Episode 300: The Decoy Operation (1)
As dawn broke, the Empire’s greatest swordsman donned his armor and ascended the city walls.
“Hmm.”
With his hand resting on his chin, he gazed down at the scene below. The undead, reeking of decay, clawed at the walls, letting out ghastly wails.
“Eos, even now, you should consider switching roles with Damian Haxen,” grumbled Supreme Commander Slynder, his face twisted in distaste. The swordsman turned to him and asked, “Doesn’t it look like rain?”
Slynder scoffed, incredulous. “Rain? On a day as clear as this?”
“I have a feeling a storm’s coming. We should hurry with the operation,” the swordsman replied, pulling a plum-sized, silver fruit from his pocket. It was a rare fruit from the branches of the World Tree, gifted by Milene for this very day.
“Commander, while I’m gone, the undead might attack the fortress. Please hold them off,” he said.
“You never listen, do you?” Slynder sighed deeply but soon steeled himself. “What’s done is done. Leave this place to me and do as you will.”
With a nod, the swordsman bit into the fruit. It wasn’t sweet, but refreshingly tart. He chewed it thoroughly and swallowed, then expanded his senses, murmuring softly as he looked eastward, “Leos, there you are.”
He leapt from the wall, landing in the midst of the undead horde.
-Screeeech!
-Roar!
The moment he appeared, the undead charged at him. Despite their decaying bodies, they were formidable, resurrected from only the strongest monsters.
Yet, the swordsman did not draw his blade. Instead, he closed his eyes. Even with his eyes shut, the surroundings were vivid in his mind: the royal castle of Elfheim behind him, the clear blue sky above, and the undead rushing toward him.
He added a touch of imagination to this mental picture, envisioning the undead being sliced to pieces. As his vision crystallized, lines appeared across the undead, and they crumbled into fragments, leaving a wide clearing around him.
This was the Heart Sword, a mastery he had achieved, allowing him to manifest his mental images into reality.
“Time to see my brother,” he said, dashing down the path he had cleared. The remaining undead tried to block him, but it was futile; they were reduced to mere chunks of flesh.
After a while, he stopped, greeting the figure before him with a smile. “Leos, did you have pleasant dreams last night?”
In a camp of tents, the Lord of Flames glared at him with disdain. “So, you’ve decided to kill me.”
“As your brother, how could I?” the swordsman replied, raising a fist. “I just plan to knock some sense into you. Then, you can pay for your crimes in the Empire’s prison.”
“Enough of your nonsense!” Leos shouted, eyes blazing with anger. “I can’t understand you! How can you side with those pointy-eared bastards? After what they did to our mother, to us?”
Leos couldn’t contain his fury, his voice rising even louder. “They called us filthy half-breeds, treated us like abominations! So why? Why protect them?”
“Mother loved Elfheim,” the swordsman finally spoke, his voice calm. “So I will protect it, as she would have wanted.”
“There’s no reasoning with you,” Leos spat, as crimson flames erupted at his feet, transforming into a giant figure with stakes driven through its body, its eyes half-dead as it stared at the swordsman.
“If you stand in my way, brother or not, I won’t forgive you.”
“That’s unfortunate. I was planning to forgive you,” the swordsman replied.
“Ridiculous. You’re in no position to be so confident,” Leos said, pointing upward. From the clouds above, a figure descended—a woman with long, jet-black hair.
It was Hela Fallen, the leader of Pandemonium.
“Eos, it’s been a while,” she said.
“Hela, you haven’t changed a bit,” he replied.
“Oh, do you think flattery will make me happy?” she teased, clearly pleased.
“Seeing you brings back memories of that night,” he said.
“You were beautiful then, too,” she blushed.
“Stop it, you’re making me blush,” she giggled, while the swordsman averted his gaze, slightly embarrassed.
Only Leos looked on with disapproval. “Anyone would think you two were still an item.”
“Someone’s upset,” Hela noted.
“Apologies for not considering my brother’s feelings,” the swordsman said, nodding in understanding with Hela.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you, Hela?” Leos asked, frowning.
“Of course not. The more I remember, the more I want Eos’s head,” she replied, her eyes gleaming with greed.
“Eos, can you handle both of us?” she asked with a smile.
“Naturally. That’s why I’m here,” he said, drawing his sword. A green sigil appeared on his forehead, and a breeze wrapped around him.
“Before coming here, I ate the World Tree’s fruit,” he explained. Consuming it granted immense magical power and enhanced physical abilities, but that wasn’t his goal.
“Let me ask you instead. Do you think the two of you can handle me, with the World Tree’s support?”
As soon as the swordsman moved, Damian advanced with the elves. With the undead drawn to the swordsman, they reached Pandemonium’s hideout with relative ease.
“This is where Pandemonium’s base is hidden,” Mata said, pointing to the forest. It appeared to be a lush, green woodland.
“Wait,” Hata said, pulling a large, silver leaf from his pocket. Though no one explained, Damian recognized it as a leaf from the World Tree, capable of dispelling magic by restoring the natural flow of mana.
Hata rubbed the leaf between his hands, and it crumbled into silver dust, dispersing into the air. The illusion covering the forest began to fade, revealing a barren wasteland instead.
The trees had been uprooted and lay scattered, and a vast, lake-like hole gaped in the ground, as if the earth itself had been gouged out.
“To think they did this to our island,” Mata trembled with rage, and the other elves stared at the chasm with eyes full of indignation.
Just then, the undead, sensing the disturbance, charged toward them. These were no ordinary undead; they were flesh golems, grotesque constructs of stitched-together corpses.
Damian drew his sword to confront them, but the elves stopped him. “Damian Haxen, we don’t know what’s below. Save your strength.”
“We’ll handle them. Summon the spirits!” Mata and Hata commanded the spirit summoners.
The elves called forth their spirits, vibrant and varied in form, from bears to rabbits, all of them high-ranking.
-Screeeech!
-Roar!
The flesh golems rushed at the elves, but the spirits were ready. Flames incinerated the undead, water droplets pierced them like bullets, and razor-sharp winds shredded them to pieces.
In the blink of an eye, the golems were destroyed.
‘Impressive, as always,’ Damian thought, marveling at the spirits’ power. Spirits were naturally powerful, akin to natural disasters, and under a spirit summoner’s command, they were nearly unstoppable.
“It’s over. Let’s move,” Mata said.
-Where do you think you’re going?
A chilling sound echoed from somewhere in the distance.
In that instant, a black projectile sliced through the air, aimed directly at Hata.
It moved so fast that Hata couldn’t react in time. The bullet was on a collision course with his head.
Just before impact, Demian reached out, intercepting the bullet with his palm. A dull thud resonated as something exploded.
“Wh-what the hell was that?” Hata shouted, startled. It dawned on him that he had narrowly escaped death.
“Demian Haxen! Are you okay?” he asked, his voice trembling.
Demian brushed off his hand nonchalantly, as if it were nothing.
The black projectile was a chunk of an aura blade. Had Demian not intervened, Hata would have been killed instantly.
—He blocked that? His reflexes are impressive.
A man emerged from behind a tent set up near the crater.
His appearance was bizarre. Where his arm should have been, a strange cylindrical weapon was attached.
And that wasn’t all. One of his eyes was unnaturally large, resembling a glass marble.
—Come on out, everyone. I thought I’d be bored with just elves around, but it seems there’s someone interesting here.
At his call, other figures emerged from the tents, each as grotesque as the man himself.
Some had four arms, others six eyes, or even limbs resembling those of beasts. They all shared a chilling appearance.
—A human? What’s a human doing here?
—You fool, that’s Demian Haxen! Haven’t you heard he’s on the island?
—The human our master has been seeking? Demian Haxen?
—Heh, that one’s mine! I’ll present his corpse to our master!
The grotesque figures laughed, cried, and raged, as if they were madmen. But the elves didn’t find it amusing. Instead, tension etched their faces.
“Demian Haxen, those are the ‘Covenanters.’ They may look strange, but don’t underestimate them. They’re monsters among monsters.”
“I’ve heard they were created by modifying master-class warriors. All the renowned spirit summoners have fallen to them.”
The two sisters immediately summoned their spirit kings. A serpent made of water and a sparrow wreathed in lightning appeared.
—Spirit kings? It’s been a while.
—Not since we killed the summoner with the fire spirit king.
Even in the presence of the spirit kings, the Covenanters showed no fear. If anything, they seemed to dismiss them.
—Spirit kings can be tricky.
—Don’t overthink it. Just kill the summoner, and it’s over.
—Just like when we took down the summoner with the fire spirit king.
The strategy was simple: target the summoner. Without them, the spirits would weaken.
Moments ago, Hata had been unable to react to the Covenanter’s attack.
“Does a mere human think they can mock us?”
“We’ll turn you to ash before you even get close.”
Mata and Hata, the sisters, shouted with determination.
Then, Demian stepped forward, pushing past the sisters. They looked at him, startled.
“Demian Haxen, you should conserve your strength…”
“I’ve found you.”
Demian’s eyes were locked onto the Covenanters.
“The traces on your bodies… they belong to Dolgo, don’t they?”
He couldn’t mistake it. He had experienced it firsthand when he was turned into a death knight.
He had watched Dolgo modify others countless times.
“Here you are. Here, that damned bastard Dolgo! That trash is here!”
Emotions surged within him, a mix of joy and exhilaration.
At that moment, the man who had first appeared aimed his arm at Demian. The cylinder where his hand should have been gathered energy, firing another black bullet.
The bullet grazed Demian’s cheek, embedding itself in the ground and causing a massive explosion.
Flames shot up to the sky, and the elves watched in shock.
—How dare you speak Dolgo’s name so carelessly?
The man spoke with a look of deep displeasure.
—Dolgo is far greater than you can comprehend. Even if he’s not here, show some respect. Otherwise…
Suddenly, Demian vanished.
—…What?
Confusion spread across the man’s face. The other grotesque figures frantically searched around.
Then, a shadow fell over the man’s face. He looked up in surprise.
Demian descended from the sky, stomping down on the man’s face with force.
The man’s head was driven into the ground, shattering the earth around him.
He lay there, trembling, before going limp like a puppet with its strings cut.
“What did you say I should show Dolgo?”
Demian turned to the grotesque figures, his voice calm but his eyes blazing with fury.
“I’m asking you now. What did you just tell me to show?”
Silence hung heavily in the air.