashing the black swords one by one.
Flash! KRAAASH!
With the black swords destroyed, the flow of monsters became clearer. The colder the swords grew and the more they shattered, the fewer monsters poured from the rift.
Though the hole couldn’t be sealed completely, it was significant. At this rate, the palace guards could hold the line until the magic department arrived.
—Human—
“…?!”
As he relentlessly destroyed the black swords, an unpleasant voice whispered in his ear.
Startled for a moment, Jarrett spotted a flickering shadow at his feet.
Kyuoooo!
“Look! A dragon! The dragon is returning!”
“Pretty fast. Nothing beats wings after all.”
“Huh? Someone’s riding on its back?”
“Th-the Bariel armor! It must be the vanguard!”
“The dragon’s landing! Everyone, fall back!”
Swoosh!
The dragon slid across the wide field, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that blinded the soldiers.
Apparently satisfied with the landing, the dragon let out a small puff of fire and a contented rumble.
“Hey, are you alright?”
“Good heavens, all this blood—”
The soldiers carefully lifted the people sprawled across the dragon’s back. Judging by the ropes binding their bodies, they must have tied themselves up, but they seemed unconscious from the flight.
“Are they dead?”
“No, they’re still breathing.”
“Wake up! Medic! Bring the medic here!”
They hadn’t just been soaked in blood—they were in terrible shape. Out of hundreds in the vanguard, only six had returned alive.
“Xiaoshi, this way.”
“…Anyone conscious?”
“Ugh, ugh…”
A voice called from the far end. A middle-aged man gasped and muttered weakly. He didn’t seem physically wounded but was clearly in deep shock.
“Monsters… monsters poured out. A woman behind us killed all the soldiers… in front, when the monsters were about to—God saved me. The palace guards—I truly thought I was dead then…”
Xiaoshi frowned. He had suspected something was wrong with the rift, but this was a disaster.
“Who was this woman?”
“I-I don’t know. She had superhuman strength and no fear cutting people down. I think she was a mage, but I’m not sure.”
“A mage.”
“It seems she conspired with the monsters. The ground shook, and they came down the hill from afar… all my comrades died, and when I came to, I was running. Bearing a cross. If not for the soldier ahead, I’d have died there too.”
A cross.
The man weakly moved his finger, and Xiaoshi examined his body. A cross was carved on the left side of his neck, as if cut by a blade—a sign of praying for divine protection against the monsters.
“Understood. Focus on treatment first.”
What about the others? Xiaoshi scanned the soldiers. One woman and five men. Only one conscious. Committing the report to memory, he turned away.
“…”
Then, his gaze lingered once more on the unconscious female soldier. There was something familiar about her.
But drenched in blood from head to toe and in such bad shape, it was hard to make out her features.
“Once she regains consciousness after treatment, bring her up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Put a leash on the dragon.”
Kyuoooo!
The dragon tapped the ground with its tail, making a pleased sound. The soldiers hesitated, still fearful.
Tap tap tap!
“Your Majesty. This is Xiaoshi. The dragon has returned with the vanguard.”
“Bring them in.”
Perhaps sensing the tense atmosphere, the air inside the war room was heavy. Xiaoshi bowed his head and reported to Jin.
“It’s not Clifford, but there’s a problem with the northern rift. Monsters are flooding out, and the palace guards are holding the line for now. However, there’s a faction working with the monsters—likely Atan.”
Jin’s face darkened, and Ian’s gaze sharpened. Suddenly, a forgotten history came rushing back.
‘The Great Monster Assault.’
In the north of Bariel, the Atan tribe had grown strong but was ultimately crushed and annihilated by the palace guard captain. The timing and circumstances matched perfectly.
The rift’s tremors were surely Rutherford’s doing, so it made sense that the Atan tribe, used as his tools, had appeared.
“Of the six surviving vanguard soldiers, only one has regained consciousness and reported.”
Only six. Jin closed his eyes in sorrow, then called Ian.
If the rift had opened, no other department could act. Only the magic department—and among them, Ian, the strongest who had personally experienced the rift—could offer a solution.
“Lord Ian.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I will go.”
It’s alright. No problem.
If the clash between the Atan tribe and the palace guards was recorded in history, the outcome was already decided. Ian added firmly, “Bariel will be safe.”
With such unwavering confidence, Jin found himself nodding without realizing it. Yes. Bariel would be safe. Even if monsters flooded the land, not a single grain of wheat would be trampled.
“Minister Tweller, please organize a new unit composed of soldiers equipped with the weapons supplied by the Tera tribe. While I trust the palace guard, some monsters must have slipped through their ranks.”
“We’ll search and advance northward, then.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I apologize, but I must take my leave first.”
“Ian.”
Jin called out cautiously.
“Everyone must return safely.”
Not just Ian, but Beric, the palace guard, and every single soldier—they were all precious people of Bariel. Ian bowed deeply at Jin’s request.
“I will do my best.”
How could anyone speak of a war without death, or a fierce battle without pain? Yet Ian understood Jin’s heart all too well.
Because he felt the same.
He mourned the countless lives lost on the battlefield.
Perhaps someday he would fully realize it himself, but for now, he could only bow his head for Jin.
Swish!
As Ian stepped out of the tent, Zaira approached. She had been waiting anxiously for news for a long time. A few of the mages had already regained their senses, but their recovered mana was still far from enough.
“Ian, what’s going on? Hah.”
“I woke up because it was noisy. But you weren’t sleeping either? Zaira, you too? Wow, your stamina’s impressive.”
“You all should get some rest. Akorella!”
“Yes?”
Akorella, who had been lounging in a hammock, swayed gently and lifted her head.
“How many mana amplifiers and potions do we have left?”
“We still have some. About fifteen bottles each, I think? The others have already taken enough, and we can brew more on the move, so our stock should hold. Oh, wait—Captain Jaret took one earlier, so that leaves fourteen.”
Ian handed over a small pouch.
“Pack two bottles each and bring them along.”
“You’re going? Why? Is it really that bad?”
“A rift has opened. I’m going to contain it.”
A rift.
At Ian’s words, all the mages except Zaira froze, their eyes wide. Did Ian just say ‘rift’? And that he was going to contain it?
Those words brought back vivid memories of trauma from ten years ago. The mages could only gape before rushing toward their sleeping quarters.
Bang! Crash!
They flung open the carriage doors as if to break them, tore through the tent, and, drawing breath from deep within their cores, shouted:
“Wake up! Wake up! Ian’s going to the rift!”
“Get up, you lazy bums! Stop lying around! Ian’s heading to the rift! Move it!”
“…What did you say?”
“Wipe your spit! Rub your eyes! Get up!”
“Ian’s going to the rift? I must be seeing things.”
“He’s going alone again! Snap out of it!”
Ian was checking the dragon’s reins when he turned his head at the sound of footsteps rushing up behind him.
“I-Ian, let us come with you.”
At the magpie’s nest, a group of mages came running, their faces swollen, smeared with drool and sleep crusts, staggering but determined.